With a murderer in the company, the only way to ensure she was safe was to keep her with him.
Given her typical feminine curiosity and her predilection for involving herself in whatever was going on, he felt confident keeping her by his side wouldn’t require any great effort.
Thus resolved, he stepped onto the tiles of the front hall, turned left, and entered the breakfast room.
Somewhat to his surprise, he discovered he was the last of the company to approach the sideboard. Knowing that due to the distance from London, the inspector—and therefore Sir Humphrey—wasn’t likely to arrive at the house until after nine o’clock, he’d slept late. He’d thought others would have, too, but one glance at the faces around the table suggested few had found any true rest; most looked strained, but were endeavoring to rise above it.
He was less surprised to find Cecilia at the table, nibbling a slice of toast and sipping tea. She’d never been a social hypocrite, and although she’d cared for Ennis, her feelings for him hadn’t run deep enough to excuse any histrionics. She had endeavored to find a black gown; the color made her blond paleness appear even more wan.
After filling his plate from the silver serving dishes arranged along the sideboard, he carried the plate to the empty chair between Antonia and Filbury. Antonia welcomed him with a small smile, Filbury with a nod.
As Sebastian sat, Antonia returned her attention to what he realized was a watchful examination of the others at the table.
On his other side, Filbury leaned nearer and murmured, “Dashed awkward, if you ask me. I hope this inspector knows his place and allows us to leave. Seems pointless to keep us all here when it’s plain as a pikestaff that some blighter climbed into the study, thinking to steal things, Ennis surprised him, and the blighter did for him. Wouldn’t surprise me if there were gypsies camped nearby.”
Sebastian used a mouthful of food as an excuse to make no reply.
Most were eating in silence, with only a few soft-voiced conversations among the ladies springing up and then quietly fading. As he ate, he studied the faces—as Antonia was doing. Cecilia was clearly saddened and sorrowful but not distraught. Virtually everyone else looked unsettled and uncomfortable; none were sure how they should behave, and most showed signs of lingering shock and not a little uncertainty.
A few of the men, like Filbury, were hovering on the brink of belligerence, but Sebastian judged that was nothing more than their way of dealing with a situation they didn’t understand and couldn’t control.
He’d just pushed his empty plate away when sounds from the hall suggested Sir Humphrey had arrived.
The company exchanged glances, very much of the “What do we do?” variety, but before any answer was formulated, Sir Humphrey walked through the open doorway.
A tall, thin, middle-aged man garbed in a neat but undistinguished suit accompanied the magistrate; the man, presumably the inspector, had a long, thin face and a long, thin nose, and his brown eyes were sharp and watchful. Both men halted just inside the room and waited for those about the table to turn and face them.
Sir Humphrey greeted them all with a crisp nod and a brisk, “Good morning.” He waved to the man beside him. “This is Inspector Crawford of Scotland Yard. He will, henceforth, be in charge of the investigation.”
Crawford stepped forward. “Lady Ennis.” He half bowed to Cecilia, then, with a more general nod, let his gaze travel around the table. “Ladies and gentlemen. I understand you will wish to know how the investigation into Lord Ennis’s murder stands, and I will endeavor to answer that question as soon as may be.” The inspector had a dry, precise way of speaking that was curiously calming. “But first, I need to examine the study in which his lordship was killed. Subsequently, I will interview each of you, one by one, in the estate office. Purely routine—we need to determine where each of you were over the critical period, which I understand to be between nine thirty and ten o’clock last evening. Until you are called to the estate office, I would ask you to remain in this room, the music room, or the drawing room. Once you’ve been interviewed, you will be free to move about the house and grounds, but at this stage, it’s imperative that you all remain here, at this house.”
Several mouths opened, no doubt to protest, but before a word was uttered, Crawford smoothly rolled on, “Rest assured we will release you as soon as possible.” He nodded to the company—a nod that was nicely gauged to be civil and appropriate, yet in no way servile. “Thank you for your forbearance. We will attempt to minimize the disruption to your day.”
