“Indeed, Archibald. I can hardly wait to have her in my arms again, our dear girl.” As with Grampapa raising his voice, such avowals of affection on Grams’s part were rare. After taking Grampapa’s hand, she stood, her lips trembling and moisture gathering in her eyes.
“Wait one moment.” Mr. Lewis came around the table, as if to block their path to the door. “The Cowes Police Department has another murder to investigate, and that includes questioning all of you. Anyone who attempts to leave this room without permission will be charged with obstructing justice.”
Grams pulled up to her full height, which made her taller than Grampapa. “Archibald, are you going to let him speak to us this way?”
Intending to intervene, Phoebe started to rise, but Owen moved quicker and was on his feet. “Maude, Archibald, perhaps it’s best to let the man do his job. The sooner they conduct their investigation, the sooner this will be over and we can go home. Julia included.”
After a hesitation during which she seethed with indignation, Grams conceded. “I suppose you’re right.” She turned again to Mr. Lewis. “But that doesn’t give you an excuse to detain our granddaughter. Isn’t that so, Archibald?”
“We insist she be released tonight.” Grampapa helped Grams back into her chair and resumed his own. “If I have to call in every favor owed to me, I will, young man. Believe me when I tell you I can put a world of pressure on your entire police department.”
“As can I,” Owen said as he, too, sat back down.
With a grating sigh, the detective inspector returned to the table but remained standing. “I understand your sentiments, but I don’t appreciate being threatened for doing my job. And just because Lady Annondale couldn’t have committed this murder doesn’t mean she didn’t commit the first.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Grams said with a sniff.
The inspector’s expression was grim. “I’ve seen it before, Lady Wroxly. Two murders seemingly related, but with two different killers.”
“Oh? And where might this have been?” Phoebe asked. She remembered Constable Hewitt, at the Cowes Police Station, telling her about Mr. Lewis botching a case while he served with the Metropolitan Police. The constable said Mr. Lewis had listened to the wrong informant, and Phoebe wondered if he’d perhaps released a suspect when he shouldn’t have.
He seemed taken aback by her question, then quickly regained his composure, along with his authoritarian manner. “That doesn’t matter. But I might be willing to allow Lady Annondale to come to the hotel if you, Lord Wroxly, will assume full responsibility for her whereabouts at all times.”
“Yes, yes, of course. Full responsibility, upon my word.” The frown smoothed from Grampapa’s brow for the first time in days. Weeks, even, for he had been wearing a grimace all during the wedding preparations.
“Excuse me, Inspector Lewis.” Apparently recovered from the shock of seeing Gil’s bowie knife, Mildred Blair drummed her fingernails on the tabletop. She made little effort to hide her impatience. “Now that you’re quite through appeasing the Renshaws, may we please get on with this?”
“Humph. I’m glad somebody finally said it.” Veronica Townsend offered Miss Blair a rare nod of approval.
Grams opened her mouth, surely to berate them both, but Grampapa laid his hand on hers, prompting her to pinch her lips together.
“Mr. Shelton,” the detective inspector said so abruptly that Ernie winced. “You found the body. What were you doing on the beach at that time of night?”
“I . . . that is . . . What about that young couple who were there, as well?”
“They’ve been questioned,” Mr. Lewis replied. “According to them, you were crouching near the body when they arrived on the beach. What were you doing there? When did you arrive? And did you murder Sir Hugh Fitzallen?”
Ernie shoved back his chair so violently, it fell over backward as he stood. “I don’t have to answer that.”
“Actually, you do. If you would care to have your solicitor present, that’s your prerogative.” The man calmly circled his own chair and sat, then slid his pencil and notebook closer to him. “Of course, doing so could be seen as a sign of guilt.”
“That’s not right, and you know it, sir.” Owen thrust out a finger toward the policeman. “Asking for one’s solicitor to be present isn’t a sign of guilt. It isn’t a sign of anything except not wishing the police to put words in one’s mouth. Mr. Shelton, would you care to make a telephone call?”
