by Issy Brooke
Adelia was enjoying Mrs Carstairs’ unselfconscious self-awareness immensely. She laughed and said, “When was the last time you saw her?” She was interested to discover if Lady Katharine had said anything about the murder.
She was stunned, therefore, when Mrs Carstairs replied, “Oh, it was last Sunday! I know that I should have been at church but I was avoiding Mrs Robertson – oh, nothing dramatic, just a little misunderstanding regarding something I might have said about her gown last month – anyway, it will blow over. I know that Lady Katharine does not go to church but she keeps the Lord’s Day in her own way, and I decided I’d do a good thing and go and pay a call, and offer to read with her or some such. I felt I ought to do something right and proper, do you see?”
“I do. And were you there all morning?”
“Yes. I arrived at the gatehouse around ten in the morning, and she was all alone, just as I thought, and happy enough to make me tea – her woman had gone off to chapel with some of the servants from the castle – and we spent the morning in a quiet contemplation together. I left around midday so that I was home for luncheon.”
“Was it just the two of you? Where was Oscar?”
“Yes, it was the two of us. Young Mr Brodie never joins us.”
Adelia’s mouth had gone quite dry. Mrs Carstairs began to chatter on about other matters, but Adelia could only hear her own thoughts.
Oscar had no alibi.
And his mother had lied.
AS SOON AS MRS CARSTAIRS left, Adelia ran up to the makeshift laboratory and found Theodore poring over his notes.
He looked up. “I left Felicia sleeping, don’t worry.”
“No, it’s about Oscar!” she gasped out as she entered, temporarily putting her daughter to one side in her mind.
“Oscar Brodie? He’s not here. He was around a moment ago; he won’t be long, I’m sure.”
She looked around in a panic and lowered her voice as she hurried to Theodore’s side. “Oscar did it, I am sure of it,” she said. “He was not with his mother last Sunday. Lady Katharine was with Mrs Carstairs all morning and Oscar was nowhere to be found. He has no alibi, and he is strange, and he could have done it to get some kind of money or something, if that is what Hartley Knight was hiding in the ice house. Did he not hint to you that Knight could have been hiding something in the ice house? Perhaps he was closer to the truth – because he knows the truth.”
“What of Lady Agnes? She was our top suspect.”
“No. It is a ridiculous suggestion. She might have her secrets but she did not hit anyone on the head and then poison them.”
“But you think Oscar did?” Theodore said.
Somewhere, a door slammed closed. Adelia jumped. “Yes,” she hissed. “He did.”
Fifteen
A day of sleeping had not seemed to help Felicia at all. She came down to dinner that night looking pale and wan. Theodore watched her carefully. He had performed all the physical checks that he was able to within the bounds of decorum and he knew she ate nothing different to the rest of the house. He thought that she should, perhaps, walk in the open air every afternoon but apart from that, he felt quite helpless to truly help her. As far as he could tell, the illness originated in her mind, and it was not his speciality at all. He had spent the rest of the day in Percy’s study, looking at his vast collection of books, hoping to stumble across something about diseases of the mind, but he found nothing useful.
He also mulled over Adelia’s suggestion that it was Brodie who had killed Hartley Knight, and he found no reason to reject the possibility. Of all the suspects, he seemed most likely because he was young, strong, male, and also a little strange. Adelia had also told him a little more about the young man’s history and it made it more likely they would find a motive there. The lapis lazuli – real or fake – didn’t matter. The key was the ice house, and whatever else might have been in it. Theodore decided to accept Adelia’s reasoning, and they had both agreed to watch Brodie very carefully. He was sure to give himself away soon, they thought.
Felicia seemed to have developed a nervous tremor. She dropped her cutlery more than once, and ended up retiring early, before the dessert course arrived. No one remarked upon it. Percy forced himself to maintain pleasant conversation and Lady Agnes followed suit. Even The Countess kept her thoughts to herself, which was a blessing. Theodore and Adelia did not linger long in the drawing room that night.