With that, the inspector turned to Sir Humphrey, and together, the pair walked out.
“Well!” Mrs. McGibbin said. After a moment, she added, “At least he seems a sensible-enough person.”
By which, Antonia wryly thought, returning her gaze to her teacup, you mean the man was wise enough to appear conciliatory.
She’d been the second of the party to arrive in the breakfast room. Only Worthington had been before her. She’d sat toward one end of the table and had paid particular attention to the faces of all the men as they’d joined the gathering. She felt that a man who’d murdered his host the evening before should carry some sign of guilt in his countenance.
Sadly for her theory, while all the men appeared somber and even rather grim, none had looked remotely guilt-ridden. Several looked worried, even anxious, but more in the way of being concerned that they might be looked at askance by the other members of the company; all of the men seemed to have realized that suspicion might, at some point, focus on them, and they were all watching each other closely, searching, as she was, for some hint of who was the guilty party.
No one stood out. There was nothing to distinguish one from the other.
Now that the inspector had made his appearance, several members of the group eased back their chairs, preparing to rise.
Before anyone did, Cecilia cleared her throat and raised her head. In a voice made husky and scratchy by weeping, she said, “I fear I must apologize—such a dreadful business to engulf us all.”
Instantly, there was a chorus of disavowals and assurances that no one could possibly blame her, not at all.
Cecilia smiled weakly. “Thank you, my friends, not just for your understanding but also your support.” She smiled at Mrs. Parrish and Mrs. McGibbin in particular.
Seated beside Cecilia, Mrs. Parrish patted Cecilia’s hand. “There’s no need to worry your head over us, my dear. I’m sure we’ll all cope.”
Several hear-hears supported that assertion.
“I’m sure that’s so,” Cecilia allowed, “but as the inspector has decreed that we are all to remain here for the time being, I wish to assure you that, while our planned excursions beyond the estate cannot now proceed, the amenities of the house and grounds will continue to be available for your use as previously, and while I’m sure you will understand if I retreat somewhat from your company, I would encourage you to make use of the avenues the house affords to divert your minds from this distressing situation.”
Everyone, Antonia included, approved of their hostess’s speech; in Antonia’s opinion, it hit just the right note.
Cecilia rose and excused herself; she dissuaded the other ladies from accompanying her, stating she intended to rest quietly in her room.
Once she had left, pausing only to speak briefly with Blanchard in the doorway, the others of the company, apparently feeling rather better over disporting themselves while their host lay dead, started making plans for the day. On the ladies’ part, the plans were restrained, but as Antonia listened, she realized that, as the shock wore off, the younger ladies—Melissa, Claire, Georgia, and Melinda Boyne and Amelie Bilhurst—were rather titillated by the drama; none of them had known Ennis well, and his murder was, she supposed, more excitement than they’d previously encountered in their conventional lives.
Most of the ladies had made some attempt to find dark colors to wear. Being black haired, Antonia rarely wore darker hues, but she had brough
t a navy-blue walking dress with her and had donned that this morning.
Casting her gaze over the men of the company, she noted that, unlike the ladies, they seemed much more hesitant over committing themselves to any particular diversion in any other man’s company. All appeared to be keeping their distance—mentally, at least—from each other, even Mr. Parrish and Mr. McGibbin, who, if she’d understood correctly, were old friends.
Before she could decide what the gentlemen’s behavior meant, Blanchard materialized between her chair and Sebastian’s.
“My lord, Inspector Crawford and Sir Humphrey have requested your and Lady Antonia’s presence. If you and her ladyship will follow me, I will show you to the estate office.”
An immediate and distinctly avid silence fell.
“Yes, of course.” Sebastian pushed back his chair and got to his feet. He waved the footman back and drew out Antonia’s chair.
She rose and smoothed down her skirts. She met Sebastian’s gaze; he smiled faintly and offered his arm, and she placed her hand on his sleeve.
Utterly ignoring all the fascinated watchers, Sebastian turned her toward the door. “Lead on, Blanchard.”