“Ah . . . n-no. I’ll answer the inspector’s questions. I went down to the beach for some air.”
“The terrace wasn’t sufficient?”
“No, it wasn’t. There were too many people about. I—I wished to be alone with my thoughts, and the Solent is peaceful tonight.”
Mr. Lewis made some notes while nodding. “And how long were you on the beach before you noticed the body?”
“I—I’d walked a ways first. I didn’t see him until I was on my way back. M-maybe he wasn’t there when I f-first entered the beach.”
“What did you do when you saw him?”
“I—I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t know it was Sir Hugh. I thought s-someone had fallen down drunk.” He swallowed audibly. “I almost kept going, but s-something made me go closer. And then I saw his face and the b-blood and the dagger . . .” Ernie shuddered.
The inspector showed no emotion as he took notes. “And how long before the young couple arrived?”
“I don’t know.” Ernie gestured at the air. “I—I had no sense of time. I was too shocked. After I checked for a pulse, I simply remained crouched there, wondering what to do. And then I—I heard screaming.”
“The woman,” Mr. Lewis said with a nod and scribbled again on his notebook.
“Yes, and then e-everyone else appeared. And Lady Phoebe and he were there.” Ernie pointed at Owen, as if he should be a focus of suspicion.
“Did you touch the knife?” Mr. Lewis asked Ernie bluntly.
“N-no, I didn’t. You would have found my fingerprints on it if I had.”
“Hmm.” The inspector then turned his attention to each of the other occupants in the room. Where did they have dinner? Where did they go immediately afterward? Did they hear the screams . . . ? His questions seemed interminable to Phoebe.
Finally, he announced, “That will be all for the time being.”
Before he could continue, Phoebe sprang up from her seat. She yanked her sleeves up to expose her forearms. “You arrested my sister based on her having cut her hand on the mirror in her stateroom. Now you’ve found the knife that most probably resulted in the blood on the railing. I think each one of us should show whether or not we bear a similar wound.”
“Would you have us all strip naked, Lady Phoebe?” Mildred Blair raised an eyebrow in amusement.
Grams found nothing humorous in the question. “Miss Blair, really.”
Phoebe faced Miss Blair. “No, I would not. However, if a struggle ensued over that knife, the most likely place for the killer to have been cut is on the hands or arms.” She turned back to the detective inspector. “Well?”
“All right, yes.” He nodded. “If you all please,” he added to soften the request.
One by one, they shrugged out of coats, unbuttoned sleeves and pushed them up. Only Veronica Townsend’s forearm revealed any form of gash. She immediately took the defensive.
“I told your maid the other day, Phoebe. I scratched myself while tending my roses before we left home to come here. Look.” She held her arm out higher. “It’s only a scratch. Not nearly deep enough to drip all that blood on the railing.”
Mr. Lewis approached her and leaned to study the abrasion. “Hmm.”
“Is that all you can say?” Veronica let her arm swing to her side.
He straightened and shrugged. “Inconclusive. However, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you not to leave Cowes—any of you. And you, Mr. Shelton, are not to set foot beyond the boundaries of this hotel, or I’ll have you
brought in. Understood?”
Ernie didn’t reply, but it was clear by his expression that the inspector had left no question in his mind.
Phoebe lingered as the others streamed out of the room, all except Owen. The time had come to speak up.
“Mr. Lewis,” she began, and at his displeased look, she started again. “Detective Inspector Lewis, Owen Seabright and I have made something of a discovery that might help with determining who committed these murders.”
“You, Lady Phoebe?” The man started to smirk, but after darting a look at Owen, he changed his mind. “What have you discovered?”
“Gilbert Townsend and Hugh Fitzallen had several things in common. They fought together in the Boer Wars. They also served together in Ireland, in the Dublin Castle administration. They were both there during the Easter Rising, and last year, during the German Plot deception.”
“None of this is news.” He tapped his foot impatiently. “What are you getting at?”
“That the killer might be someone connected to that last event.”
Owen stood close at her side. “Hugh admitted to being involved, along with another matter involving stolen arms.”
