Stokes humphed. “We’ll see how they feel tomorrow, once the reality of an investigation takes hold.”
Penelope widened her eyes at him. “Given the time, I agree that postponing all interviews until tomorrow was unavoidable. So what now?”
He compressed his lips, then let them twist in a grimace. “Normally, we’d have already studied the scenes of both crimes, but in this case, both scenes are long cold, and if anything incriminating had been left behind, the murderer has had ample opportunity to remove it.”
“Except that Mrs. Cleary’s room has been kept locked from shortly after the body was found.” Miss Whittaker produced a key and handed it to Stokes. “It’s an old, heavy lock, not that easy to pick or force.”
Stokes took the key and weighed it in his palm, then glanced at Barnaby, Penelope, and his men. “If the room is secure, we’ll do better searching it tomorrow, in better light.” He sighed and met Barnaby’s eyes. “It’s been a while since I had a case in the country—the different rhythms of life and of the case itself take some adjusting to.”
“Indeed,” Penelope said. “And in this instance, the most difficult aspect is the time constraint—the short period we have before keeping the guests here becomes a battle in itself.”
Barnaby grimaced. “Essentially, we have one day—tomorrow.” He met Stokes’s eyes. “We have to make some significant advance by day’s end or face mounting pressure from the guests to be allowed to leave on Saturday.”
Turning grim at the reminder, Stokes nodded curtly. “We’d best find a place to lay our heads for the night.”
“Try the Tabard Inn at Wildhern,” Carradale said. “It’s the closest and decently comfortable. Use my name. The innkeeper is Peters. He’s trustworthy.”
“I stayed there on Monday night,” Miss Whittaker volunteered, “and can vouch for the beds.”
Barnaby nodded. “We’ll go there.”
“Meanwhile”—Stokes regarded Carradale and Miss Whittaker—“you two could assist by keeping your eyes and ears open through the rest of the evening. I’m hoping all the others in the company will view the time you’ve spent with us as merely due to our questions rather than you actively assisting us. The longer they believe that, the longer they’ll remain unguarded in your presence.”
Carradale and Miss Whittaker nodded.
“We’ll do our best,” Miss Whittaker confirmed.
“What we’re looking for,” Penelope said, “is anything that seems the least bit odd—out of place or out of character.”
“Anything,” Barnaby said, “that doesn’t ring true.”
Carradale inclined his head. “We’ll observe as we can, but I feel compelled to point out that, thus far, our murderer has maintained a cool head and shown no inclination whatsoever toward giving himself away.”
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Chapter 6
Although it wasn’t quite time to change for dinner, most of the other guests appeared to have retreated to their rooms, no doubt to consider what being at a house party with a murderer might mean for them, socially speaking.
For some, Alaric suspected, the answer wouldn’t be all bad; being the bearer of juicy gossip opened doors in the ton.
He needed to return to Carradale Manor and change for dinner and the evening’s entertainment, whatever that might now prove to be, but first…
After seeing Adair, Stokes, and company off to the village, on returning to the front hall, instead of leaving Miss Whittaker at the base of the stairs, he touched her arm and glanced upward. “There’s an alcove off the gallery that will allow us to speak privately without actually being in private. I’d like to know your thoughts on events thus far.”
She looked at him in the very direct way he was coming to expect from her, then nodded. “Indeed. I wouldn’t mind hearing your opinions as well.”
He walked with her up the stairs and ushered her into the gallery that ran down one of the odd wings of the house. The alcove at the nearer end was open to the gallery itself; it wasn’t visible from the entrance to the gallery, yet anyone drawing near on the polished oak floors would instantly be heard. Built into one of the turrets of the house, the circular alcove offered deep window seats that ran around the perimeter beneath windows that looked out over the gardens.
Miss Whittaker observed and approved. As she drew in her skirts and sat, she looked up at him and remarked, “A useful spot.”
“Percy and I have often found it so.”
“You’ve known our host for a long time, haven’t you?”
He sat opposite her and waved toward the woods. “We’re neighbors with no other families of similar station close. Although Percy’s several years my junior, throughout our childhoods, during the months we both spent in Hampshire, we were together for much of the time.”
“Do you also know Edward Mandeville well?”
