Drew shook his head. “I think that will do nicely.”
He and Madeline slipped away just as Shaw was called back inside.
“Perhaps,” Drew said, taking his wife’s arm, “there’s more we can find out on our own. Mrs. Drummond was kind enough to give me the late Mr. Barnaby’s home address.”
Mr. Barnaby lived in a stylish Georgian home not half a mile from his office. Drew knocked on the front door, and after a silent moment, he and Madeline were admitted into the house by a young maid. The girl looked positively unsettled when Drew handed in his card and asked for Mr. Brogan.
“Mr. Brogan, sir? I don’t know—”
“We need to speak to him about Mr. Barnaby,” Drew prompted, “if you’ll be good enough to fetch him. May we speak to him in here?” He gestured toward the small parlor just off the front hallway. Finally, the perplexed girl showed them in.
No more than a minute later, a wizened little man came to the parlor door. “I’m told you wished to speak to me, sir.”
“Are you Brogan?” Drew asked. “Mr. Barnaby’s valet?”
The man inclined his balding head. “I am, sir. Well, valet and butler and whatever else is required. Of course, now there’s only the house to be closed up and Mr. Barnaby’s things to pack away. Is there something you wish to know?”
Drew motioned for him to come into the room and shut the door after him. “We’d like to know about Mr. Barnaby, if it’s not too much trouble.”
He sat on the striped divan across from the window overlooking the street, and Madeline sat next to him.
“I beg your pardon, sir, but are you with the police?” Brogan asked.
“No, but I was there when poor Miss Grahame discovered the body. I’m a relation of Lady Rainsby and looking into the matter of his lordship’s death for her. It’s a possibility that the two incidents are related.”
“I don’t know what I can tell you, sir. Mrs. Brogan, my wife, does the cooking, and she and Ella, the girl who let you in, do the cleaning and such. It’s not a large house, and Mr. Barnaby wasn’t one to entertain much, not more than once or twice in the year, so it was a rare occasion for him to have friends in. He was never one to take staff into his confidence.”
“He didn’t have a young lady he was seeing?” Drew asked.
The valet colored faintly. “Naturally, Mr. Barnaby had several lady friends he escorted to various functions. He was by no means a solitary gentleman, and he received many invitations.”
“Was there one in particular?” Madeline asked. “Perhaps one he was serious about?”
“I think there must have been someone he saw regularly in the past few weeks,” Brogan admitted. “Mr. Barnaby was a very private gentleman, of course, and he never brought his young ladies here, but I could tell all the same.”
“How did you know?” Drew asked.
“His wardrobe, sir. And his daily routine.”
Drew glanced at Madeline. “How do you mean?”
“He began dressing . . . differently,” Brogan said. “And he became quite particular about wearing scent, especially when he’d go into the office for the half day on Saturdays.”
Drew nodded. “What else was different?”
“I don’t precisely know how to describe it except to say he seemed to wish to appear as stylish as possible. As prosperous and fit as he was able. He began wearing lifts in his shoes, sir, and even, though I advised strongly against it, went to be fitted for a toupee. Of course, a gentleman of forty-seven will never be what he was at twenty-five, will he? And a woman—I mean, the right sort of woman—would understand that.”
Madeline shook her head in sympathy.
“Normally, it hadn’t been his habit to stay out late on Friday and Saturday nights,” Brogan continued. “He had his club in Edinburgh, if he wasn’t invited somewhere else, but even then he rarely stayed late. But for the last little while, he mightn’t come in at all. Even on a weeknight.”
“And he never mentioned the lady’s name?” Drew asked. “It wasn’t Schmidt by any chance?”
“Schmidt, sir?”
“Mr. Barnaby never mentioned anyone called Schmidt?”
“I have never heard him use that name,” the valet said. “But if it was a lady friend of his, he wouldn’t have. Still, I thought there might be an announcement of some kind forthcoming. He seemed quite enchanted with this one in particular.”
“How could you tell?”
The valet looked deeply troubled. “Upon at least three occasions, sir, he wore a corset.”
