by Anne Perry
There was another crash and she nearly jumped out of her skin. It was only a looking glass falling and breaking. There was a horrible smell, and dust everywhere, clouds of it. It would take weeks to get rid of all this.
People were coming from every direction. Thank heaven there was Mr. Radley. Mrs. Radley was flying at Mr. Pitt, shouting at him. Understandable, perhaps, but she still didn’t ought to do it.
Tellman was standing close behind her. “You all right?” he demanded.
“Yes, course I’m all right!” she assured him with an effort. Pitt was safe, and Charlotte was coming across the hall, white-faced but unhurt. “Thank you,” she added.
“There’s nothing you can do here,” he went on. “There’ll be a lot of tidying up to do later, but for now we need to know what happened, and we don’t want anything moved.”
“I know that!” she said hotly. Of course she knew it. Did he think she was stupid?
Someone spoke McGinley’s name.
Doyle’s valet was standing next to the stairs.
There was a smell of burning. Someone was calling for water.
Suddenly Gracie saw Finn half sitting on the floor, a footman supporting him and Charlotte close by. Her stomach lurched. She slipped past Miss Moynihan and Miss Baring and went over to Charlotte.
“Wot ’appened?” she asked as loudly as she dared. “Is ’e … all right?” She was looking at Finn.
“Yes, he’s all right,” Charlotte whispered back. “Mr. McGinley went into the study and somehow triggered off a bomb made of dynamite.”
“Is ’e dead?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so. He must have been right by the blast.”
Gracie caught her breath and nearly choked from the dust in the air.
“That’s terrible! Them Irish is mad! ’Oo’s this goin’ ter ’elp?”
“No one,” Charlotte said softly. “Hennessey says Mr. McGinley knew it was there and was trying to make it safe, but it must have been so finely balanced it went off anyway.”
“Poor soul.” Gracie was wrenched by sadness for him. “Per’aps ’e were so brave ’cos o’ Mrs. McGinley bein’ off wi’ Mr. Moynihan, like? Maybe ’e were ’urt so bad—” She stopped. She should not have said that. It was not her place.
“ ’E were very brave,” she added. She looked at Charlotte, then at Finn.
Charlotte gave her a little nudge.
Gracie went over and knelt down beside Finn. He seemed stunned, still only partially sensible of where he was. His face and clothes were filthy from the dust and smoke, and beneath the soot he was ashen skinned.
“I’m ever so sorry,” she said softly. She put her hand out and slid it over his, and he gripped it gratefully. “Yer gotta be brave, like ’e were,” she went on. “ ’E were a real ’ero.”
He stared at her, his eyes wide, almost hollow with shock and hurt.
“I don’t understand it!” he said desperately. “It shouldn’t have happened! He knew dynamite! He should …” He shook his head as if to clear it. “He should have been able to … to make it all right.”
“D’yer know ’oo put it there?” she asked.
“What?”
“D’yer know ’oo put the dynamite there?” she repeated.
“No. No, of course I don’t,” he replied. “Or I’d have said, wouldn’t I?”
“ ’Ow’d poor Mr. McGinley know it were there?”
He turned away. “I don’t know.”
Instantly she was ashamed. She should not be asking him all these questions when he was shocked and bruised and grieved. She should be trying to comfort him.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “ ’cos you don’t understand it. I don’t s’pose nobody does, ’ceptin’ ’im wot put it there, an’ maybe not even ’im neither. Yer’d better come away and sit down for a while, quiet like. Mr. Dilkes won’t mind if yer ’ave a drop o’ ’is brady. Gawd knows, yer need it. Everybody needs time an’ a spot o’ ’elp ter get an ’old o’ themselves.”
He looked back at her. “You’re very sweet, Gracie.” He swallowed, took a very deep, shaky breath, and swallowed again. “I just don’t know how it could have happened!”
“Mr. Pitt’ll find out,” she answered him, trying to convince herself as well. “Come back ter Mrs. Hunnaker’s room an’ sit down. There’ll be lots o’ things ter do soon enough.”
