“She was just being nice.” Madeline sat at the dressing table and began removing her jewelry. “Mr. Gray and Frances are awful bullies. Even you must have pitied poor Morris.”
“I did and I do. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a man more unhappy with the realities of his life. He and Frances seem entirely unsuited for each other.”
“That doesn’t mean he and Sabrina are involved.”
“No,” Drew said, standing behind her so he could see into the mirror as he unknotted his tie. “But I’ve been thinking about that old kiln out on the moor. I thought it was odd finding those books there and that bottle of expensive wine. What if that’s not the hiding place of our murderer but something a little more mundane?”
Madeline wrinkled her nose. “Nasty place for a lovers’ meeting, isn’t it?”
“Not exactly the Ritz, I’ll grant you, but there’s an awfully slim chance of being caught there. And Sabrina does enjoy her solitary walks out on the moor.”
Madeline pursed her lips as she reached back to unfasten her necklace. She swatted Drew’s hand when he tried to help her.
“I went out walking with her every time she’s gone since we got here. She never once went that way.”
“Exactly.”
“And what does that mean?”
“She made sure to take you along, proving she does nothing but walk her dog, well away from the kiln.”
She turned to him, eyes flashing. “And if she had gone that way, you would have seen that as proof, too.”
He narrowed his eyes at her, determined to be offended, but he couldn’t quite manage it and laughed instead. “You know, I expect I would have.” He sighed and slouched against the corner of the dressing table. “Whatever are you going to do with so hopeless a wretch?”
She tugged the loose ends of his tie to pull him down to her for a brief kiss. “I think you’re mistaken about Sabrina, but I’m not absolutely sure. If you hadn’t been so determined Beaky was being wronged before we even came up here, I might have agreed with you by now. But I just don’t see it. Delwyn, perhaps.”
He pulled her up into his arms. “So you like the rugged type, eh? All that hair and dark mystery?”
“He could be attractive,” she said, just to pique him. “To some women.”
“I see.”
She kissed his nose. “That’s Delwyn, though. Morris? I just can’t see it.”
“I don’t know.” He thought for a moment. “It was rather telling when he mentioned the marriage of true minds. He certainly hasn’t got that with Frances.”
“No. However did they end up together?”
“But he and Sabrina did seem to enjoy talking about plays and the arts in general. It was all a bit too chummy, don’t you think?”
“I do not think.” She wriggled away from him and went into the bathroom to turn on the water in the sink. “It means only that she’s a good conversationalist. Isn’t that what we’re all taught to do? Find something that interests the other person and then let him talk about it?”
She had him there. It was one of the most basic tenets of social grace.
He sat on the bed and removed his shoes. “True, darling, true. I promise you, I am trying my best not to leap to any disastrous conclusions. But I mustn’t discount any possibilities either.”
He heard nothing in response but the rustle of silk and then a bit of splashing, but soon she came out of the bathroom in just her slip, carrying her dress over one arm. She hung the dress in the armoire and then sat herself on the bed beside him, her arms around his waist.
“I guess it wouldn’t hurt for me to keep an open mind, too. I don’t really know Sabrina well enough to say what she might or might not do. I just wish we had more to go on.”
He squeezed her close and kissed her fragrant hair. “We will, darling. We will.”
Thirteen
After breakfast the next morning, Drew tapped on the open door to Beaky’s study. Beaky sat at his desk, his brow furrowed in concentration over the letter he was reading, but it smoothed when he looked up and saw Drew.
“Oh, come in. Come in. I was hoping you’d pop by.”
Drew came to the desk, taking a quick glance at the variety of envelopes scattered there, most of them still unopened. “Something about the case?”
Beaky shook his head. “Nothing about that, I’m afraid. But I did get an answer from the asylum, and now I’m more puzzled than ever.”
“Oh, yes?”
Beaky handed him the letter. The letterhead gave an address in Norfolk.