On Saturday, the mood seemed sombre. The following day marked one week since the death of Knight. Theodore didn’t want to linger around the castle. He checked on Felicia, who was sleeping, her face sheened with a light sweat, and then he headed into Plymouth. He wanted to find a library where he could investigate nervous disorders. He was able to arrange a brief lunch with Commissioner Rhodes, who pointed him in the direction of a medical man at his club, and made the necessary introductions for him.
Rhodes also warned Theodore that Wilbred was “sniffing around.”
“He’s got wind of our friendship,” Rhodes said. “He seems to have taken umbrage at something, I don’t know. I told him the case was closed but he seems to think you’re looking into it anyway.”
“Well, I am. You agreed that I could.”
“Yes, yes, but it was not supposed to be known. The problem is that you are known, what?”
Theodore’s head spun.
Rhodes went on. “You’re known as a detective and he doesn’t like it. As long as you are at Tavy Castle, he’s suspicious.”
“It’s the home of my daughter!”
“Well, I suppose you can’t help that.”
“No, I can’t.” Theodore felt frustrated. “What do you suggest I do, then?”
Rhodes shrugged. “Hurry up, one way or another, you know?”
“I see. Very well. Thank you.”
“Come along, buck up, man. It’s only a bit of fun, isn’t it?”
“What, murder?”
“Oh, that, yes. No, I meant your investigation. Keeps you busy. I haven’t a clue what I’ll do when I retire, ha!”
“I can’t imagine your life will be much different to what it is now,” Theodore muttered. “Big dinners and drinking, surely?”
Rhodes laughed but Theodore hadn’t really been joking.
THE THINGS THAT THEODORE learned about current theories of madness and insanity depressed him very much. Medical science seemed to hint that female minds and bodies were particularly susceptible to all manner of maladies and offered him very little comfort. He spent Saturday night in something of a depression himself, and Sunday dawned with a light rain that did nothing to lift his mood.
He certainly did not want to attend church alongside everyone else. He felt that he had done his duty the previous week and said to Adelia that his one attendance surely absolved him of any further obligation to turn up for the weekly worship.
But Adelia insisted that he ought to go. Percy was to go, and so was Felicia. “You need to be there to keep an eye on her,” she told him.
And for that reason, he reluctantly agreed.
They set off in the drizzle which had done nothing to ease the high temperatures. All everyone talked about was the weather, now, as people longed for the heatwave to break. Even when they reached the small parish church, the conversation was about the strange portents – the sea being as still and flat as glass, the sudden plague of grass snakes that had flowed like a river through Estover, the birth of a two-headed dog near to Tavistock. Theodore pooh-poohed it all, although he secretly wanted to go and see the dog.
He stayed close to Felicia. She seemed a little better, and her tremor had calmed down. She didn’t sing and she moved slowly between the standing parts and the sitting, but she certainly didn’t make any strange outbursts or draw any attention to herself. The sermon itself was mercifully short. Perhaps the vicar took note of the oppressive heat and the way people were trying to quietly fan themselves. He wouldn’t want half of the congregation to faint away.
After the
service, Hartley Knight was mentioned by a gaggle of women crowding around the vicar who was shaking everyone’s hands as they left. Theodore had Adelia on his arm but he paused to listen. The talk was just about the upcoming funeral, which could be arranged now that the case had been closed by the police. As the death was officially an accident, no one was panicking about the possibility of a murderer running around. Adelia tugged at his arm and he moved away, following Felicia and Percy out into the clammy damp air.
Felicia and Percy rode back to Tavy Castle in a carriage but Theodore walked in a companionable silence alongside his wife. Neither of them minded the rain, although Adelia made a few muttered remarks about the humidity and the state of her hair. As it was well hidden under a bonnet, he didn’t think it mattered.
“There’s that Oscar,” she whispered as they went past the gatehouse. He was standing inside, looking out through the window. He raised one pale hand to them and they both waved back.