“Ah,” Drew said, determined to keep his expression as grave as the other man’s, “that is quite telling.”
“Yes, sir, it is. And now to know that this woman has gone and killed him, right there in his own office if you please, well, it’s not right. It’s just not right.”
Madeline’s eyebrows went up.
“Is that what you think happened?” Drew asked. “We hadn’t actually got that far along yet.”
“I don’t know for certain, sir,” Brogan said, looking faintly abashed. “But who else could it be? Poison like that? It must have been his young lady. A lovers’ quarrel, my missus says, and I can’t disagree.”
“I can’t disagree, either,” Drew told Madeline as they walked back to Thorburn Hall. “It does seem odd, though, that this mystery woman would kill him just after he gave important evidence about the will of a man who’d just been murdered, don’t you think?”
“True,” Madeline said, “and it seems, in the proverbial fit of jealous rage, the woman would be more likely to conk him over the head with the wine bottle rather than poison it ahead of time.”
“Precisely.” Drew frowned. “And if she does exist, what was this woman looking for in that locked drawer?”
“And what did she take from the office?” Madeline added.
Drew tapped one finger against his chin, thinking. “No, darling, it won’t do. There must have been a woman of some variety. Barnaby’s vain attempts to make himself look grand definitely point that way. The question is whether she was the same woman who poisoned that wine. Or if the one who poisoned the wine was a woman at all.”
Dinner at the Hall that night was a quiet affair, just Lady Louisa and Joan, the Pikes, and Drew and Madeline. Afterward the two couples played bridge, but Mrs. Pike could never remember what trumps were or that her husband was her partner and not her opponent, so it wasn’t a very entertaining match. Louisa was charming, if subdued, as she looked on, trying to help Mrs. Pike concentrate on the play, while Joan merely stood at the library window, smoking cigarette after cigarette as she stared at the darkness. It wasn’t until the game broke up and everyone was retiring for the night that Joan finally spoke.
“I’m out of cigarettes.”
Lady Louisa gave her a look of indulgent reproof as she rummaged in her handbag. “You smoke too much, dear. It’s not good for you.”
She fished out an unopened pack, and Joan took it without comment, immediately tearing it open and lighting up again. Drew watched her for a moment, and then caught a startled breath.
Everyone looked at him.
“I do beg your pardon,” he said, patting his chest with a look of discomfort. “Perhaps a bit too much dinner.”
“I’m so sorry.” Lady Louisa looked grieved. “If something didn’t agree with you, I’ll certainly speak to Cook about it in the morning.”
“No need. Truly, it’s nothing. Everything was divine, but I do think it’s time I escorted my wife back to The Swan and then retired. A good night’s sleep ought to put me right again.”
“Poor dear.” Madeline took his arm, patting it. “Good night, everyone. Dinner was lovely, Lady Louisa. Thank you.”
She walked him swiftly out of the library. “What is it?” she asked when they reached the front door, her voice low. “And don’t tell me it was too much dinner.”
He answered with a slight shake of his head and hurried her outside, saying nothing until she shut the door b
ehind them.
“Tell me. I know that look.”
“The cigarettes,” he said with a glance back at the house. “I hadn’t noticed it before, but Lady Louisa smokes the same brand as Joan.”
Madeline’s eyes widened. “Then she could have been the one coming from the cottage.”
“Or at least Joan might think she was, or question if she was. Little wonder she changed her mind about our investigating any further.”
“True,” Madeline murmured. “She’s already lost her father. I can hardly blame her for not wanting to lose her mother, too.”
He thought of his own mother, his natural mother, someone he knew nothing about. He’d been so involved in the case that he hadn’t really had time to consider again what he ought to do about her. If he told Mr. Whyland to keep looking for her, suppose his people actually found her. Suppose she was nothing like he imagined her to be. Suppose she had done something heinous, then what? He couldn’t blame Joan for not wanting to know something awful about her mother or even for trying to deny what she did know.
