The one point above all others that struck Constance was Percy’s quite evident pain. She had to agree with Alaric’s assessment that Percy was definitely not Glynis’s murderer; he had patently been one step away from worshipping the ground on which Glynis trod.
While Percy’s attempts to smooth their way with his family made him appear weak in Constance’s eyes, she could easily see Glynis having no argument with Percy’s approach; it was one Glynis herself would unquestionably have used had the shoe been on the other foot. Even to the imposed secrecy.
“So, you see, it was my mama’s original engagement ring that Glynis wore on the chain. I gave it to her as a sign of my unwavering intentions on Sunday, when we spoke and she agreed to keep our engagement secret. The ring was here, so I hadn’t been able to give it to her earlier—having to hide it spoiled the moment somewhat, but Glynis was pleased with it regardless. She said she didn’t mind hiding it, as that was the best route for us to get to the altar.” Percy looked around rather blankly. “That was what I was searching for when you found me. I couldn’t be sure that Glynis was wearing the ring on the chain on Monday night, so I came to see if it was here.”
“It isn’t,” Barnaby said. “We’ve searched thoroughly and found no ring.”
“Moreover,” Penelope added, “we suspect that the chain, with the ring, was around Glynis’s throat when she was killed, and the murderer took it.”
Percy frowned. “Whatever for?” Then he blinked. “I suppose it does have monetary value—it was a very pretty sapphire surrounded by diamonds set in gold.”
Constance remembered her goal. “What about the letters?”
Penelope pushed up her glasses. “I ask again, what letters?”
Constance glanced at Percy. “You wrote to Glynis, and she kept the letters.”
Percy blinked. “She did?”
“Yes. According to Mrs. Macomber, she kept them in her hatbox.” Constance turned and pointed to the hatbox perched on top of the armoire at her back. “I’m fairly sure that’s it.”
Alaric crossed to the armoire, lifted down the box, and handed it to Constance.
Stokes sighed. “I looked in there already. There are no letters there.”
Constance had opened the box. She looked down at the contents. Penelope drew close and peered in, too.
“Empty, as reported,” Penelope said. “But see”—she put her hand into the box and waved it—“there’s a space here, between her scarves, where the letters must have been.”
Constance stared at the empty spot, then she closed the hatbox. Alaric took it and set it back on top of the armoire.
Meanwhile, Penelope had turned and directed a meaningful look at Barnaby.
Barnaby glanced at Stokes. “We need to talk this through, but not here.” He looked at Percy. “We need somewhere where we can be absolutely certain we won’t be overheard.”
* * *
They adjourned to the south lawn, to the green room created by the sprawling branches of an ancient oak. The leaves screened them from curious eyes, yet allowed them to scan through the foliage in all directions. If anyone approached, they would see them long before they got close enough to hear anything short of a shout.
Stokes’s first order of business was to take Percy through the where, the when, and the substance of his private exchanges with Glynis, both in London prior to the house party and after her arrival at Mandeville Hall. Percy had, by then, regained some of his composure; he answered Stokes’s probing questions readily and with increasing clarity.
Eventually, having realized Stokes’s direction, Percy stated, “I honestly don’t think anyone could have overheard us. We were careful from the first. I recognized the necessity of presenting the match to my parents in the best possible light—in the right way—and Glynis supported that.”
Alaric mentally conceded that, in the matter of marrying Glynis Johnson, Percy had acted with quite astonishing circumspection—the very opposite of his usual recklessness.
“And it must be said,” Penelope stated, “that unless all the ladies here are lying, Glynis successfully concealed what she wore on her chain. Trust me—a ring like that would have caused a great deal of whispered comment, not to say speculation.”
Percy frowned. In the green-tinted shade beneath the leafy canopy, with his pallor deepening, he appeared increasingly bilious. He looked at Stokes. “You said the murderer had ripped the chain from about Glynis’s neck and taken the ring.” Percy’s expression turned devastated. “Good God! Was she killed because she’d accepted me?”
It was an appalling question to have to face. Sadly, no one had an answer—and none of them could bring themselves to offer Percy false assurances, either.
After a moment, Barnaby shifted. “Percy—did you keep the letters Glynis sent you?”
Lost in some nightmarish vision, Percy blinked, then with an effort, seemed to focus. After several seconds, he slowly shook his head. “No—I burned them. I’m not…tidy. I didn’t want any lying around where someone from the family—like Edward—might see. It was important I be the first to raise the marriage with my parents.”
Barnaby gently said, “You’ve stated several times that it was important to present the marriage to your parents in the correct way, but you haven’t explained why. You’re a second son, and Miss Johnson is surely eligible enough—I would have thought your parents would have been glad that you wished to settle down.”
“They would have been.” Percy raked a hand through his hair. “But trust me—if Edward or his father, or even one of his brothers, had heard of my choice before I’d gained my father’s support, they would have kicked up such a fuss the marriage would never have happened.” Percy glanced at Constance. “It wasn’t so much that Glynis was below me socially as that her rank wasn’t high enough for them.”