“Stolen arms?” The detective scowled. “Why didn’t someone come to me sooner with this information?”
“Because it was our word against Sir Hugh’s,” Phoebe told him. “We’d hoped to persuade him to come to you himself. But he feared being arrested for his illegal activities while he was in Ireland. He also feared reprisals from others who were involved.”
“It seems he was right,” Owen murmured.
“This is the reason the wedding reception was a hurried affair on Lord Annondale’s yacht,” she went on, “and why he and my sister, along with Sir Hugh and Miss Townsend, were to set sail first thing in the morning. They’d received the threats and wished to leave England as soon as possible.”
“Miss Townsend, you say?”
“Sir Hugh told me she knows nothing about the threats or anything else, but her brother insisted she come along on the voyage to keep her safe, and to prevent whoever was threatening them from harming her to get at him.”
“I see.” Mr. Lewis pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “I can’t think of any irate Irish nationalists running around Cowes.”
“Would they advertise?” Phoebe pointed out, earning another scowl from the inspector.
“Most of their identities are known to the British authorities.” He let out a long sigh. “I’ll take all this under consideration.”
“In the meantime, you’ll release my sister, yes?”
He compressed his lips, his nose flaring. “Yes. Tell your grandparents they may collect her within the hour.”
Phoebe and Owen were in the corridor when Mr. Lewis called to her. “Lady Phoebe, bring me those RSVPs you told me about. I’d like to have a look at them now.”
CHAPTER 20
Eva dabbed at her eyes as she let herself out of Lord and Lady Wroxly’s suite. She had been present when Lady Julia arrived, and had been caught up in the joy and relief of the event. But it was time to give the family their privacy. Hetta followed her out, her eyes as red and teary as Eva’s.
She and Lady Phoebe had had a chance to discuss the bowie knife used to murder Sir Hugh. Miss Townsend had confirmed that her brother kept the knife with him wherever he went as a kind of talisman, and that he typically kept it on his desk, whether that desk be at home, on his yacht, or in a hotel. It only made sense, then, that the killer had managed to wrench the weapon from Lord Annondale during their struggle and had been wounded by it. Lady Phoebe had surmised the most likely place would have been on the hands or arms, and Eva tended to agree with her. Yet no one but Miss Townsend bore any kind of cut or scrape, and hers could have been the result of a rose thorn, as she claimed.
Surely there had to be further clues on board the Georgiana. With Mr. Mowbry’s photographs flashing in her brain, Eva had gone to bed exhausted that night but had slept fitfully, with disturbing dreams that woke her with a start more than once. When slivers of sun outlined the curtains, she had risen and dressed, while Hetta had slept on.
Now, at the end of the corridor, a man stood up from the small settee beside the lift. He faced her and waited. She recognized him immediately. Even at a distance, the scars that made the Marquess of Allerton impossible to confuse with any other man stood out. She hurried down the hall to him.
“My lord . . .” She found she didn’t quite know what to say, except for the obvious. “Lady Julia is back with her family.”
Theo Leighton nodded and let out a sigh laden with relief. “I thank God for that, Eva. I found out only yesterday what happened—Lord Annondale’s death, Julia being accused. . .” His head went down, and his fingers raked through his hair. When he raised his face, his eyes were blazing. “If I had known, I’d never have stayed away.”
“We tried to reach you at home. Miles tried.” She didn’t tell him the reason, that for a short time he had been something of a suspect.
“I didn’t go home. After leaving the island, I simply chose a direction and drove. At night I stopped at whatever inn happened to be closest, ate a meal, retired, and started again in the morning. I was nearly to Devon when I picked up a newspaper. I don’t have to tell you I turned my motorcar around immediately.”
“My lord, I don’t wish to ask you this, but I feel I must.” She braced herself inwardly. “Can you prove where you were? Are there others who can vouch for you?”
“Eva, surely you can’t mean to imply—”
“No. But with your . . . shall we say history . . . with Lady Julia, the police might ask.”