My dear Mr. Bloodworth,
Thank you for your kind inquiry regarding support of St. Anthony’s Mental Hospital. As I mentioned in my earlier letter, until the time of his death your uncle had been a great patron of ours, his generosity easing the suffering of many of our unfortunate residents for well over fifteen years. However, to answer your specific question, his contributions have chiefly been for the benefit of one Mr. Reginald Faber, who came to us in 1918 after serving in the late war. It was the elder Mr. Bloodworth’s request that Mr. Faber should be cared for by every means at our disposal.
It is a sad reality that many of His Majesty’s most valiant fighting men came back from the war not with victory, but with wounds, physical and mental, that are not easily healed. Here at St. Anthony’s, we strive to give these men the treatment, shelter, and comfort that is no less than their due for the immense sacrifice they have made for king and country. Sadly, though, our resources are limited, and to many of our countrymen, the war and those who served in it are something long past and easily forgotten. It is only through the generosity of men such as your uncle and yourself, I have no doubt, that we are able to help those who have nowhere else to turn.
In hope that you will carry on your uncle’s generous good work and continue to help those who cannot help themselves, I remain
Your obedient servant,
Chesterton A. Grant,
Superintendent
Drew read the letter over twice and then handed it back. “Who’s this Reginald Faber?”
“That’s the puzzler,” Beaky said. “I don’t recall having heard the name before. I know Uncle never mentioned it to me.”
“Perhaps someone in your family?” Drew suggested.
“I haven’t heard of anyone called Faber among our relations. Perhaps Halford would know. He’s been here longer than anyone. Well, except Cook. I ought to ask them both.”
“Excellent idea. I’ve been wanting to talk to them anyway.”
“You have?”
“If they’ve been here the longest, maybe they know something about the vicar that everyone else has forgotten. I haven’t found anything to link him with Miss Patterson except that they were both elderly. It might be that your butler and your cook can think of something more significant. Something that actually makes sense.”
Beaky nodded. “No harm trying, I expect. Shall we have them in separately or both at once?”
“Both, I think,” Drew said after a moment’s thought. “They may well think of something between the two of them that they wouldn’t have lighted on individually.”
“Right.”
Beaky rang the bell, and Halford soon appeared, his dignified and carefully schooled expression unchanging when Beaky asked him to fetch the cook. He returned shortly thereafter with a tall, sallow-faced woman with hair too black to be natural.
“Good morning, Mrs. Norris,” Beaky said. “Won’t you sit down?”
She glanced warily at the chair he indicated.
“Please,” he urged.
She finally sat, hands folded in her lap, legs crossed at the ankles, back ramrod straight and not touching the back of the chair. Halford, after some prompting, took the chair next to her.
“How are you this morning, Mrs. Norris?” Drew asked, taking a seat on the corner of Beaky’s desk. “I must say the eggs at breakfast were a delight. I know they don’t come out just right like that unless they’re babied the whol
e time they’re being cooked.”
Mrs. Norris’s sallow face colored faintly. “Very kind of you, sir. I do take as much care of them as I’m able. And I’m very well, thank you.”
She didn’t look very well. It might have been that she was just nervous about being called into Beaky’s study, but somehow she seemed more unsettled than that.
“I won’t keep you from your work more than a moment,” Beaky said. “But since you and Halford have been at the Lodge longer than any of our people, I thought you might be able to answer some questions. Have either of you ever heard of a Reginald Faber?”
Mrs. Norris glanced at Halford, looking surprised by the question. “Faber? Yes, sir, I remember Faber. He was Mr. Sylvester’s valet before they both went off to war. I don’t know what happened to him after that. I always supposed he was killed when Mr. Sylvester was.”
“Oh, no,” Halford said decidedly. “Mr. Bloodworth, I mean your uncle, sir, told me years ago that Faber was in some sort of hospital on account of shell shock.”
The cook covered her mouth with one sturdy hand. “A madhouse?”
“A hospital, Mrs. Norris,” Beaky said firmly. “Halford, do you know if he and my uncle Sylvester served in the same unit?”
“I believe Faber was Mr. Sylvester’s batman at the time of his death, sir, and the only one in his unit to survive that particular battle.”
