After the maid had left, Sandy sighed. “Well, that’s nae very helpful. It doesnae advance our case against Lady Alice one jot.”
“It is as we suspected,” Michael said. “She could have murdered him in cold blood, planning it with meticulous attention to detail, or it could be precisely as she describes — she came through and discovered him thus. And we cannot prove it one way or the other, and unless we can find a reason why she might have wanted to kill him, we cannot accuse her.”
There was one piece of good luck, however, for the mysterious Mr Eustace Atherton finally made himself known to Michael. He was very different from his father and oldest brother, who were both imposingly built, mostly with muscle in Lord Birtwell’s case, although Lord Rennington was running rather to fat. Eustace was more like the youngest brother, Kent, both men being lean and dark haired. Eustace was of a restless nature, pacing about the old nursery, slapping his gloves against his thigh, picking up loose items idly then tossing them down again.
“Well, Captain, whatever did you say to my father to send him off to York in such haste, eh?” was the first thing he said.
“I am sure his lordship will inform you when he has anything to impart, sir,” Michael said.
“Oh, very discreet. Your London lawyer went with him, I hear.”
“You are well informed, Mr Atherton.”
“I know everything that goes on in this place, Captain. I may live twelve miles away, but this is still my home.”
“Is it? But you do not live here, Mr Atherton. You were not here on the night Mr Nicholson was murdered… were you?”
“No, no. I was at home, tucked up in bed with— Well, never mind with whom. Let us merely say that I did not awaken the next morning until gone ten o’clock.” He grinned lasciviously. “It had been a tiring night.”
Michael eyed him with distaste, but chose not to pursue the point. “If you know everything that goes on here, sir, perhaps you can tell us who murdered Mr Nicholson, for we are quite at a loss to account for it. He seems to be a perfect saint, with not an enemy in the world.”
Eustace gave a crack of laughter. “A saint? Not him! You should not listen to Aunt Alice, for she will certainly give you a false impression. He was all for what he could get, you know. He only married Aunt Alice to guarantee his place here… or so my grandmother says. She has never much liked him. He cheats at cards, too, and no one likes a cheat. I think he was feathering his own nest, for when Grandfather died, there was nothing like as much money as there should have been. I would have looked into it, but Father is too easy-going. He never likes to make a fuss. I persuaded him to appoint a proper land steward when he inherited, so Nicholson could not defraud him any further. Grandfather left Nicholson a house in his will — did you know that? Pickering, seemingly. It is leased out — a charitable case, Nicholson said, but I dare say he was making money from it.”
Michael eyed him thoughtfully. Was this a truer picture of Nicholson, or merely the jaundiced eye of a cynical man? “Perhaps he was not quite a saint, for which of us is?” Michael said. “Nevertheless, there does not seem anything in all this to justify murder.”
“Justify? No, for who would want to murder thechaplain?” Eustace said slowly. “Father, maybe, when he gets on his high horse, or Izzy, definitely, when she gets in one of her frenzies, but not thechaplain.It sounds like the work of a madman, to me.”
“You think someone broke into the castle and crept up the stairs, wandered into a bedroom at random and attacked a man sleeping peacefully?” Michael said mildly. “And then crept away just as quietly?”
“You do not think so?”
“It seems a trifle implausible. Does it not seem so to you?”
“But how else to account for it?” Eustace said, hurling himself into a chair impatiently. “You are not saying that someone inside the castle did it, are you? One of the servants, loyal to us for years and years, suddenly takes umbrage at one of the chaplain’s sermons? Or — Good God, are you suggesting it was one of us? One of thefamily?”
“If it were, who would your suspicion fall on?” Michael said, watching him carefully.
“What a question! Not any of the ladies, obviously. An axe, for heaven’s sake! As for the men… no, I cannot think of anyone… not really. I mean, Walter has a temper on him, sometimes, but… no, he would not. I am sure he would not. Of course, Walter is very close to Aunt Alice, so if he saw some imagined insult… but no, I cannot think it of him. Not Father, certainly, and Kent is too sweet-natured for violence of any sort. I suppose Farramont would be the only one whose character I cannot vouch for. He is secretive, that one.”
“Farramont?LordFarramont? The Lady Isabel’s husband?” Michael said in astonishment. “But he was not even here!”
“Who told you that? Yes, he was here that night. He was hunting for Izzy, of course, but although shehadbeen here, she had already left. Typical of her. Farramont arrived during dinner, ate in his room and left at first light, so I suppose his presence was barely noticed.”
Sandy’s pen flew over the paper, writing down this new information. Michael felt a sudden surge of fury. After talking to every single person who lived in the castle, from the earl down to the kitchen boy, not one had mentioned the presence of Lord Farramont on the fatal night. It had been left to the one person who did not even live there to tell them of it.
Eustace was equally informative about the axe when it was shown to him, his thin face lighting up with boyish enthusiasm.
“Was this what was used? How strange! I thought it would have been one of the medieval ones from the great hall, but this is relatively modern, a boarding axe, such as the Royal Navy use. This comes from my own collection at Welwood-on-the-hill.”
“Then how did it get here?” Michael said sharply.
“I brought it, of course. I am not allowed to interfere with the displays on the walls, except now and then, when everything is taken down for spring cleaning or Mother is redecorating, but there are other possibilities — the suits of armour that decorate odd corners, for instance. I rearrange them and their weaponry on a regular basis. This one was part of the grouping on the half-landing on the stairs between the great hall and this floor.”
“There are three suits of armour there, with swords,” Michael said. “One has a pike as well, and one a mace.”
“And the third had this axe. The murderer must have gone up those stairs and taken up the axe as he did so. I should have noticed its loss at once if I had ever come that way, but I always use the service stairs. Shall I show you where the axe was positioned?”
Michael followed him out onto the landing, and round to the stairs. Halfway down, a large niche in the wall, flanked by giant urns, held the three suits of armour, and it was easy to see where the axe would have fitted into the display.
