With that settled, he closed his eyes and willed his mind from all thoughts of men and murder.
A minute later, he realized he’d succeeded admirably, because images of Constance Whittaker now filled his mind.
His eyes firmly closed, he allowed himself to dwell on those far more fascinating visions.
At some point, he smiled, and his thoughts segued into dreams.
* * *
At nine-thirty the following morning, Stokes arrived at Mandeville Hall with Barnaby, Penelope, Philpott, and Morgan. His first act was to request that Percy Mandeville and his guests gather in the drawing room. Once the company was assembled, Stokes, alone, addressed them, stating only that interviews would commence shortly, that each guest would be seen individually, and that all were requested to remain in that room until all interviews were complete.
The last request caused some consternation, but after Stokes assured them the interviews would be conducted as quickly as possible, the grumbles faded.
He scanned the room, then nodded to Carradale. “My lord, if you would join us.” Constance Whittaker was seated beside Carradale. “And Miss Whittaker, too. We would like to go over your statements.”
The other guests seemed relieved not to have been called first.
Stokes ushered Carradale and Miss Whittaker into the front hall, where Barnaby and Penelope were waiting, along with Philpott; Morgan had already retreated to his usual station in the servants’ hall. Stokes nodded toward the front door. “Let’s go.”
He’d wanted Barnaby and Penelope to see the spot in the shrubbery where Miss Johnson had died. More importantly, however, being out in the shrubbery would give him a chance to ask Carradale and Miss Whittaker if they’d learned anything more during the previous evening.
“Nothing,” Miss Whittaker stated. “As might be expected, everyone was subdued and, overall, not saying much.” She paused, then added, “Interesting, now I think of it—one would imagine the other ladies would have comments to make to me regarding Glynis and her interactions with the gentlemen present, but no.”
Penelope turned from surveying the hedges. “It might well be that Rosa Cleary’s death is acting as a deterrent to any who might have pertinent information.”
Stokes looked grim. “Sadly, that’s all too likely.”
Carradale had been pointing out to Barnaby the route from the stables; he turned and added, “There was nothing of note I observed among the gentlemen. However, I did remember a few snippets of information about four of the company that might be relevant regarding a motive for murder.”
Stokes’s brows rose. “Indeed?” He glanced at Barnaby and Penelope. “If you two have seen all you want here, I suggest we repair to our interview room.”
The butler, Carnaby, had informed Stokes that, as per his request, a small parlor toward the rear of the house had been set aside for Scotland Yard’s use.
The parlor proved to be well chosen, out of the way of any guests but of a suitable size and with a desk and sufficient chairs for their purpose.
Stokes, Barnaby, and Penelope drew up chairs behind the wide desk, while Carradale set two chairs before it. After seating Miss Whittaker with his customary elegant grace, he sat beside her.
Stokes leaned his forearms on the desk and focused on Carradale. “So what have you remembered?”
Carradale looked at Barnaby. “Have you heard the tales about Wynne?”
Barnaby’s expression blanked for a second, then his blue eyes hardened. “That he’s…shall we say aggressive over getting what he wants, including with the ladies?”
Carradale nodded. “That said, I believe he’d taken up with Rosa Cleary. I can’t imagine Miss Johnson as being at all to his taste.”
Penelope wrinkled her nose. “We don’t need another motive for Rosa’s death. Let’s leave Wynne and his aggressiveness to one side—at least for the moment.”
“My thoughts exactly.” After a second, Carradale continued, “Fletcher and Walker share a particular trait—they don’t take rejection well. While I can’t imagine either pursuing any revenge to the point of murder, I can imagine them bailing up Miss Johnson over a suspected liaison with some other man, and given her inexperience, she might have said or done something that caused them to lose control.”
“Like scream?” Penelope suggested.
Carradale’s eyes widened. “I hadn’t thought of that, but that would almost certainly push either of them to silence her—not intending anything permanent, but…”
Grimly, Barnaby nodded. “Sadly, I can see it. From what I know of both men, they are quick to take offense, and both have mercurial tempers.”
“Both are also tall enough to have been the murderer,” Miss Whittaker observed.
Stokes nodded to Philpott, who was sitting unobtrusively by the door. “Move Fletcher and Walker higher on our list.” He looked at Carradale. “Who was the fourth man?”
