Alaric rose and held Constance’s chair as she came to her feet. He nodded to the three on the other side of the desk. “Until later.” With that, he escorted Constance out of the parlor, down a corridor, and out onto the side terrace.
Strolling easily, they made their way to the corner and around onto the front terrace and so to the drawing room, entering through the open French doors. Others asked where they’d been and if they’d heard anything; smoothly Alaric explained that they’d been the first to be questioned and, subsequently, had strolled the gardens, waiting for the others to be released.
Other than a few humphs, no one made any further comment. A love seat near the windows was the only vacant seating; Alaric touched Constance’s arm and nodded in that direction. They’d just made themselves comfortable, seated side by side with, courtesy of their heights, a reasonable view of the room’s other occupants, when the door opened and Stokes, Barnaby, and Penelope walked in.
While Barnaby and Penelope hung back by the door, Stokes walked forward to claim center stage.
Alaric found his respect for the man growing; this wasn’t Stokes’s milieu, yet he commanded attention with a calm professionalism that was impressive.
Glancing at his fellow guests, Alaric sensed he wasn’t alone in thinking that.
“I’ve come to inform you of progress thus far and to thank you all for your patience.” Stokes’s deep voice riveted his audience. “As of yet, we have garnered no facts that point to Miss Johnson’s and Mrs. Cleary’s killer, but our investigations are continuing. You are now free to move about the house and grounds. Should we need to speak with any of you further, we will summon you individually.”
Alaric could almost see Stokes bite back the wordsRest assured we will do everything in our power to see the miscreant brought to justice.
Despite Stokes’s effort, all the assembled guests remained tense, almost on tenterhooks; far from being relieved or reassured, the guests cast suspicious glances at various gentlemen, and not all such glances were covert. Nevertheless, in the circumstances, no one’s reaction seemed out of place. There were no guilty looks that Alaric could see.
Then Edward Mandeville, standing to one side of the mantelpiece, spoke. “If we might inquire, Inspector, what line of investigation are you pursuing?” Edward glanced around the company. “Is there any particular point you would like us, as a group, to try to recall?”
Stokes, reluctantly to Alaric’s ears, replied, “The critical point we are endeavoring to ascertain is who Miss Johnson met in the shrubbery—indeed, why she went out there at all.” Stokes paused and looked around, brows lightly arching in invitation, but while many frowned in transparent thought, no one volunteered any insights.
Alaric allowed his gaze to drift over the company; he glanced back at Edward in time to see him slant a strangely intent look at Percy. Following Edward’s gaze, Alaric noted that, far from recovering from the shock of the murders, Percy seemed to be sinking deeper into…despondency? Ever-deepening gloom, certainly.
Could Percy be the murderer after all? Was that what Edward was worried about? Given Edward’s reason for being at the Hall, Alaric could understand his concern; having a murderer in the family would play havoc with the family name.
Alaric considered Percy anew, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t see his old playmate committing such heinous acts. He could, however, see the pressure of Edward’s continuing presence weighing heavily on Percy’s weaker personality and worsening the remorse Percy was undoubtedly feeling over having invited both ladies to their deaths. That, Alaric could easily imagine Percy feeling guilty over.
“If no one has anything to add,” Stokes said, “I repeat, you are free to move about the house and grounds as you wish.”
Because he was watching, Alaric saw Percy haul in a huge breath, hold it, then make a valiant effort to rise to the occasion. “Thank you, Inspector. I’m sure I speak for all of us in saying we hope your investigations move forward apace.”
“To a rapid and speedy resolution,” Edward added in his usual, high-in-the-instep tone.
Others murmured agreement, and the guests rose and, in groups of three and four, filed out of the room.
Alaric glanced at Constance. She arched a brow at him, then rose; he came to his feet and offered his arm. She placed her hand on his sleeve, and they fell in at the rear of the company, dawdling behind Percy, Monty, and Edward.
They’d almost reached the door when Philpott intercepted them. “The inspector would like a word regarding your alibis.” He directed them to where Stokes, who had retreated to confer with Barnaby and Penelope at the side of the room, was waiting to beckon them over.
Alaric realized that Philpott had spoken loudly enough for several of those ahead of them to have heard. Some glanced back, but then continued on their way, clearly seeing nothing odd in the summons.
Hiding a cynical smile—Stokes and his men were not to be underestimated—Alaric changed tack. He heard Philpott shut the drawing room door as he and Constance joined what was clearly an investigators’ conference.
Stokes met Alaric’s gaze. “That wasn’t just a ruse.” He shifted his gaze to Philpott. “Take a horse and go to the Tabard and check Miss Whittaker’s movements with the staff there, then go on to Carradale Manor and speak with his lordship’s staff—verify his movements on the nights of Monday and Tuesday. Then ride back via the bridle path his lordship uses to go back and forth—note how long it takes. We’ll be speaking with the stableman along with the rest of the staff regarding the times his lordship came and went.”
Philpott saluted. “Yes, sir.”
“Wait.” Carradale had hauled out his note tablet and had been scribbling. He tore off a sheet and handed it to Philpott. “Give that to my butler, Morecombe. I doubt he or the others will cooperate without that instruction.”
Philpott read the note with Stokes peering over his shoulder.
Stokes humphed, and Philpott tipped a smiling salute to Alaric and departed.
“Right, then.” From behind the lenses of her spectacles, Penelope’s eyes gleamed. “We need to interview the staff, and despite our best efforts, it’s already after eleven o’clock. We need to get on.”
Stokes looked at Alaric and Constance. “As we’re relying on members of the staff to alibi you two, you can’t be present when we speak with them.”
Along with Constance, Alaric inclined his head in acceptance.
