by Sara Rosett
“So it’s as we thought. Someone struck Mr. Payne on the head, then dragged him to the fountain in the hope that it would be assumed an accident. Such a disturbing thought.” Knowing another person, a medical authority—even a drunk medical authority—agreed with our assessment made the situation more distressing than when we’d been speculating about what had happened.
“Seems that way, doesn’t it?”
“But what does that mean for Peter? Did the doctor have any thoughts on that? Did he agree that if Peter was in the midst of reliving some sort of memory that he was on the battlefield, he wouldn’t do something like that? It’s too elaborate, isn’t it?”
“I couldn’t pin Dr. Grimshaw down to anything specific on that topic, but the chatter at the pub tonight was all about how awful it was that young Peter had cracked up and killed someone. Even the good doctor said it was regretful.”
I straightened, shifting forward to the edge of the chair. “That’s horrid. How could the villagers say that? They’ve known Peter all his life.”
Jasper levered himself off the edge of the table and put a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll put it all to rights—tomorrow. Thankfully, you have some experience in this sort of thing. Now I must toddle back to my room, or else I’ll curl up here on your floor and fall asleep like a faithful hound.” Jasper wove his way to the door, which he had trouble opening. “Now, when did they add those extra doorknobs? Must cause no end of confusion.”
“I think you’ll find it’s all much clearer in the morning.” I reached around him and opened the door. After a quick check that the corridor was deserted, I asked, “Do you think you’re all right to make it to your room?”
“Oh yes. Just down the hall—no worries. Grigsby will be there to scold me about the stickiness on my tailcoat and tuck me in, tutting like Nanny. Good night, fair Olive.”
He paused for a moment and swayed toward me, his face rapt as he looked into my eyes. My pulse did a lively foxtrot as his gaze dropped to my lips, and I realized I wanted to lift my chin and lean toward him. He drew back sharply and let out a shuddery breath as he turned away.
I watched him for a moment as he made his unsteady way down the hall in a serpentine path, weaving toward the massive medieval tapestry that hung on the wall, then redirecting his steps. I thought he was going to collide with the glass-fronted antiquities cabinet, but he straightened his course at the last moment, and only his shoulder grazed it. Otherwise, he made it to his room without incident.
I closed my door, took a deep breath to calm my heartbeat, and realized I hadn’t even told Jasper about my conversation with Miss Miller. It was probably better that I hadn’t. He might not have remembered it. I’d tell him in the morning.
I sat down at the dressing table and creamed my face, my thoughts on Jasper. I’d had a pash for him years ago, but we were friends now—good friends—chums, even. But the way he’d looked at me . . . I blew out another breath. That was so much more than a friendly look. I picked up my comb. What would I have done if he’d kissed me? Would I have kissed him back? We’d come to such a nice place. He was the only person I trusted implicitly. Did I want to risk losing that?
Oh, why was I even pondering this? In the morning Jasper probably wouldn’t even remember that little tug I’d felt between us. It was only a typical male reaction to the scent of roses and a woman in her dressing gown.
I screwed the lid onto the cold cream and climbed into bed, determinedly turning my thoughts away from Jasper and focusing on Payne instead. Who hated him so much?
Chapter Ten
The first thing I noticed when I walked into the breakfast room the next morning was Mr. Quigley the parrot perched on the back of Deena’s chair. I did a quick survey of the room for Aunt Caroline, but she wasn’t present, thank goodness. I was sure she wouldn’t appreciate a houseguest bringing a bird into the breakfast room.
Deena saw my hesitation and waved her fork over her shoulder. “Don’t worry. Mr. Quigley is very well behaved. He doesn’t like to be closed up in the room all day alone, and the conservatory is still blocked off. They’re searching for evidence, I suppose.”
I filled my plate and returned to the table.
Deena picked up her toast. “I do hope the police chaps hurry. It’s most inconvenient to not have access to the conservatory.” She pitched her voice higher. “Does Mr. Quigley want some bread?” She broke off a corner of the toast and offered it to the parrot.