“Yes …” he agreed. “Yes, of course.” And he allowed her to help him to his feet and, after thanking the footman, to lead him out of the dusty hall back through the green baize door and to Mrs. Hunnaker’s sitting room, where there was nobody to give or deny them entrance. She made him sit down, and then in the absence of the butler to grant her brandy, went to the cooking cupboard and helped herself to a stiff glass of sherry and took it back. Let Mrs. Williams quarrel about that later. She sat opposite him, watching him carefully, trying to comfort him, aching for his confusion and his loss.
By the time Tellman came to ask both of them where they had been all morning, and what they had seen, Finn was almost himself again.
Tellman stood just inside the doorway, his body angular, his shoulders stiff. He looked thoroughly disapproving as he stared at Gracie, sitting perched on the housekeeper’s second-best chair, and Finn, slumped in the best.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hennessey,” he said grimly. “I don’t like having to ask you when you just lost someone you’re close to, but we got to know what happened. Someone put that dynamite there. Probably the same person as killed Mr. Greville.”
“Of course …” Finn agreed, looking up at him. “I don’t know who it was.”
“Maybe not outright, or you’d have said.” Tellman was holding a pencil and paper in his hands, ready to write down what was said. “But you may ’ave seen more than you realize. What did you do from seven o’clock this morning?”
“Why seven?”
“Just answer, Mr. Hennessey.” Tellman’s temper was shorter than he was willing to have known. There was a muscle flicking on his temple and his lips were white. Gracie realized with sudden surprise what a weight of responsibility Tellman had and how worried he must be. He knew exactly how far he and Pitt were from finding a solution, what a failure this whole task had been so far, and how it was getting no better even as the minutes passed. She should be helping him. After all, he was Pitt’s assistant. That was her real duty. She certainly should not be allowing his manner to put her off.
“You want to know who done that to Mr. McGinley, don’t yer?” she said urgently to Finn. “Any of us may ’ave seen summink.” She turned back to Tellman.
“I din’t come down till long after seven. First off, o’ course, I got up and dressed meself, then I made sure the mistress’s dressin’ room fire were lit an’ burnin’ proper. Then I fetched ’ot water for ’er ter wash in. I asked ’er if she wanted a cup o’ tea, but she didn’t. Then I got a cup o’ tea for Mr. Pitt, seein’ ’is valet were neglectful.” She gave him a meaningful look. He glared back at her but refrained from saying anything, although she could see his response in his eyes.
“And …” he prompted.
“An’ I ’elped ’er ter dress an’ do ’er ’air ….”
“How long did that take?” he asked with what she was sure was an edge of sarcasm.
“I don’ sit an’ watch the clock, Mr. Tellman. But since I were doin’ the work fer two,* longer than most.”
“You never helped the superintendent to dress?” he said with final incredulity.
“Course I didn’t! But I fetched water and brushed ’is shoes an’ ’is jacket, seein’ as ’is valet’s a useless article and were nowhere ter be seen. Then I came downstairs ter bring down the laundry an’ I passed Doll, that’s Mrs. Greville’s maid, on the stairs an’ ’ad a word wif ’er—”
“That doesn’t help,” Tellman interrupted.
“An’ about quarter ter nine I go to find Mrs. Pitt ter ask ’er about what she’d like ter wear for dinner, an’ I sees Miss Moynihan come down the fr
ont stairs and go ter the mornin’ room, an’ Mrs. McGinley in the conservatory wi’ Mr. Moynihan, standin’ much too close ter the door for the likes o’ wot they were doin’….”
Tellman pulled a face, from which his contempt was obvious.
Finn smiled as if he saw some bitter humor in that love affair.
“Go on,” Tellman said sharply. “Did you see anyone else?”
“Yeh. Mr. Doyle were leavin’ the ’all an’ goin’ ter the side door.”
“To where?”
“Ter the garden, o’ course.”
“What time?”
“I dunno. Ten minutes afore nine, mebbe?”
“You sure it was Mr. Doyle?”