Leaving a pregnant silence reigning in the breakfast room, they followed Blanchard across the hall to the first door in the corridor leading to Ennis’s study.
Blanchard opened the door and announced them.
Sebastian steered Antonia before him into the office. It was a decent-sized room, with a large desk placed before the far wall on which a detailed map of the estate was displayed. Pigeonholes and cabinets lined one side wall, with bookshelves covering the other. The shelves were packed with ledgers, all neatly arrayed spine-out. The room drew light from high windows in the wall it shared with the front hall, itself well supplied with natural light courtesy of the cupola in its ceiling.
The inspector and Sir Humphrey rose from chairs behind the large desk. The inspector nodded politely. “Good morning, my lord. My lady.” He waved to two comfortable chairs angled before the polished expanse. “If you would be seated?” He looked past them at the constable standing at his ease inside the door. “Wait outside, please, constable, and make sure no one disturbs us.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sebastian guided Antonia to the chair on the right, then sat in the other chair, directly in front of the inspector. Antonia settled her skirts, then clasped her hands in her lap and fixed her gray gaze on the inspector, but said nothing.
Sebastian took pity on the man. “I take it Sir Humphrey has explained the background to my presence here.”
“Indeed, my lord.” Crawford studied Sebastian for several seconds, then leaned forward, placing his forearms on the desk and clasping his hands. He fixed a level look on Sebastian’s face. “I’ll be frank, my lord. On the one hand, I’m not at all thrilled to discover that this murder might be connected with some political intrigue in which Whitehall’s agents are involved. On the other hand, I have to admit to a…certain curiosity. Not every murder has wider implications.”
“I should think that was just as well, at least from your perspective. However, that is the hand Fate has dealt us in this instance.” Sebastian hesitated, then said, “It might help to mention that both myself and Lady Antonia are acquainted with your Chief Inspector Stokes, and even more with Mr. Barnaby Adair. We therefore appreciate the…restrictions and requirements, and indeed, the limitations of your position.”
Crawford pursed his lips, then his features relaxed somewhat, and he nodded. “I believe we understand each other, my lord. My lady. So if you would tell me all you know of Lord Ennis, up to the point of finding him dead?”
Antonia listened as Sebastian concisely explained what had brought him to Pressingstoke Hall, then described their arrival and the various events that had occurred since. He told of arranging to meet with Ennis at ten o’clock and outlined his movements after the ladies had left the dining table to the moment of finding Ennis dying.
When informed that Ennis hadn’t yet been dead, and hearing Ennis’s last words, Crawford widened his eyes. “Gunpowder? And what did he mean by here?”
“Precisely our questions. With Ennis dead, we’ll need to find the answers.” Sebastian glanced at Antonia, who had remained uncharacteristically silent throughout. “I suggest that while you and Sir Humphrey search for Ennis’s murderer, Lady Antonia and I should use the time to pursue the—as you labeled them—wider implications.”
Crawford slowly nodded. “Sir Humphrey mentioned some letters you hold. If I could see them? Purely a formality.”
Sebastian gave him the letters; he kept them on him at all times.
After perusing the second, Crawford glanced sharply at him. “Why are you the last man Lord Ennis would want to see?”
Sebastian inwardly sighed and explained. He could almost see the obvious suspicion rise in Crawford’s mind, but then the inspector glanced at Antonia, then looked at Sir Humphrey, both of whom appeared bored and transparently saw nothing of concern in a long-ago liaison. Sebastian sensed Crawford’s bubble of suspicion deflating.
With that issue dealt with, the inspector humphed, glanced at the letters again, then refolded both and handed them back. “I agree that the best way forward is for us to work in parallel. It’s entirely possible, even likely, that someone here—almost certainly one of the guests—learned that Ennis was about to reveal something of vital importance regarding their efforts to you—to Winchelsea—and so killed Ennis before he could.”
Sebastian nodded. “If I’d found him a minute later, the killer would have succeeded, and we wouldn’t have learned anything.”