Drew looked to Beaky for an explanation.
“He led his men straight into an ambush, forcing the Huns to spring their trap before the main force reached them,” Beaky said. “My father said that saved hundreds of lives, even though Uncle Sylvester and all his men were lost. They gave him the Victoria Cross for it.”
“A true hero,” Drew said, and Beaky nodded, a wistful pride in his pale eyes.
“I wish I had known him longer. But at least we know now why Uncle Hubert was sending money to this St. Anthony’s. I’ll tell Rogers to carry on with whatever he was sending before. Poor Faber, he deserves at least that, wouldn’t you say?”
“If he served your uncle in war as well as he had in peace, I’d say so, yes. I’d have thought you’d remember the name, though—if he was your uncle’s valet.”
“I suppose I must have heard it a time or two, but I wasn’t here all that often before the war, and neither was Uncle Vester.”
Drew thought for a moment. “I wonder how badly off the poor chap is.”
Beaky shrugged. “Bad enough to be in an asylum all this time. Why?”
“How long was Faber at the Lodge?” Drew asked Halford. “Before he went to war.”
“He came to us when Mr. Sylvester returned home from university, sir.”
“So, besides yourself and Mrs. Norris here, he would have come before anyone else in service here now, yes?”
“Excepting Miss Patterson, of course,” Mrs. Norris put in, “begging your pardon. She was before any of us.”
Drew gaped at her. “What?”
“Oh, yes, sir. Miss Patterson was here until all the young gentlemen went off to school. Mr. Hubert, Mr. Marcus, and Mr. Sylvester. It was then she took a position in London, and we didn’t hear from her again. You remember, Mr. Halford.”
Halford nodded. “Indeed.”
Miss Patterson had been here at the Lodge? How had no one mentioned this before?
“Did you know this, Beaky?” Drew asked.
“No. I knew they’d had a governess, but I had no idea it was the same Miss Patterson whom Sabrina had when she was a girl. I don’t suppose I’d ever heard her name before Sabrina’s father died, her time at the Lodge being well before mine.” Beaky blinked rapidly. “Still, she would have left the Lodge years before Faber came. I don’t know what they could possibly have to do with each other.”
“No, obviously,” Drew said. “I was just thinking, if he had times when he was thinking clearly, he might remember something about the old days here, something about the vicar perhaps that could help us with the investigation. I didn’t expect this new twist.”
“Nor I,” Beaky admitted.
“Are there any other bits of information you haven’t yet brought up, Mrs. Norris?” Drew asked with a wry smile.
The cook winced slightly. “No, sir. Mr. Halford and I have spoken of it. I hope we didn’t do wrong, but we thought we might be of help. The only thing we see to link Miss Patterson and the vicar is that they were both old.” She gave a nervous little laugh. “Made us wonder wouldn’t we be next, if that’s the case.” At a reproving glance from the butler, she sobered. “I hadn’t thought to say anything about Miss Patterson being here. I hadn’t thought it was important. I reckoned the police would know just in their regular investigations and all. It wasn’t as if Miss Patterson was killed here or anything.” She shuddered. “Not that we need more reminders of death.”
Halford cleared his throat and gave her a withering glare.
She ducked her head. “Beg pardon, sir. My nerves are just a bit on edge this morning.”
“Has something happened?” Beaky asked.
Mrs. Norris glanced at Halford and then quickly shook her head. “No, sir. I just—I’m sure it’s nothing that ought to worry you, sir. Just foolishness, and I won’t have it in my kitchen.”
“Foolishness indeed,” Halford said, his face a picture of grave disdain. “And in this day and age.”
“What happened?” Drew pressed, intrigued now.
“Well, sir,” the cook said, “it was Sigrid, the scullery girl. She went to the back door to bring in the milk first thing this morning like always and then came running back to me, her face as white as the milk she was holding. ‘Look, Mrs. Norris,’ she says. ‘There over the threshold. The barghest!’”