“Maybe it’s Tyler and not her mother she’s trying to protect,” he said. “Either way, it’s a bit twisted, but love is a funny thing.”
They walked along in the moonlight, the quiet broken only by the rush of water to the shore.
“So, would you?” he asked when they had almost reached the village.
“Would I what?”
“Would you still love me if you knew I had murdered someone? Someone you loved?”
“That’s a horrible question.” She tightened her hold on his arm. “I don’t even want to think about it.”
“But suppose I had. Would you?”
For a long moment, she studied his face. Then she looked away. “I don’t know. I suppose I’d wonder if you were ever the man I thought you were.” She smoothed his hair back at the temple, her eyes meeting his again. “The man I love.”
Perhaps no one ever knew such things until faced with them. She was right. It was a horrible question.
“I’m sorry, darling.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek and then her lips. “It was beastly of me to even ask. I promise never to put you in an awkward situation by murdering someone and then asking if you still love me.”
“Silly.” She pressed closer to him. “I wish you would just figure out who the murderer is so we can go home and get Carrie and Nick married.”
He chuckled and wrapped her in a tight hug. “You realize we have absolutely no say in the matter, don’t you?”
She nodded against his chest. “But it’s what I wish all the same.”
“Come along.” He tugged her hand, quickening his stride as they came into Gullane. The Swan was just down the street. “The two lovebirds have had all day to moon over each other. It’s up to us to bring them to their senses, at least until they reconvene tomorrow.”
They found Nick and Carrie in the inn’s otherwise-empty dining room, Mrs. Drummond doing her account books in one corner as they lingered over their hours-old supper. Reluctant to be parted themselves, Drew and Madeline sat a while, drinking coffee and sampling some of the landlady’s very excellent apple scones.
Finally, Drew and Nick escorted their ladies upstairs, made their farewells, and headed back toward Thorburn Hall. There were a lot of things Nick needed catching up on.
Drew had just come downstairs for breakfast the next morning when he heard Inspector Ranald and Sergeant Shaw at the door, asking to be announced to Lady Louisa. From behind the inspector, Shaw gave Drew a warning look.
“Good morning, Inspector,” Drew said, going over to shake the man’s hand. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”
“Mr. Farthering. No, I didn’t expect to be here as soon as this, either. In fact, I didn’t expect to be here at all.”
Drew glanced over his shoulder at Shaw, who was looking rather grim. “I take it you found out more about the Barnaby matter.”
Ranald gave a curt nod. “We did.”
“Well, come in, Inspector. I know Lady Rainsby wouldn’t want you standing on ceremony at this late date. She is the one you’ve come to see, isn’t she?”
“She is.”
“Is Lady Rainsby at breakfast, Twining?” Drew asked.
Although his demeanor was flawless, Twining’s tone as he surveyed the inspector was frigid. “I will see if she is receiving visitors.”
“And Miss Rainsby?”
“Miss Joan has gone out for the day.”
“Just as well,” Ranald said, and he fixed one glum eye on Drew. “The less I have to bother with people not actually involved in the case, the better.”
“As you say, sir.”
Once Twining had gone to speak to Lady Louisa, Drew turned to Inspector Ranald. “I realize you don’t want any interference from amateurs, Inspector, but Lady Rainsby is my cousin. I’d like to be of whatever help to her I’m able, if she’ll allow me.”
“Suit yourself.”
Ranald said no more until Twining returned.
“Her ladyship will receive you here, Inspector Ranald.” He led the three of them across to the drawing room.
Lady Louisa appeared a few minutes later, perfectly dressed and coiffed as always. “Good morning, Inspector. Sergeant.” She looked from one to the other, weary lines around her dark eyes. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“I presume your ladyship is aware of the murder of Mr. Hugh Barnaby.”
She nodded.
“We’ve thoroughly examined Mr. Barnaby’s office, and there are a few questions we would like to ask you.”
“Certainly.”
Drew came to stand behind her. “Would you like me to stay, or would you prefer to talk to Inspector Ranald alone?”