“Unnerving,” Theodore replied.
“Very much so. I hope we are not to have a repeat of last Sunday’s events.”
Theodore felt Adelia press against him. “Are you really concerned?” he asked.
“I think it’s just the anxiety that I am feeling about Felicia. What can be done for her?”
“Rest, and care, and good food,” Theodore replied. “And we must watch her.”
“I wish there was a pill or draught she might take that would cure her.”
“So do I. But it is hard to find a cure when you are not sure of the cause.”
THE CARRIAGE CARRYING Percy and Felicia had arrived far in advance of Theodore and Adelia. They entered Tavy Castle, and he was glad of the thick stone walls which made the air in the great hall cool and welcoming. He no longer noticed any issue with the sewers or drains, and had quite forgotten to raise the matter with Percy. He had discussed it with Adelia and she felt that Percy would be unconcerned with anything to do with the household or improvements to the castle. Theodore could not understand why that was so.
“Is Lady Buckshaw downstairs?” Adelia asked Mrs Rush as Theodore let go of her arm and gazed about himself.
Mrs Rush looked grave as she replied, “Sadly, my lady has had a turn for the worse on her return from church and she has retired immediately to her room.”
Theodore was already halfway up the stairs and Adelia followed him. He encountered Percy who was just leaving Felicia’s rooms, and buttonholed him straight away. “What’s happened?”
“She collapsed as we stepped over the threshold, as if she were a puppet and her strings had been cut – I only just managed to catch her.”
“Good heavens! And now?”
“I have put her to bed and given her a little of that calming draught you recommended yesterday. Would you like to see her? She is already asleep, however.”
Theodore peeked in and Percy was telling the truth. Theodore’s poor daughter lay curled under the covers in a tight ball, her hair loose on the pillow, her face scrunched up in a mask of pain and anguish. She was not sleeping an easy, restful slumber.
Percy stood next to him. When Theodore glanced up, Percy was tight-lipped. He caught Theodore’s eye, shook his head slightly, and stalked away, saying nothing.
Neither Felicia nor Percy appeared at dinner that Sunday night.
THEODORE WOKE UP EARLY. Adelia still slumbered deeply and he slipped out of bed, trying not to disturb her. He paced to the window. There was a low mist obscuring the view and not a breath of wind seemed to ruffle the ivy tendrils that hung alongside the window outside. He thought about Oscar Brodie. They’d both been watching the young man as carefully as they could, and asking all the staff about any changes in his behaviour, but no useful information had presented itself. Theodore began to wonder if he could search the gatehouse. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he would know it if he saw it. He’d need to get Adelia to agree to the plan; she’d be essential for drawing Lady Katharine out of the house. Brodie needed to be out, too, if possible. He couldn’t imagine what she’d do to manage that. Perhaps the night of the Floating Ball offered the best opportunity? He wasn’t even sure if Lady Katharine was planning to attend the ball; her reclusive nature suggested not. Could Adelia persuade her? He sighed and rubbed his forehead. He had a headache just gathering pressure behind his temples and he wasn’t sure if it were caused by the oppressive weather or the stress of his daughter’s illness or the apparent dead-end he was facing regarding Hartley Knight’s murder.
He had to prioritise where to put his energies, he admitted to himself, at last. And that priority was Felicia. It rankled him exceedingly that he had to put aside the investigation, but the case was going nowhere and he didn’t think anyone else was at risk. He had to admit defeat – defeat! Ugh! – and move on to the matters that were closer to home, and closer to his heart.
He picked up a paisley-pattered housecoat and put it on over his long cotton nightshirt. He thought he’d be able to sneak into the breakfast room and pick up a pot of coffee and perhaps some fresh, warm bread, and bring it all back to the bedroom to indulge himself in privacy. It would be a nice surprise for Adelia when she woke up, too. There was no harm in playing the part of the dutiful husband and it was worth it to see her sudden smile.
