She frowned. “But surely—with the pair of you going outside alone—the others might imagine…” She looked at him and arched her brows.
He gave a dismissive huff. “You’re clutching at straws. Take it from one with more than a decade of experience, Glynis was not trying to make any other gentleman jealous.”
She was intrigued enough to ask, “How can you be so sure?”
“Because she wasn’t constantly glancing over her shoulder—or anywhere else—to see if he, her putative lover, was watching.”
The reason for their discussion wasn’t anything to smile about, so she compressed her lips against the urge, but his bone-dry delivery left her in little doubt that, more than once, he had indeed been used as a means to prod another gentleman to action.
Swiftly, she cast her mind over the points they’d touched on—and felt somber sadness engulf her once more. Just for a few seconds, the grief she was holding at bay had eased…
She glanced sharply at Carradale and found him watching her. And realized that, while he’d been answering her questions and furthering their understanding of the circumstances surrounding Glynis’s death, he’d also been…distracting her from the shock and sadness that, no matter how hard she endeavored to suppress it, lay waiting, hovering at the edge of her mind.
“I didn’t know Glynis all that well—not like a sister.” She had no idea why she felt she needed to tell him that; perhaps because he was being understanding, and she wasn’t sure she deserved his sympathy. “There were too many years between us, and we lived in different towns.”
His gaze remained steady. “Nevertheless, it had to have been a nasty shock. She’s one of your kin, after all.”
If she acknowledged the shock, the emotional turmoil that had erupted when she’d looked down at Glynis’s body, Glynis’s pretty face grotesquely distorted…a potent combination of grief and rage would swamp her, and she would rail and lose direction. With grim determination, she forced the emotions back into the box in which she’d trapped them and slammed down the lid. She met Carradale’s gaze head-on. “To my mind, the best way I can mourn Glynis is by ensuring justice is done and that her murderer is caught and hanged.”
His gaze steady on her face, he inclined his head in agreement. “She was an innocent in all the ways that count—such as she deserve to be avenged.”
“Exactly.” She thought of their questions and what they might do to find answers. “Mrs. Macomber might have been ineffective in reining Glynis in, but she’s not without eyes and ears and a degree of common sense. Presumably, she’ll know why Glynis wanted to come to Mandeville Hall—she must at least know something of that.” She paused, then sighed. “Of course, I’ll have to wait until she recovers enough to attain coherency.” She met Carradale’s eyes. “Seeing Glynis like that…overset her.”
She caught the fractional upward twitch of his lips and felt she’d at least partly paid him back for his attempt to lighten her mood.
A throat being cleared had them both looking toward the front door.
The butler, Carnaby, a surprisingly thin, aesthete-looking individual, regarded them impassively. “Ma’am, your lordship, if you would care to partake, we’ve arranged a cold collation in the dining room.”
“Thank you, Carnaby,” Carradale said.
The butler bowed and withdrew.
Alaric looked at his Amazon; she didn’t appear to be the sort of female who would consider starving herself to be a good idea, even in the present circumstances. When she glanced his way, he arched a brow at her. “I suspect this afternoon is going to be a long one. We should keep up our strength.”
She studied his face for a second, then observed, “You said that with a certain authority. I believe I’ll take heed.”
He rose as she did and fell in beside her as she made for the door.
As he reached for the doorlatch, she added, “It does seem wise to fortify ourselves before spending hours dealing with a magistrate who goes by the name of Stonewall.”
Alaric grinned entirely spontaneously and briefly met her eyes, then he opened the door and followed her over the threshold—into the deadening hush of a house hosting a company all of whom suspected that their number included a gentleman with, metaphorically at least, blood on his hands.
Chapter 3
To Constance’s dismay, she discovered that Carradale’s assessment of Sir Godfrey Stonewall was all too accurate. Stonewall proved to be a pompous ignoramus and arrogant with it.
The magistrate was in his later middle years and clearly liked his food. His coat strained over his paunch, and judging by the way he stumped around, supporting his bulk with a cane and grumbling when he needed to take the steps up to the front door, he suffered from gout.