“Please stay, Drew dear.” She patted his hand. “Yes. Please.” She smiled distractedly. “Forgive me, all of you. Do sit down. Now, what is it, Inspector?”
“Has Mr. Barnaby been to your home at any time in the past few weeks, Lady Rainsby?”
She thought for a moment and then shook her head. “I don’t believe so. It’s possible my husband may have had him here, but if he had, he never told me about it.”
Ranald nodded. “Do you by chance own a sapphire-and-pearl bracelet? Earbobs and a cocktail ring to match?” He looked at his notebook. “A carved jade bracelet with gold fittings? A platinum-and-diamond necklace, hair clasp, and bracelets? Diamond-and-ruby marchioness necklace with matching earbobs?”
Lady Louisa’s forehead puckered. “Why, yes, Inspector. I do.”
“I’d like to see them, if you please, your ladyship.”
“If you like.”
She rang for her maid, and soon the girl came back, fidgeting as she stood there under everyone’s expectant eye.
“They’re not there, my lady,”
“What? That can’t be right, girl. Did you look in the jewelry case in the cupboard?”
“I did, my lady. They aren’t there.”
“Oh.” Lady Louisa got to her feet. “Lord Rainsby must have put them in the safe with the other jewelry. As you know, he was worried about things being taken. I’ll be just a moment.”
“We’ll go along, if we may,” the inspector said, his expression grim.
“If you like. It’s this way.”
She led them all into Lord Rainsby’s study where she removed from the wall a painting of an eighteenth-century hunt, revealing the door of a safe behind it. With a practiced hand, she turned the dial and then the handle, and the door swung open. She stood there a moment, unmoving, and then turned back to the others, her face perfectly white.
“They’re not here.” She pushed aside some of the other items in the safe, papers and a packet of ten-pound notes, a small wooden case that appeared to hold old coins. “They’re just not here.”
She took out a few pieces of jewelry, quality but not particularly impressive, but none of them could possibly be the items Ranald had described.
The inspector pursed his lips. “And how, my l
ady, would you account for their disappearance?”
“I—I don’t know.” She looked at Drew, tears filling her eyes. “I suppose they must have been stolen. I don’t know what else could have happened to them if they’re not in the cupboard with my other jewelry. Oh . . .” She held on to his arm as she sank into a nearby chair. “After everything else that’s happened, I don’t know what to do or think.”
He stood next to her, one hand on her shoulder. “I suppose you have a particular reason for asking, Inspector?”
Ranald kept his attention on Lady Louisa. “I would like to know where you were on Saturday night, my lady.”
The night Barnaby was killed. Drew didn’t like the covert look on the inspector’s face.
“Saturday night?” Louisa thought for a moment. “I—I was here, of course. I had dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Pike and my daughter, and then I went to my room.”
“And what time was that, my lady?”
“About eight-thirty, I believe. Before nine anyway.”
Ranald glanced at his sergeant with an almost imperceptible nod. “A bit early, wasn’t it, your ladyship?”
Lady Louisa’s hold on Drew’s arm tightened. “I had a monstrous headache and wanted to lie down.”
“I see.” Ranald noted her answer. “I suppose Mr. and Mrs. Pike can corroborate your story? And Miss Rainsby?”
“And the servants, if you like,” she said, the quaver in her voice taking the intended bite out of the words. “I went up to my room and took a headache powder and went to sleep. I didn’t wake up until the next morning. That was all.”
“I see,” Ranald repeated. “And where were you, Mr. Farthering?”
“I’m afraid Mr. Dennison and I were out at the time. We had dinner with my wife and her friend, Miss Holland, then spent a bit of time walking the beach. It was . . . after ten, I believe, when Nick and I got back to the Hall. Everyone was already in bed.”
“Right.” Ranald focused on Lady Louisa again. “Was it your maid who gave you the headache powder?”
“My daughter, actually,” she said, her voice cooler than before. “We both take them from time to time, but I had run out, so she got me one of hers.”
Death at Thorburn Hall Page 18