As he crept out onto the corridor of the wing they were inhabiting, the usual early-morning hush that blanketed the castle was torn apart by high-pitched screaming from the floor above, and it seemed also to be coming from the main part of the castle. He ran like he himself had been shot. He was joined, as he went, by servants streaming out of hidden corners and doors, all following the sound of the relentless screaming. He knew, he just knew, it was Felicia. Her shouts were high and rent with anguish. As he thundered up the stairs, he could hear her words in between the screams.
“Percy! Percy! Percy! No!”
He turned the corner.
Ahead of him was a wide passage with a red plush carpet running down the middle. One solid oak door stood open. It was the door to Percy’s bedroom, and on her knees on the carpet in the corridor was Felicia. She was screaming at the ceiling, tears running down her face, and she pointed with one trembling hand into the bedroom.
“Percy is dead!”
Theodore ran to her, ran past her, ran into the room and saw the male figure lying face-down on the bed, his arms and legs limp and dangling, blood still dripping to the floor.
And then he turned around.
He had just heard Percy speak – in the corridor.
Sixteen
The shouting and chaos had drawn Adelia out into the corridors of the castle just like everyone else. With a hastily-grabbed cloak around her shoulders, which was the nearest thing she had to hand, she hurtled up the stairs to see a crowd of servants around Percy, who was standing in the corridor outside his own bedroom, leaning over someone on the carpet. Adelia pushed her way through and was taken aback by Percy’s curious appearance.
He was dressed in shabby tweed trousers and a crumpled jacket as if he had spent the past few weeks out grouse-shouting in the wilds of Scotland, with a twisted linen scarf around his neck and his hair all rumpled and standing on end. He was bending over Felicia, who was curled up on the carpet and whimpering. Theodore emerged from the bedroom and roared, suddenly and fiercely, at the gawping servants. Adelia did her bit by lending her voice to his, directing all the staff to return to their posts immediately. They melted away. Theodore remained in the doorway, his hands out to each side, gripping the frame. It looked as if he were screening the room off from casual onlookers.
Felicia was muttering, “But you’re dead, you’re dead, I saw you in there – did I dream it? Was it another dream? But you’re dead, but you’re dead.”
“I am not dead,” Percy said, a note of desperation in his voice.
Theodore spoke and it stunned Adelia. “But you did not dream it, Felicia; you saw the truth. A man is in there and he is dead.”
“Don’t say such things!” Percy cried
out.
“But it is the truth and she ought to know when she is correct, or she will think she is more mad than she is,” Theodore said, and Adelia winced at the badly-expressed logic. He was right, of course.
Then Adelia’s mind caught up with what he’d just said. “Who is dead?” she blurted out, now being as blunt as her husband.
Percy straightened up. “Who the hell is in there?” he said, in wild confusion.
Theodore kept his hands tightly gripping the door frame. “I don’t actually know.”
Even Felicia seemed to calm down. She sat up and gazed around. “I did not dream it?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
Theodore nodded at Adelia. “Can you take her back to her room? Percy and I shall deal with this.”
“I ...” Percy began but he stopped. If he were going to protest, he clearly thought better of it. Adelia helped Felicia to her feet and walked with her a few yards along the corridor, steering her into her own room. The door closed and silence descended on them both. Felicia allowed herself to be led to an armchair and she curled into it as Adelia tucked a thin blanket around her. Adelia, still in her own nightclothes, sat on the end of the bed, and they looked at one another in mute astonishment at the night’s strange events.
There didn’t seem anything to talk about. Adelia asked if Felicia felt unwell, and her daughter said that she did not. And then they remained in silence, wondering what on earth was going on, as footsteps and voices and passed to and fro in the corridor outside, muffled and distant, and they had to trust to Theodore and Percy to set everything straight again.
THEODORE SLIPPED INTO the room about an hour later. He was now dressed, and he brought them food. Felicia had been dozing and Adelia was hungry and grateful for the bread, although her appetite waned as Theodore told them what had been going on.