In addition to being of irascible temper and unprepossessing mien, Sir Godfrey lost no time in getting on her bad side; on entering the house, after shaking Percy Mandeville’s hand, Stonewall ignored her, Carradale, Monty Radleigh, and Edward Mandeville, along with all the other guests hovering farther back in the hall, and suggested that he—Sir Godfrey—and Percy should repair to the library and “settle this business,” for all the world as if Glynis’s murder was nothing more than a bothersome occurrence.
To her relief, Edward frowned and insisted that he, as an older member of the family, should be present as well, then Carradale calmly pointed out that what knowledge Percy had was second-hand at best, while he, Carradale, had been the one to discover the body, while Constance—he included her with a glance and a half bow—was the deceased young lady’s relative, and Monty had been present when the body was found as well.
Sir Godfrey huffed and puffed, but when neither Percy nor any of the other guests supported his view, Sir Godfrey grumpily consented to meet with Carradale, Constance, Edward, and Monty, along with Percy. With what was doubtless supposed to be an ingratiating glance at the other guests, Sir Godfrey declared that he saw no reason to inconvenience them further.
Constance noted that none of the guests appeared particularly grateful.
Edward glanced at Percy, then suggested the drawing room as a more appropriate venue. Once inside with the door shut, after Constance sank onto the sofa, with Monty alongside, Carradale and Edward found straight-backed chairs and positioned them facing the fireplace, while Percy took one of the armchairs beside the hearth. Sir Godfrey settled in its mate and disgruntledly barked, “Well—tell me what happened.”
Unperturbed by the edict—as if such boorish, offhand behavior was no more than what he’d expected of the man—Carradale recited the bald facts of arriving at the stable that morning and walking to the house via the path through the shrubbery and discovering Glynis’s body. He concluded with “Miss Johnson had obviously been strangled.” He glanced at Constance and Monty. “At that point, I was joined by Mr. Radleigh and Miss Whittaker—Miss Johnson’s cousin.”
“Mrs. Macomber, Miss Johnson’s chaperon, was with us as well,” Monty supplied.
“Indeed.” Constance fixed Sir Godfrey with a severe look. “As Lord Carradale says, it was instantly apparent that my cousin had met her death at some man’s hands. As both his lordship and Mr. Radleigh confirmed that she was wearing the same gown as she had worn the previous evening and her body and gown were damp with dew, it seems clear that she was killed during the early hours—sometime after the other guests retired.”
Edward glanced at Percy, who finally seemed to be pulling himself together, but Percy waved at Edward to speak.
“We,” Edward said, “by which I mean all those here, attending the house party, pooled all we know of Miss Johnson’s movements last night.” Briskly, he outlined what the company collectively believed to have been Glynis’s actions through the evening’s gathering. “Sadly, no one has any recollection of Miss Johnson’s whereabouts after the gathering broke up and the company retired upstairs.”
When Edward fell silent, Carradale said, “The one additional potentially relevant fact is that one of the other ladie
s, out taking the air on the terrace a little later, saw a gentleman come out of the shrubbery through the entrance beyond which Miss Johnson’s body was later found. The other lady did not see the man well enough to identify him.”
“I see.” Sir Godfrey had assumed what he no doubt imagined was a judicial expression. Frowning, he stroked his chin. From under his bushy eyebrows, his beady eyes shifted from Percy to Monty to Carradale, where his gaze lingered, then he glanced at Edward before returning his attention to Percy. “How long’s this party been running, heh? And what about your guests—any rum customers among them?”
The suggestion succeeded in rousing Percy. “Good Lord, no!” He stared at the magistrate for a second, then dragged in a breath, straightened in the chair, and made an effort to explain that the house party had commenced on Sunday afternoon, so the previous evening had been only the second of a projected six nights. “Everyone is…was planning to stay until Saturday. As usual.”
“I’ve heard that you host this house party every year,” Sir Godfrey said. “I can’t recall any bother at any of the previous years’ events.”
