Sebastian agrees that the conclusion seems rational in light of the evidence.
Running my fingers over the gorgeous material, which is irresistible, I add that the murder must not have been premeditated. “Otherwise, she would have worn a different shawl to the assignation or used something she had found in the room. To leave a piece this wonderful behind suggests that she was repulsed by her own violence and could not stand to keep it as a reminder. A lovers’ spat, I would say.”
Sebastian takes the shawl from my grasp and agrees that the quality is exceptional. But he is skeptical of my other conclusion, as he does not believe the steward had any romantic entanglements. “As far as I am aware, he devoted all his time to my father and the estate. I do not know when he would have had the opportunity to meet a woman, let alone seduce her. We will have to ask my parents. They will know more.”
“As well as Eleanor and Sarah,” I say.
He seems taken aback by the notion but allows that his siblings might have something useful to add to the investigation. “However, Miss Burgess, as the village gossip, is probably the best source of information on romantic entanglements.”
“No doubt you are right,” I reply, recalling her observations during dinner. The vicar’s sister seems to keep a close eye on everyone of significance in the district, which would include Keast, and the best way to find out if she knows anything is to call on her. But even as the thought occurs to me, a hot flush of embarrassment sweeps through me at the prospect of meeting her again after my mother’s devastating insults.
Despite my mortification, I must persevere.
It is the investigator’s code!
With this higher purpose in mind, I press my hand to Keast’s wrist to gauge his temperature. The cooler he is to the touch, the longer he has been dead. An imperfect science, it allows for me to draw only the most general conclusion, and I suggest that the murder took place five or six hours ago.
Sebastian agrees with my assessment, noting that four o’clock is particularly well suited for a furtive escape. “Everyone is abed, and it is still dark outside, even at this time of the year.”
“It is when a secret lover would leave regardless,” I say pensively, trying to picture the scene as it might have unfolded. Was Mr. Keast still awake because they had just completed their…hmm…nighttime activity, or did she have to rouse him to bid him goodbye? Either way, something in their last exchange riled her to fury, which might have given her the strength she needed to overcome a man larger than she—or she had delivered that blow to gain an advantage. To confirm my suspicion, I feel along his skull, looking for signs of an injury. I think I feel a bump an inch above his right ear, but Sebastian wonders if that is merely the curvature of the victim’s head.
“Inconclusive, then,” I murmur and return to speculating about the length of the affair. “If it had been going on for some months, then the lovers would have established a routine. Could Mr. Keast have given her a key to allow her to enter and leave through one of the doors?”
Sebastian cannot conceive of it.
A woman stealing undetected in and out of the house on a regular basis—surely, the security at Red Oaks is not so lax. “I know that life in the country is less formal than in the city, but my mother’s standards are high, which the staff know and respect. They work hard to meet her requirements, and the ideathat nobody noticed the steward’s dalliance is almost impossible to swallow.”
If his appraisal of the situation is accurate, then there is only one explanation: Somebody does know and turned a blind eye. “Maybe several somebodies.”
He finds the notion that one of the servants would betray their oath of duty equally implausible, and I counter with an esprit de corps among the rank and file. “If Keast was well liked among the staff, then they might have been inclined to consider a little romantic trysting harmless—which it was until it was not. We will have to interview them.”
Sebastian does not relish the prospect of interrogating the servants.
Naturally, he does not, for it will give universal offense.
Every single member of the household will be outraged.
“Do not trouble yourself, as I shall ask the questions,” I say placidly, laying a comforting hand on his arm. “Thanks to Mama’s performance last night, which would have been the only topic of conversation this morning had this tragedy not occurred, my family already are personae non gratae, which is a blessing in its own way. As I can do no right, I can also do no wrong.”
Sebastian smiles wryly, but before he can reply, a voice at the entrance cries with outrage, “Step apart, you two. Step apart! This is a murder scene, not an assembly hall. A little decorum, please!”
Chapter Four
Ijump back guiltily, as though I have been caught cavorting in a fountain in my chemise, but Sebastian holds himself steady and greets the newcomer coolly.
He is Aldridge Jenner, a gray wolf of a man with silver tufts of hair extending in every direction and whiskers that have not been groomed in weeks. His eyes, which are a faint shade of blue, regard us distastefully as he castigates Sebastian for not having the sense God gave a puppy. “Allowing a member of the frail sex to remain in the room with a dead body is reprehensible enough, but treating the circumstance with the same gravity as a garden party is a shocking affront to me and every constable in the shire. I cannot credit it, for I know you were raised better.”
“Indeed, he was!” avers Mr. Holcroft, striding into the room, his hands clasped behind his back.
Mr. Jenner clucks disapprovingly. “We must be grateful she has only been reduced to tremors, not insentience. Imagine if the poor girl swooned!”
Tremors!
I started with surprise when the large man bounded into the room while hurling accusations, which I contend is an entirely normal reaction given the great commotion he made. I am not somissish that I would faint at the sight of a corpse, and certainly not one that is absent putrescent fluids.
Mr. Jenner seeks to provide comfort by announcing that he is here to rescue me from Sebastian’s thoughtlessness. “Do not worry, Miss Hyde-Clare. I care about your welfare even if our young friend here does not,” he says, graciously extending his elbow in an offer to escort me from the room.
My polite refusal is superseded by Mr. Holcroft’s determination to take on the responsibility. “You must stay and attend to your business, Aldridge. I will return the girl to her parents if my son will not display proper comportment and bear the burden himself.”