He made a trilling sound and announced, “I am the bread of life,” then plucked the food from Deena’s fingers.
Deena twisted in her chair. “Mr. Quigley! You can talk! You naughty bird. You’ve been holding out on me. What else can you say?”
Mr. Quigley inched sideways across the back of Deena’s chair. Deena swiveled around, following the bird’s progress as he transferred to the other side of the chair back. She held out another tidbit of bread. Mr. Quigley snapped it up, then flitted to the top of the hutch. Deena returned her attention to her plate, cutting into her kippers. “What a funny thing to say.”
“You did say he was owned by a missionary, didn’t you?” I asked.
Deena tilted her head. “Yes, but I don’t see what that has to do with it.”
Father, who’d been filling his plate at the sideboard, turned to her. “The reference is John six thirty-five. ‘I am the bread of life. He that cometh to me shall never hunger; and he that believeth on me shall never thirst.’”
“Oh,” Deena said. “How . . . um, clever of Mr. Quigley.” She looked less than delighted with the parrot’s skill. “Well, perhaps he knows other things too, like quotes or poetry.”
Father sat down beside me. “Yes, maybe something from the Psalms.”
Deena said, “Er—yes.”
Father leaned toward me as he reached for his flatware and said in a low voice, “Although, I don’t think it’s appropriate to make light of the Scripture.”
“I think it’s better than Mr. Quigley coming out with salty language.”
Father considered, then dipped his head in acknowledgment. “That’s true. The Word doesn’t return void.” He paused, shook his head, and buttered his toast. “However, I can’t say I’ve heard of a parrot spreading the Good News. Always a first time, I suppose.”
Jasper sat at the far end of the table, sipping a milky yellow concoction. With his careful movements and dark circles under his eyes, he almost looked worse than Peter, who was beside him. Peter lifted his black coffee and sipped from it every few minutes in a rote sort of way. The skin around his eye was beginning to turn blue and deep purple, and his shoulders were tense. He stared at his coffee cup in an unseeing way that indicated his thoughts were far from the breakfast room.
Mr. Quigley squawked, and the crystal in the chandelier trembled. Jasper winced and put a hand to his temple.
Gwen was on my other side. She didn’t even jump at Mr. Quigley’s sharp call. All her attention was focused across the table on Peter. “You’d feel better if you ate something,” she said to him. Gwen was ignoring her own advice as she moved eggs around her plate.
“I doubt it.” Peter finished his coffee. “Time for me to make my rounds.”
Gwen set up straighter. “Where are you going?”
“I need to check the bees, and then I have to discuss repairs to some of the farm equipment with the men.”
Gwen put down her fork. “You can’t go on with your day as if nothing happened.”
“That’s exactly what I have to do.” Peter pushed back his chair. “It’s the only way I’ve been able to get on since the war, old thing. Can’t change now.”
Gwen looked from him to Jasper, clearly hoping Jasper would intercept Peter, but Jasper was downing the rest of his odd-colored drink in several swift gulps. Peter paused at Gwen’s chair on his way around the table. He didn’t say anything, just squeezed her shoulder then moved on.
Inspector Longly entered the breakfast room just before Peter reached the door.
“Good morning, Mr. Stone. I need to speak with you.”
“Certainly.”
“Thank you. One moment.” Longly addressed the room, “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.” Everyone stopped eating and turned to Longly. “I know some of you planned to depart either tomorrow or Monday, but everyone must stay here for the time being—except, of course, Mr. and Mrs. Belgrave,” Longly said with a nod in Father’s direction. “Returning to your home in Nether Woodsmoor would be acceptable.” His gaze swept the room. “Everyone else needs to remain here. Sir Leo and Lady Caroline have graciously agreed to extend their hospitality a few more days. I apologize for any inconvenience.”
Longly turned back to Peter, and I looked at Gwen. She’d be the one coordinating food and seeing to the guests if we all stayed on for an extended time, but her gaze was fixed on Peter.