Percy looked taken aback. After a second, he responded, “If by bother you mean murder, then certainly not. Indeed, we haven’t had anything untoward occur before. Not at any event I’ve hosted.”
“Quite right, quite right.” Sir Godfrey seemed to realize he’d come perilously close to insulting a well-born landowner. “If you can tell me about your guests—I take it they are frequent visitors here?”
“Some certainly, but I’ve known most—including all the gentlemen—for years.” Percy’s attitude toward the magistrate was hardening, his accent growing more clipped. “All come from good families and are well established in society.”
“Naturally, naturally.” Sir Godfrey nodded gravely. He frowned, appearing to sink deep into consideration of the facts, then he drew in a portentous breath, looked around at them all, and stated, “From all you’ve told me, it seems obvious the poor young lady went out to take the air and fell victim to a passing itinerant. A gypsy, perhaps.”
When everyone stared at him in patent disbelief, Sir Godfrey airily waved. “Only to be expected if a pretty young thing goes walking alone in the country at night.”
Constance felt as if she’d been struck. For the first time in her life, she was, quite literally, speechless.
Carradale and Percy shifted, then Carradale coldly inquired, “Forgive me, Sir Godfrey, but do you have any evidence of a homicidal itinerant in the neighborhood?”
Sir Godfrey’s color rose, and he puffed up like a challenged rooster. “No need for evidence beyond what we have—it’s perfectly obvious it must be some wanderer.” His tone turned contemptuous. “Who else, pray tell, could it have been?”
With unimpaired and decidedly chilly calm, Carradale replied, “My people have reported no sightings of anyone unusual in the vicinity. They usually send word if any stranger is lurking in the woods.”
“None of my farmers have said anything, either.” Despite his continuing pallor, Percy seemed determined to hold his own. “And it’s the wrong season for gypsies around here.”
“I have to wonder,” Carradale said, his gaze steady on Sir Godfrey’s face, “if this matter shouldn’t be reported to Scotland Yard. I was under the impression that it’s currently the case that all murders are to be brought to the Yard’s attention to ensure a proper investigation.”
Sir Godfrey recoiled. “Nonsense! What use would they be, heh? Londoners, the lot of them, with no understanding of how matters are dealt with in the counties.”
Constance, along with Carradale and Monty, looked at Percy. He was frowning, clearly debating which side of the argument he should support.
Edward, too, was frowning. When Percy didn’t immediately speak, Edward said, “I’m not at all sure that inconveniencing everyone by bringing in the Metropolitan Police would be a good idea.”
Constance drew in a long breath and stated, “My cousin was not merely inconvenienced. She was murdered!”
Her forceful, whip-like tone jerked Edward and Sir Godfrey to attention; both looked at her, almost in surprise.
Edward recovered first. “My apologies, Miss Whittaker. I merely meant that bringing in outsiders might be counterproductive. I can’t see how they will get to the bottom of this any more expeditiously than the local authorities.”
“Exactly so,” Sir Godfrey stated.
As Constance, too, didn’t know that the investigators of Scotland Yard would be any improvement over the local constable, and from all she’d heard, they might well be worse, she compressed her lips, narrowed her eyes on both men, and glared—primarily at Sir Godfrey—and let her expression state her position; she would be damned if she allowed Stonewall—or Edward Mandeville—to sweep Glynis’s death under any carpet.
A tentative tap on the door distracted them all.
Alaric turned, along with everyone else, and saw the door open and Rosa Cleary look in. Seeing them, she hesitated, then clearly girded her loins and came in.
As she walked forward, Alaric got to his feet, as did the other gentlemen.
Rosa’s gaze fixed on Sir Godfrey. She halted at the end of the sofa beside Alaric. “I thought…that is, I wanted to be sure that what I saw last evening was made clear.”
From under beetling brows, Sir Godfrey frowned at her. “And you are?”
At his aggressive tone, Rosa paled and looked to be on the point of bolting.
Alaric crisply stated, “This is Mrs. Rosamund Cleary—the lady who glimpsed the gentleman leaving the shrubbery last night.”