Crawford regarded him with a level gaze. “You might want to bear in mind that the killer might grow nervous over whether or not Ennis managed to say anything to you.”
“I took care to let everyone suppose that Ennis was already dead when I found him. At this point, only Sir Humphrey, you, and Lady Antonia”—Sebastian glanced briefly her way—“know that he managed to utter even those two words. Two words that raise more questions than they answer.”
The inspector nodded decisively. “I’ll leave you to pursue them. Meanwhile, Sir Humphrey and I will hunt our murderer.”
“I feel I should point out that, once you have him, Winchelsea and his masters will have a very real interest in interrogating him. They’ll want to learn all they can, not just about the details of whatever plot’s afoot but about the organization behind it.”
Crawford pulled a face. “We’ll deal with Whitehall’s interest once we have him. Meanwhile”—he looked at Antonia—“if you would, my lady, could you describe where the ladies were during the half hour before the murder was discovered?”
Antonia repeated the information she’d given Sir Humphrey, adding that, in her opinion, Miss Bilhurst was the definitive source on the ladies’ movements. “She was at the piano the entire time and had a clear view of the room and the door. Although she was playing most of the time, she’s accomplished enough to have been observing her audience more or less constantly.”
Crawford thanked her, then asked Sebastian to detail what he knew of when the other male guests left the dining room.
Sebastian obliged.
When he fell silent, Crawford looked over the notes he’d jotted down. “So Ennis left the dining room first, followed a short time later by McGibbin, Worthington, Filbury, Wilson, and Boyne. Exactly where they went, you can’t say, but some, at least, said they were headed for the billiards room. A bit after that, you left and walked onto the front terrace, leaving Parrish and Featherstonehaugh still seated at the table, talking.” The inspector looked up and met Sebastian’s eyes. “Is that correct?”
Sebastian nodded. “And when I came in from the terrace a few minutes before the hour and walked to the study, I didn’t see any of the others on the way.”
Crawford humphed. “I believe,” he said, glancing at Antonia, “that we can discount the ladies, at least for the role of murderer.” He looked at Sebastian, t
hen returned his gaze to Antonia. “I have one more question for both of you. When the alarm was raised, did you see anyone—anyone at all—whose reaction seemed odd or out of place? Did anyone behave in a way you wouldn’t have expected?”
Antonia exchanged a glance with Sebastian, then looked at the inspector and shook her head. “No. I saw no one behaving in any way oddly.”
Sebastian grimaced. “I didn’t actually see any of the guests—just Blanchard and two footmen, all of whom were shocked and aghast, as one might expect. I didn’t see anyone else until later, and by then everyone simply appeared shocked.”
Crawford slowly nodded as he scribbled another note in his book.
Then he looked up, his gaze once more sharp and incisive. “I understand from Sir Humphrey that you wish to ride somewhere.”
“There’s an old gentleman who, during autumn, usually rusticates nearby. He knows a great deal about politics and plots, and I’m hoping he might have some insight to offer into how best to respond to Ennis’s warning. I also need to get a message to Whitehall regarding Ennis’s death and his last words, preferably faster and with greater security than via the Royal Mail.”
“And this gentleman can arrange that?” Crawford looked skeptical.
Sebastian smiled. “If he’s in residence.” He uncrossed his legs and rose. “I propose to ride out with Lady Antonia and find out. His house is quite close. We should be back for luncheon.”
The inspector glanced at Sir Humphrey.
Sir Humphrey nodded. “Any help in this matter is to be welcomed.” The magistrate got to his feet as Antonia rose.
Crawford hurriedly stood and half bowed to her. “Lady Antonia.” Then he looked at Sebastian. “If you learn anything that sheds light on who the murderer might be—”
“We will bring it to your attention without delay.” With a faintly ruthless smile curving his lips, Sebastian inclined his head to Crawford. “I hope you will reciprocate should you discover anything pertinent to our interpretation of Ennis’s last words.”
“Of course.”
Antonia saw Sebastian hold the inspector’s gaze for a second, then he stepped back and waved her to the door.