“Don’ look funny at me like that! I know better than to say it were if I wasn’t sure. You jus’ remember I work in Mr. Pitt’s ’ouse, an’ I know as much about some of ’is cases as whatever you do.”
“Rubbish,” he said derisively.
“Oh, yes I do! ’cos I knows wot Mrs. Pitt does, an’ Mrs. Radley … an’ that’s more’n wot you do.”
He glared at her. “You got no business meddlin’ in police cases. Like as not you’ll do more harm than good and get yourself hurt, you stupid little girl!”
Gracie was cut to the core. She could think of no retaliation which was even remotely adequate to the insult, but she would remember it, so when the opportunity arose, she would crush him.
Tellman turned to Finn. “Mr. Hennessey, would you please tell me what you did, and anybody you saw, from seven o’clock onwards, and when you saw them. And don’t forget Mr. McGinley himself. That may help us to know how he learned about the dynamite but no one else did.”
“Yes …” Finn still looked very shaky. He had to make a considerable effort to keep his voice steady. “Like Gracie, the first thing I did was get up and shaved and dressed, then I went to Mr. McGinley’s dressing room to make sure the housemaid had lit the fire, which she had, and it was all cleaned and dusted properly. The servants here are very good.”
He did not see Tellman’s lip curl or see him take a long breath and let it out in a sigh.
“I prepared the washstand, laid out the hairbrush, nail brush, toothbrush, and fetched the ewer of hot water, laid out the dressing gown and slippers in front of the fire to warm. Then I sharpened the razor on the strop as usual, but Mr. McGinley likes to shave himself, so I just left it all ready for him.”
“What time was this?” Tellman said sourly.
“Quarter before eight,” Finn replied. “I told you.”
Tellman wrote it down. “Do you know when Mr. McGinley left his room?”
“For breakfast?”
“For anything.”
“He went down for breakfast about quarter past eight, I imagine. I don’t know because I left him just before that to clean his best boots. I needed to make more blacking.”
“Make it? Don’t you buy it, like anyone else?”
Finn’s face showed his disdain. “Bought polish has sulfuric acid in it. It rots leather. Any decent gentleman’s gentleman knows how to make it.”
“Not being a gentleman’s gentleman, I wouldn’t know,” Tellman responded.
“Twelve ounces each of ivory black and treacle, four ounces each of spermaceti oil and white wine vinegar,” Finn informed him helpfully. “Mix them thoroughly, of course.”
“Where did you do this?” Tellman was unimpressed.
“Boot room, of course.”
“You went down the men’s stairs at the back?”
“Naturally.”
“See anyone?”
“Wheeler, Mr. Doyle’s man, the buüer Dükes, and two footmen whose names I don’t know.”
“Did you go into the front of the house at all?” Tellman persisted.
“I went across the hall to fetch the newspapers to iron.”
“What?”
“I went across the hall to fetch the newspapers to iron them,” Finn repeated. “I wanted to see if there was anything in them about Mr. Parnell. I saw Mr. Doyle coming downstairs.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“Where did he go? Into the dining room?”
“No. He went in the other direction, but I don’t know where to. I went back through the baize door with the newspapers.”
“Then what?” Tellman had his pencil poised, his eyes on Finn.
Finn hesitated.
“Yer gotta tell ’im,” Gracie urged. “It’s important.”
Finn looked wretched.
Gracie longed to lean forward and touch his hands again, but she could not do it in front of Tellman.
Tellman licked the end of his pencil.
“Mr. McGinley sent for me,” Finn said shakily.
“From where? Where was he?” Tellman asked.
“What? Oh, in his room, I expect. Yes, in his room. But I met him as he was coming across the landing. He told me to go with him and to stand in the hall while he went into Mr. Radley’s study. He said someone had put dynamite there and he was going to … to make it safe.”
“I see. Thank you.” Tellman took a deep breath. “I’m sorry about Mr. McGinley. Looks like he died a hero.”
“Somebody murdered him,” Finn said between his teeth. “I hope you get the son of the devil who did it and hang him as high as Nelson’s column.”