Rosa tipped up her chin. “Yes. That’s right.”
“Indeed.” With a welcoming gesture, Miss Whittaker—Constance—invited Rosa to sit beside her on the sofa; Monty readily moved along to give her space. “We’re grateful for your assistance, Mrs. Cleary.”
Alaric noted the look Constance shot Sir Godfrey.
In response, the magistrate grumbled, but as Rosa sank onto the sofa and Constance joined her and the other men resumed their seats, Sir Godfrey had no option but to do the same and allow Rosa—encouraged by Constance—to recount what she had seen.
Sir Godfrey’s first reaction was to challenge Rosa over the man’s station. “Surely, given you couldn’t see well enough to recognize the man, he might have been some itinerant. Or one of the gardeners or grooms?”
“No.” Rosa’s chin firmed, and her gaze remained steady. “On that point, I’m quite certain. He was a gentleman—by dress, by confidence and stride, by his hair and cravat—I saw clearly enough to see all that. I didn’t see his face or even his profile, or anything singular by which to identify him, but he was most certainly a gentleman…although whether he was one of the gentlemen presently in this house, I can’t rightly say. He might have come from elsewhere.”
“But when last you saw him, he was walking toward the house,” Alaric put in. “You said he was heading toward the front door, which would, at that time, have been on the latch.”
Rosa nodded. “Yes. That’s correct.”
Sir Godfrey had been frowning direfully, transparently displeased to have such information so forcefully placed before him, but now his expression cleared. “Aha!” He looked at Rosa, then at Percy. “Clearly, Mrs. Cleary here saw one of your gentlemen out taking the air—just as she was. The gentleman had no doubt gone for an innocent walk in the shrubbery—nothing suspicious about that, heh? He must have passed out of the shrubbery before the incident with Miss Johnson occurred. Yes, yes.” Sir Godfrey warmed to his theme. “Nothing to it. All perfectly innocent, what?”
Clinging to patience—knowing that was the only way to deal with Sir Godfrey—Alaric evenly said, “Unfortunately, none of the gentlemen will admit to being the man conveniently out taking the air. As you say, if any had been that man, engaged on a perfectly innocent walk, there should be no reason not to own to it. However, none will. And as one might expect, that has inevitably given rise to a cloud of suspic
ion that now hangs over the head of every gentleman here.”
That was, perhaps, overstating things—at least at present. But it needed no stretch of the imagination to foresee that if the murderer of Glynis Johnson wasn’t identified, the possibility of being guilty could well deepen to the level of a social stigma that attached to all the gentlemen there, despite only one having done the deed.
Imperturbably, Alaric went on, “As the senior peer present”—with such as Sir Godfrey, it never hurt to remind him of title and station—“my opinion is that, in such unfortunate circumstances, in addition to the justice owed to Miss Johnson and her family, the interests of all the guests will also be best served by a thorough investigation—one leading to Miss Johnson’s murderer being caught.”
Invoking social opprobrium—the blame for which some might later lay at the magistrate’s door—was, in Alaric’s view, the fastest way to get Sir Godfrey to give the murder the attention it was due. Holding Sir Godfrey’s gaze, Alaric continued, “Many of the gentlemen guests present have yet to marry, and these days, fond mamas and papas are wont to look askance at any suitor with unresolved questions hanging over his name.”
Sir Godfrey harrumphed. He looked down, clearly canvassing his options, then he cast Alaric a malevolent glance. “And how will you feel, my lord, when it’s you being questioned, heh?”
Alaric arched his brows. “I’m only too happy to be questioned by you or anyone else. I’m not staying at the Hall but at Carradale Manor, and I had left for home an hour or more before last night’s entertainment ended. My movements can be verified by Mandeville’s and my own staff. I wasn’t here when Miss Johnson was murdered.” He allowed his voice to grow colder. “But other gentlemen were, and in light of Mrs. Cleary’s sighting and the lack of any gentleman admitting to being out taking the air, I suggest you will need to satisfy yourself and all those here that one of the company is not the murderer before washing your hands of this case.”