Longly had drawn him to the side of the room, but his quiet words were still audible as he said to Peter, “Would you be so kind as to accompany me to the police station in the village?”
The clink of flatware against china had resumed, but it stopped again.
Peter squared his shoulders and gave a nod. “Of course.” I thought it was probably the same type of response he’d have given to a commanding officer during the war. He was obeying an order, not fulfilling a request.
Gwen stood, her chair rocking at her abrupt movement. I steadied it as she said, “There’s no need for Peter to go down to the police station. Surely you can ask your questions here at Parkview?”
Longly turned, his posture stiff as he answered Gwen. “I’m afraid it’s not at my discretion. The superintendent insists.”
What an awkward situation for Longly—a houseguest put in charge of investigating his hosts. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone was sent to replace him soon. Or perhaps the superintendent was taking charge now.
Gwen must have missed the miserable look in Longly’s eyes because she fisted her hands. “Surely you can convince the superintendent that’s not necessary.”
“I’ve tried. He’s adamant.”
I pushed back my chair and moved around the table. Gwen rarely became angry, but if someone she loved was threatened, she was rather like a mother bear protecting her cubs. I wanted to intercede before things escalated between her and Longly. “Inspector, if I could have a moment of your time?”
“I’m afraid—”
“I assure you it’s important. I wouldn’t interrupt you otherwise.” I lowered my voice. “It concerns a person who was in the conservatory last night but was afraid to speak up about it.”
Longly had been watching Gwen out of the corner of his eye, but that statement drew his attention. He turned fully to me. “Indeed?”
I gestured to the hallway. “Perhaps I could tell you a bit more?”
I’d stopped by Miss Miller’s room on my way down to breakfast and found her bright-eyed and munching away on a piece of toast heavy with marmalade. I’d reminded her of her promise to speak to the inspector, and she’d sighed. “Yes, I can see now that I’ve calmed down that it’s something that must be done—like taking a horrible tonic when one has a cough. Best get it over with as soon as possible.”
Longly glanced at Peter, then said to me, “Yes, I suppose I’d better see to this now.” He turned to Peter. “I suggest you remain here at Parkview this morning.”
Peter gave a little half bow. “I await your summons.”
Longly followed me down the hall to one of the window alcoves, which was bright with morning sunlight. The clouds and drizzle were gone, but it was chilly despite the sunshine. I crossed my arms as the coolness penetrated the tall panes of glass. I relayed to Inspector Longly what Miss Miller had told me the evening before, concluding with, “I convinced Miss Miller it would be in her best interest to speak to you this morning and inform you of her presence in the conservatory. She’d like me to be with her when she speaks to you.”
“Back to your meddling ways, I see.” Out of the breakfast room and away from the tension between Peter and Gwen, Longly had relaxed slightly. He almost looked like his old self, and although I didn’t like the insinuation that I was interfering, I was glad to see him less anxious.
“I can’t help it if people tell me things,” I said.
“Interesting how often that occurs.”
“Perhaps if people weren’t afraid of speaking with you, they might not confide in me.”
“Am I that fearsome?” His gaze strayed back to the breakfast room as Gwen came out of the doorway. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at Longly, then she turned and marched away.
“Gwen is fiercely loyal,” I said. “She’s trying to protect Peter.”
“I understand that. But I must do my job.” The tension in his posture was back. “Perhaps you could summon Miss Miller and meet me in the library.”
“Thank you for telling me what happened, Miss Miller.” Inspector Longly closed his notebook and gave a nod to the sergeant, who’d sat at the far end of the table, writing down everything Miss Miller said.
Miss Miller watched the sergeant depart, then said, “I do hope you’re able to keep information of such a delicate nature . . . quiet.”
It was a good thing Miss Miller had brought a fresh handkerchief to the interview. She’d given the delicate fabric quite a working over, twisting, turning, and crumpling it as she answered Longly’s questions.
