“Keast was strangled with an orange scarf,” Mr. Holcroft explains.
It gives the suspect pause. He knows that my being able to connect him to the murder weapon is not auspicious. But the connectionistenuous, and that is what he chooses to point out.“There are dozens of orange scarves in Bedfordshire, Miss Hyde-Clare. Jane’s is far from the only one.”
“It is Russian flame, not orange, which your wife took pains to point out because there is a world of difference between the two shades,” I reply. “And that is not all. As she also explained, your daughter’s shawl is made of silk and personally stitched by Madame Valenaire. There are not dozens of Russian flame silk Madame Valenaire originals in Bedfordshire, Mr. Nutting. There is precisely one, and you are the last person to have it.”
His eyes goggle at the implication, and he turns to glare hotly at Mr. Holcroft for tricking him into this scene. He was promised a lark.
Because he is unsettled, I press my case. “Do you want to know what I think happened, Mr. Nutting? I think you decided to kill the steward to put an end to his plans to enclose the commons, which you rely on to graze your herds, and you concocted the fiction of an impoverished widow from a neighboring village to direct attention away from Lower Bigglesmeade. To bolster your fiction, you wrote ten letters telling the dramatic story of seduction and betrayal and signed them ‘eternally devoted,’ based loosely on a popular gothic novel. You used the orange scarf because you assumed one frippery is like another and had no idea that a silk confection by Madame Valenaire is beyond the means of an impoverished widow. You may deny it, but the evidence is unequivocal: We know you had the shawl because you attested to that fact in front of me and your wife. We know you readThe Fate of the Dark Dawnbecause you recommended it to Mrs. Holcroft. We know you oppose land enclosure because you railed against it the other night at dinner.”
By the time I reach the end of this litany, Mr. Nutting is flushed and subdued. He had made certain calculations in hisplan for the steward and none of them included an orange scarf leading directly to his door.
He had thought he was so clever.
Perhaps he had been too clever.
Mr. Holcroft bangs the table with a vengeful fist, offended on his friend’s behalf.
Or maybe the affront is more personal.
This is not how he imagined the scene unfolding.
Regardless, he is livid and sneers, “See here, girly, you do not get to sit atmytable and lodge baseless accusations againstmyguests!”
At the end of his tether, Sebastian leaps to his feet with so much vehemence his chair topples over, but he does not say a word because Papa speaks first.
“You may not talk to my daughter like that,” he says with unprecedented fierceness. “It is acceptable in neither content nor tone. She did not create this imbroglio and in fact did everything she could to avoid it. She intended to have this conversation with your neighbor in his home on the morrow, and when you thwarted that plan by inviting him here without her consent, she suggested they talk privately in another room. I am not in the habit of demanding apologies from men attheirtables when I amtheirguest, but I am demanding it of you now, sir. Apologize to my daughter or we will leave this minute!”
It is impossible to say who is more shocked by this defense: Russell or I.
I think it is I, because the defense comes on my behalf and my father has never advocated for me privately, let alone in view of other living, breathing human beings. If anything, he is inclined to judge any criticism of his progeny as fair and lend his support by pointing out an additional shortcoming or two that the faultfinder might have overlooked in their eagerness to issue a critique.
But itcouldbe Russell, because he is older and male and as such contends with Papa’s outsize expectations for his heir.
“Horace!” my mother exclaims.
Oh, yes,Mama.
I had forgotten about her.
Of course she is the most shocked.
Whatever timidity and deference Papa possesses, she has double.
“We will not leave this minute, as you said in your temper,” she adds in a more measured voice, and I brace for the inevitable rambling aside that touches on an apology, then backs away from an admission of wrongdoing only to approach it again. “We will depart at first light.”
Not an apology!
An endorsement of the original proposal with a minor concession to practicality.
It is a shocking turn.
Grateful for their support, I am nevertheless confounded by their willingness to provide it onthisoccasion. Do they not comprehend that I am conducting a murder investigation, the very thing they cited as evidence of Bea’s failing mental acuity? Meetings were convened with Aunt Susan and Uncle Lawrence to discuss how to address, halt, or hide my cousin’s decline.
And yet now they are irate on my behalf.
Bless the dears.
Mrs. Holcroft clears her throat meaningfully, and having gained our attention smoothly asserts that neither option must be pursued. “Mr. and Mrs. Hyde-Clare, I hope you will decide to remain and finish your visit as planned. We are just getting to know your daughter, and Seb would be disappointed by an early departure. Furthermore, we are looking forward to meeting your relatives when they arrive on Saturday.”