“She saw it?” Drew asked, his pulse beating just the tiniest bit faster. “The hound?”
“Oh, no, sir. Nothing as daft as that. But there were some dirty marks on the floor. A floor that was clean enough to eat off last night, mind you. I think it was her imagination like as not and not truly a dog’s paw marks. How would a dog have got in there, I’d like to know? That door is locked last thing every night, I can vouch for that myself. Besides, those marks were far too big to be paw prints. Why, they were nearly the size of my sauté pan.”
“You should have told me, Mrs. Norris,” Beaky said.
“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t like to disturb you with superstitions and such. Sigrid is a gullible little thing and believes anything she’s told.”
Drew got to his feet, releasing the tight grip he’d had on the edge of the desk. “I’d like to see the marks if I might, Mrs. Norris. Whatever made them.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Farthering, but I had Sigrid scrub them off. The whole floor, as a matter of fact. I didn’t want her repeating that nonsense to the other girls and spooking the lot of them before breakfast was got on.”
Drew pressed his lips together, fighting to keep nothing but mild disappointment in his expression. “Bad luck that, eh? I would count it as a great favor, however, Mrs. Norris, if you would leave anything of that sort as it’s found, if anything should again be found, until either I or Mr. Bloodworth have had a chance to give it a look. Fair enough?”
“Yes, sir. I didn’t mean . . .”
“We understand,” Beaky said. “Just be careful to let one of us know if you see anything or remember anything, no matter how small you think it might be. You as well, Halford.”
“Just as you say, Mr. Bloodworth.”
Mrs. Norris ducked her head. “I’m very sorry, sir. I hadn’t thought it would be important to the case, not something as silly as the barghest.”
“One never knows what might be the key to an entire investigation,” Drew said, and then he added, “I don’t suppose there’s any use looking at your floor now, is there?”
Mrs. Norris looked genuinely distressed. “I’m sorry, sir, but no. My girls know when I say scrub, I mean scrub. I wish I had thought better than I did when I had those marks cleaned up, but I can’t tell you any mor
e about them now than I have done already. Not that you’re not more than welcome to come and have a look anytime you like.”
“I don’t suppose that will be necessary. Anything you’d like to ask, Beaky, old man?”
Beaky looked faintly befuddled. “I expect we ought to let them get back to their work.”
“Not yet.” Sabrina was suddenly there at the study door, her mouth defiantly firm despite the hint of a quaver in her voice. “I want to know what it was. What was lying over the threshold in the kitchen?”
Beaky leapt up from the desk and went to her. “Don’t be silly, dear. There was only some dirt tracked in, I imagine. Mrs. Norris says it was nothing.”
“That’s not what Sigrid told Louise.”
“Now, you know Sigrid is a very silly girl,” Beaky soothed, ushering her over to the chair the cook had vacated at her mistress’s arrival. “And Louise may be a very fine lady’s maid, but she’s a terrible talebearer, and most of what she says isn’t the least bit true.”
“I’m very sorry, madam,” Mrs. Norris said. “I told Sigrid not to be spreading fables among the girls. I see I shall have to speak to her about it.”
“No,” Sabrina said, now looking more angry than frightened. “Don’t scold her. I’m glad I heard about it. You should have told me, Beaky. It’s only right I should know.”
“I only just heard it myself. And really, it’s nothing.” He shook his head at her just the slightest bit and then turned to the butler, who was looking as distressed as the cook over the unseemly display. “Halford, you and Mrs. Norris had best get back to your work. We’ll ring if you are needed.”
“Very good, sir.”
The two of them made a hasty retreat, and Beaky shut the study door after them.
“You don’t believe that nonsense, Sabrina,” he said, and while his tone was mild, he looked more vexed with her than Drew had seen before.
She lifted her chin, her mouth firmly set. “But it was in the north wing. I saw the paw prints. And now it’s been in the kitchen.”
“Nonsense. The kitchen door is kept locked at night. How could it have gotten in?”
“How could it have gotten upstairs in the north wing?” she demanded. “And with no prints coming and going?”
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