“I expect we will.” Tellman looked at Gracie as if he wanted to say something further, but he changed his mind and went out. Gracie turned back to Finn, longing to be able to help. She could guess at the grief and shock which must be tearing at him, and soon it would be fear for himself also. With McGinley dead he would have no position. He would have to start looking for a new place, with all the difficulty, hardship and anxiety that was. She smiled at him tentatively, not to mean anything, except that she understood and she cared.
He smiled back and reached up with his hand to touch hers.
* * *
Pitt found Tellman about an hour later, standing in the havoc of the study.
“What did you learn?” he asked quietly. The door had not yet been replaced.
Tellman recounted to Pitt what Finn had told him.
“That’s more or less what we know.” Pitt nodded. “Anything else?”
“Maid came in and lit the fire just after seven this morning,” Tellman replied, consulting his notebook. “She dusted the desk and refilled the inkstand and checked there was enough paper, wax, sand, tapers, and so on. She opened the drawer down this side because that’s where they’re kept. There was nothing wrong with it then. And she’s been with the house since Lord Ashworth’s time.”
“So it was after seven this morning, and the bomb went off at about twenty-five to ten. That’s two and a half hours.”
“All the servants were either upstairs or in the servants’ hall having their own breakfast,” Tellman replied. “Or else about their duties in the laundry, the stillroom or wherever it is they do these things. I never imagined there was so much to do to keep half a dozen ladies and gentlemen turned out as they like to be, and fed, housed and entertained.” His face expressed very clearly his opinion of the morality of that.
“Could any of them have come through and put the dynamite in here?” Pitt made no comment on the number of the servants.
“No. It’d take a fair while to set up a bomb with dynamite, and something to trigger it off when Mr. Radley opened the drawer. You couldn’t just put it in and run away.”
“It seems all the women were either with their maids or else at breakfast, and then with each other,” Pitt said slowly. He had spoken to them all, although he had never seriously thought that it would turn out to be a woman who had put the dynamite in Jack’s study. “Except Mrs. Greville. Not unnaturally, she still likes to spend some time alone.”
Tellman said nothing.
“That leaves the men,” Pitt said somberly. “Which means either Moynihan or Doyle. Piers Greville was with Miss Baring.”
“Moynihan was in the conservatory
with Mrs. McGinley,” Tellman said with a shake of his head. “Your Gracie saw them there. Of course, there’s nothing to say they didn’t do it together, to get rid of McGinley so they could marry each other … if that sort like to marry.”
“They’d marry,” Pitt said dryly, “if they could ever settle on which church … if either would have them. I gather both sides feel very strongly about not marrying the other.”
Tellman rolled his eyes very slightly. “He’s daft enough about her he would have killed her husband, and I wouldn’t swear she’d not have helped him. Then there is Doyle,” Tellman pointed out. “He was seen in the hall twice, once by Hennessey and once by Gracie.”
“I think I had better go and speak to Mr. Doyle,” Pitt said with reluctance. He knew Eudora was afraid for her brother. She had been since Greville’s death. With McGinley’s death she would be more so … perhaps with cause. Pitt did not want to think so, for he had liked the man. But the fact that McGinley had been the only one aware of the dynamite, apart from whoever placed it there, made it look more and more as if it could have been Doyle. Had they quarreled about the ways of bringing about the ends they both sought? And had Doyle been prepared to use more violence, and McGinley guessed it?
They met in the boudoir, Eudora standing by the window. She watched them both, her eyes going from Padraig’s face to Pitt’s and back again.
“Yes, I crossed the hall,” Padraig admitted, a flash of anger in his eyes. “I did not go into the study. I went from the front door to the side door to see what the weather was like, then I went back upstairs.”
“No, you didn’t, Mr. Doyle,” Pitt said quietly. “You were seen in the hall after Hennessey collected the papers to iron them.”
“What?” Doyle demanded.
Eudora looked terrified. She stood like a cornered animal, as if she would flee if there were only a way past them. She looked at Padraig, then at Pitt, and he felt the force of her plea for help even though she did not speak it.