“I’ll do my best to make sure it’s not shared, and I’ll see your letter is returned to you as soon as possible,” Longly said as he tucked Miss Miller’s letter into the pocket of his suit jacket. When Miss Miller had told him she’d retrieved the letter from Payne’s body, the inspector had asked to see it. Miss Miller had hesitated a moment, then taken it out of her dress pocket, saying, “I thought I should keep it with me.”
I’d had to do very little during the interview. My only role in the proceedings had been to sit beside Miss Miller and nod encouragingly at critical points.
As the envelope disappeared into Longly’s pocket, Miss Miller crushed her handkerchief into a clump. “Oh, must you keep it?”
“I promise I’ll return it to you at the first possible moment.”
His sincere tone must have convinced her he’d keep his word. “Thank you, Inspector. I do appreciate it. And if you could do so in private? It could be so embarrassing—”
“Yes. Right. Well, I don’t want to keep you from the rest of your day.”
I hid a smile. Longly was adept at interviewing people. He’d managed to curtail many of Miss Miller’s ramblings and kept her to the point, which I considered an achievement.
Longly’s words were a dismissal of me as well. We all stood, and as Miss Miller and I left, Longly had already turned to the sergeant who’d been taking notes at the far end of the table. “Sir Leo said yesterday that he purchased three maps from Mr. Payne. Let’s request to see those . . .”
Outside the library, Miss Miller and I paused. She patted my hand. “Thank you, dear. It wasn’t nearly as ghastly as I feared. Now, Lady Caroline is expecting me to play a few rounds of bridge this morning. I believe Miss Stone and Miss Lacey will be there. Will you join us?”
I couldn’t sit at a card table. I’d be a poor partner. I had too much on my mind. “No, thank you. You go ahead.” I wondered how Aunt Caroline could concentrate on bridge, but she was an excellent hostess and would make sure her guests were entertained despite a police investigation going on around her.
As Miss Miller went on her way, I considered where I might find Jasper. He would have finished breakfast by now. He was probably in the billiard room. With its wood paneling, it was nice and dark, a perfect location for someone recovering from a hangover on a brilliantly sunny day. The sergeant returned, darting by me into the library, his face tinged with excitement. I lingered outside the open library doors.
His animated voice carried. “Inspector, I think you’ll want to see Mr. Payne’s room. Once the lads finished in the conservatory, they moved to the victim’s bedchamber,
and it’s a right mess, it is. Someone’s tossed it.”
“What? I locked that room last night myself,” Longly said, his words growing louder at the end of the sentence.
I scooted away from the door and was on the lowest steps of the staircase seconds later when Longly and the sergeant passed me with quick nods, their feet beating out a fast tattoo as they trotted up the stairs. I drifted along in their wake until they came to the green room, which had been Payne’s.
Inspector Longly stood just inside the threshold, his hand braced on his hip. “It certainly didn’t look like this last evening.”
I hovered a few steps away, but I could see around him. The guest room with emerald-colored damask silk walls was a mess.
The contents of the wardrobe and every drawer had been tossed on the ground. Some of the room’s paintings tilted at odd angles, while others lay on the floor. The Hepplewhite desk chair had been overturned, and the bed was stripped of its sheets and blankets. Two police constables were moving around the room, examining the items that covered the floor.
The sergeant gestured to the door. “The lock must have been picked, sir. The door was shut but unlocked when they arrived.”
Longly asked, “Have they found the maps?”
“No, sir.”
“Sir Leo said he bought three of the six maps Mr. Payne showed him,” Longly said. “I’d expect to find the remaining three here, but no trace of them, you say?”
“None. In fact, they’ve found nothing interesting at all. Only Mr. Payne’s personal belongings—clothes and a shaving kit—and that envelope.” He gestured to a white envelope, likely taken from the writing paper stocked in the desk from the look of the heavy paper. “That one there, under the desk. No one’s touched it yet.”
Longly took a single glove from his pocket and braced it against his hip as he worked his hand into with a practiced motion before he picked up the envelope.