He nodded. “Yes, yes, I see. I’m sure the innkeepers where I stayed would be more than happy to corroborate my whereabouts these past days. I paid them well enough for their hospitality.” He paused, his head lowering again. When he looked up, she saw concern mingled with pain. “Eva, how is she?”
“She’s held up remarkably well, my lord.” No sense in mentioning how she had blamed herself for Lord Annondale’s death. It was up to Lady Julia to tell him, if she chose.
“And now she’s exonerated? That’s what Owen Seabright told me when I saw him in the lobby last night. It was too late when I arrived to see her.”
“I . . .” Detective Inspector Lewis had made it clear Lady Julia hadn’t been fully vindicated, only that in light of Sir Hugh’s murder, the police were willing to release her into her grandparents’ recognizance—for now.
“Why are you hesitating?”
“The investigation isn’t over,” she told him. “The police admit they were perhaps hasty in arresting Lady Julia, but they haven’t entirely ruled her out, either.”
“Imbeciles.” The war wounds that had left raw and pitted skin on Lord Allerton’s face tugged at his mouth, lending him a sneer that would have been frightening on another man. Eva felt no fear, only sorrow, for him, for Lady Julia, and for a situation that might still prevent them from ever marrying.
She heard a door open behind her and turned to see Mr. Mowbry exit his room. He hesitated when he saw her, then continued his approach. He tipped his head to her. “Miss Huntford. That was some scene yesterday, wasn’t it?” He pressed the button to summon the lift.
“Lord Allerton, may I present Mr. Mowbry,” she said. “He was the photographer at Lord and Lady Annondale’s wedding. Like the rest of us, he’s been detained here by the police.”
One of Theo Leighton’s eyebrows went up. “Not as a suspect, I hope.”
Mr. Mowbry gave a slight bob of his head, showing Lord Allerton the deference due his rank. “No, my lord, thank goodness. The police don’t know who did the deed, but we’re all relieved to see Lady Annondale released. The very idea that gracious lady could commit such a monstrous act is absurd.”
The lift arrived, and the operator opened the door and inquired if they were going up or down. Mr. Mowbry hung back, allowing Lord Allerton to answer first.
> “Neither.” To Eva, he said, “I’m going to wait here until it’s a decent enough hour to knock at Lord and Lady Wroxly’s door. Owen told me Julia was staying in their suite.”
“That’s right.” Eva noticed the lift operator beginning to tap his foot. She excused herself to Lord Allerton. “I’m going down,” she told the operator and inquired of Mr. Mowbry.
“The same.” He took his leave of Lord Allerton, and he and Eva rode downstairs together.
* * *
Phoebe and Amelia awoke that morning to a pounding at their door, which instantly alarmed them both. Phoebe sprang upright, her heart pounding, and Amelia shoved golden hair out of her eyes.
“What’s happening?” Amelia murmured.
“It’s all right. I’m here.” Eva had already let herself into the room and was busy picking out clothes from the armoire. A tray of tea and toast awaited Phoebe and her sister on the table beneath the window. Eva went to open the door to reveal Fox on the other side.
“Your sisters aren’t up yet,” she told him.
“Theo’s here,” he blurted and poked his head around her shoulder. “Amelia, Phoebe. Did you hear? Theo came last night, late. He’s with Julia and the grandparents. Get up,” he urged and took off down the corridor.
That day passed with the first semblance of normalcy Phoebe had enjoyed since before the wedding. The family, along with Owen and Theo, spent most of the day in her grandparents’ suite, away from curious eyes. They avoided talking about Gil and Hugh, and the day felt rather like a holiday, an inclement one where no one felt like venturing outside and the hours were spent in conversation, cards, and simply enjoying one another’s company. Owen and Fox spent a good hour or so in front of a chessboard. Julia and Theo bided most of their time side by side, joining in the general discussions but exchanging few words among themselves. Phoebe hadn’t been present when they greeted each other for the first time earlier, and she burned to know how it went. She couldn’t ask, of course. If Julia wished to share, she would.
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