Pensively, I say, “That is the only way to explain your refusal to exonerate yourself by naming the recipient of the shawl. Either you do not have the shawl because you left it around Mr. Keast’s throat, or you do not have the shawl because you gave it away. As the murder case against you is convincing, the only reason you would withhold information that would clear you of suspicion is you are protecting yourself from something you consider to be a greater threat to your well-being. I imagine your family would not take well the news that you are trysting with the vicar’s sister. Regardless, you recoiled at the mention of the vicarage, and that is what put me in mind of Miss Burgess.”
On a furious snarl, Mr. Nutting declares that is nonsense.
Rubbish!
Drivel!
Tripe!
As he lets loose this barrage of outrage, Mrs. Holcroft says his name softly and shakes her head, which brings him up short. “You are fooling no one.”
Nutting stares blankly.
He does not know how to respond, because he does not understand the comment: fooling no one about what?
Mrs. Holcroft, perceiving the source of his confusion, says, “Miss Burgess, Mrs. Cressdale, Mrs. Lyngate-Harper, the actress fromThe Tempest.I could go on, but I hope you will not make me. As discreet as you may be in your pursuit of…let us callit young flesh…you appear to have forgotten the central maxim of a rural village, which is that your private business is never private. It is a particularly surprising lapse in light of Miss Burgess’s own fondness for gossip. Julia Braithwaite and I have known about your proclivity from the very beginning—an opera dancer, if memory serves—and have never breathed a word of it to Grace. We like her immensely and would hate to cause her pain. But that is just we two. I have no idea what others have told her.”
Although a pugnacious fire lights Mr. Nutting’s eyes, he recognizes the wisdom of accepting the inevitable and says, “Yes, I gave the shawl to Miss Burgess. It seemed like a modest present that a woman would appreciate. I had no idea it was equal to three years’ pay for a housemaid and am now worried that she might have deemed the gift more significant than I had intended.”
Mr. Holcroft barks, “Deny, you fool, deny! Never admit anything.”
Smiling thinly, Mrs. Dowell catches my eye across the table. “I trust you see now why we are where we are with Grimston. My father and he are cut from the same cloth.”
Although I already have a clear understanding of Mr. Holcroft’s obstinacy, I appreciate the amity with which she makes the statement, as though sharing a confidence with a friend. I smile with pleasure, even as I marvel at Mr. Nutting’s ability to think about only himself. Seconds ago he revealed that his mistress has possession of the murder weapon, and his chief concern is that he might have accidentally overcommitted himself with an expensive present.
“What grudge does Miss Burgess bear against Mr. Keast?” I ask.
Mr. Nutting stiffens at the query, affronted by the implication that he should know anything about Miss Burgess’sthoughts and opinions. But he also insists that her thoughts and opinions are irrelevant. “She is not the killer, and I beg as a courtesy to me that you do not interrogate her as though she were a suspect. You may ask to see the shawl and that is it.”
“You may depend on it,” Mr. Holcroft says affably.
Having wrangled the concession, Mr. Nutting dips his head in gratitude and thanks his host, who murmurs, “Of course.”
They are a pair of absurd old men, smug in their outlook and oblivious in their understanding, and I treat them like a pair of absurd old men, which is to say I ignore them. They can make all the arrangements they wish between them, but it is still my investigation. They cannot wrest it from my grasp as though it were a purse.
Chester, however, does not share my clarity on the situation and asks his father whether the tone of the interview with Miss Burgess is his decision to make. He gave up all right to direct the action when he mocked her theories as baseless and invited their neighbor there in a show of contempt. “It is Miss Hyde-Clare’s investigation now.”
To his credit, he sounds genuinely confused by the change in attitude. His goal is not to tweak his papa’s nose.
“And the height of presumption,” Mrs. Dowell adds. “Let us not forget he also called it that.”
Hergoal is to tweak it.
Mr. Holcroft readily agrees. “It is the height of presumption to investigate the murder of a servant who is not your own. I will speak to Miss Burgess about the shawl in the tone I deem appropriate at the time I decide is convenient.”
Sebastian opens his mouth to speak, presumably to protest further, and I touch his arm lightly. Gaining his attention, I give my head a slight shake to indicate my preference. If he presses the issue, his father will only grow more indignant. The better approach is to allow him his druthers and go quietly on our way.
Swallowing his comment, Sebastian leans back in his chair.
Mr. Nutting observes the interaction and urges his friend to make the call first thing in the morning. “Otherwise, Miss Hyde-Clare will get the jump on you and kick up a fuss and then the whole district will know about our peccadillo and Grace will be humiliated.”
Yes,Iam the cause of his wife’s humiliation.
Darting to his feet, Mr. Holcroft avers that he can do better than first thing tomorrow. “I shall do last thing tonight! Come, Nutting, we shall take your carriage, call on Miss Burgess right now, and settle this once and for all.”
“Absolutely not!” Mrs. Holcroft says, horrified at the notion of the late-night visit. “It is after nine, you have not been invited, and despite her proclivities, Miss Burgess is still an unmarried lady. She cannot entertain two men at this hour, especially if her brother is away from home. Do you have any idea if the vicar is out?”
Mr. Holcroft proposes that they send a note seeking the sibling’s whereabouts.
