Now I bristle with insult.
I can accept—with resentment—being described as a trembler or called a burden, but to accuse the most upstanding man in England of indecorum!
No, I will not.
Sebastian reportedhis own cousinfor legal improprieties.
I do not care if the charge came from Mr. Holcroft.
Most fathers are incapable of appreciating the virtues of their own offspring.
My own sire tends to forget that I exist between my displays of erudition, and a girl has only so many opportunities to show off her Latin. I would have to adopt the manners of Cicero for my father to be constantly reminded of my existence—and that sounds exhausting. (And yet the look of chagrin on Russell’s face if I were to command our father’s constant attention! It is almost enough to make the excessive effort worth it.)
To his credit, Sebastian does not rise to the provocation, owning himself gratified by their concern for my welfare. “Miss Hyde-Clare is no stranger to investigations of this nature.”
Mr. Jenner, who is dressed in hunting attire, an indication that his plans for the morning have been disrupted by hisconstabulary duties, scowls fiercely. “I know she is cousin to the murder duchess—everyone in the village knows that—so you do not need to make sly reference to it. But this is not London, where they allow women to pollute the purity of their cadavers. This is Lower Bigglesmeade, and I would urge you out of respect for local custom to escort Miss Hyde-Clare downstairs and allow the men to oversee this matter.”
Sebastian refuses.
Of course he does!
Mr. Jenner has left him no choice, all but sending Sebastian off to the nursery to eat milky toast with the other children. But he does not bother to issue a denial. Instead, he reviews the evidence we have gleaned from the crime scene, citing the most likely time of death and the shawl as a strong indication that the murderer is a woman.
The constable listens politely to our findings, but it’s clear from his demeanor that he does not consider them relevant to his project. He barely glances at the lovely silk garment before stuffing it into his pocket in his eagerness to explain that the most pertinent information is what you do not see. “Context is the key to any crime. Identify the context and you will uncover the motive. Uncover the motive and you will identify the perpetrator.”
Sebastian nods curtly. “Yes, Jenner, I am familiar with your methodology, as I have heard you lecture about the topic on multiple occasions.”
Although the constable stiffens at the implied insult, he nevertheless launches into a sermon about the correct way to approach a crime scene. “You have my permission, Seb, to search Keast’s drawers. We are looking for anything that provides context for the crime. Context in this case is a motive. By ‘motive’ I mean the thing that spurred the killer to act.Murders do not happen out of nowhere. They are sparked by a particular event.”
While Mr. Holcroft looks on with approval, Mr. Jenner explains his investigative philosophy in greater length, definingvacuumnext, thenexculpatory.Sebastian, his expression still blank, falls in line with the neighbor’s instructions by opening the wardrobe and inspecting its contents. Following his lead, I apply myself to the dresser, which has three drawers. Starting with the top one, I work slowly and cautiously out of respect for the deceased. Suffering the horror of strangulation is enough indignity to endure for one day; I do not want to add having his possessions roughly handled.
It is tedious!
As one would expect, the dresser contains clothes, neatly folded shirts, trousers, drawers, garters, and cravats—all in excellent condition, an indication that their owner treated them with care. The only thing to draw my notice are his stockings, which have been mended a dozen times between them. Either the steward was skilled with a needle or one of the maids lent her assistance.
If it is the latter, then perhaps Keast confided in her.
Do I think he might have done more?
Naturally, the idea occurs to me, for I know all about the pliability of young, eager girls, but the shawl is far too dear for an impoverished servant to leave behind. If a housemaid is the murderer, then she would have either used another method or taken the murder weapon with her.
With this thought in mind, I return the stockings to their place and gently remove a nightshirt. As I unfold it, a packet of letters drops to the floor.
Mr. Jenner pounces.
Still expounding on the obligations of his office, he breaks off abruptly as he leaps forward and bends down to retrievethe bundle, which makes him look more like a wolf than ever. “Well, well, well, what do we have here?” he asks with an air of anticipation, holding the parcel to his nose and inhaling deeply. “Lavender. I smell the evergreen woodsy scent of lavender. These are from a sweetheart, I know it without even reading a single letter.”
It is not a fantastical conclusion.
Lovers often sprinkle their notes of affection with aromas, and the lavender smell is strong. It wafts across the room to where Mr. Holcroft is standing in the doorway, causing him to wrinkle his nose in distaste.
Mr. Jenner unfolds the top letter, which he reads silently, as is his prerogative as constable. When his eyes reach the bottom of the page, he murmurs, “Interesting, very interesting,” before continuing to the next one in the stack. He does this half a dozen times, his tone never varying as he comments on the very interesting nature of the missives.
It is highly irritating, but I assume that is the purpose of the exercise.
If Sebastian and I insist on behaving like recalcitrant children who do not mind their elders, then Mr. Jenner will treat us like recalcitrant children who do not mind their elders.
He owes us no courtesies!
