“But he is not at all pleased because he did not uncover the murderer himself. And also, I suspect, because he is not entirely convinced by this confession.”
“But if the confession is false… it can only be because Mr Shapman is protecting the real murderer, and that could only be—”
“Tess,” he said. “Precisely so. And although Tess is capable of almost any outrageous behaviour, even she would draw the line at murder of her own father, I suspect. But still, a confession has been made and so it must stand, and even Captain Edgerton cannot continue his investigations now. Did you ever have the misfortune to be interrogated by him?”
She laughed. “Not interrogated, no. He asked me very politely where I was on the night of the murder, and I told him that I dined at Westwick Heights that night, arrived home somewhat after one and fell, exhausted, into bed, where I stayed until eight or so the next morning. All of which he already knew, of course, since I was the last to be asked.”
Kent chuckled. “Last but not least, Miss Parish.”
“Oh, but I am,” she said seriously. “I am very much the least in that household.” But then she went on in more lively tones, “So what is to become of the good Captain now? Has he another murder to investigate?”
“Only a disappearance. Did you ever meet Miss Peach, Mrs Edgerton’s companion?”
“Oh yes! She used to come to the rectory sewing afternoons sometimes. She always seemed like a rather bird-witted elderly lady, but I think she was a great deal sharper than she appeared, and was using the rectory gossip to gather information. Has she disappeared?”
“She has. Eustace was very scathing, as you may imagine. Not only has the captain failed to solve the murder, but now he has lost one of his own people — that sort of remark. Eustace can be rather cutting sometimes. But he gets around more than Father and I do, so he is going to look out for her.”
“I hope nothing bad has happened to her,” she said, frowning.
“So do we all,” he said. “So do we all, Miss Parish.”
***
Oneafternoon,Kentcamein from a long day’s shooting, muddied from head to toe and longing only for a bath and a good dinner, to find a note awaiting him.
‘Atherton, Would you be so good as to call on me at Cathcart House when convenient. There is a matter I would discuss with you. Alan Cathcart.’
Kent was somewhat puzzled by this curious missive. Cathcart was a good sort of man, but not one with whom Kent generally had dealings, beyond the occasional social encounter. The family were included in the earl’s circle of acquaintances, but as Cathcart was neither the owner of a sizeable estate nor a sporting man, there were no common interests to pull him into the orbit of the other gentlemen of the parish. It could only be to do with one of the ladies, but although Kent examined his conscience punctiliously, he could not recall any slight or insult of which he might be accused.
He would not know until he spoke to Cathcart, so he sent a brief reply that evening, to the effect that he would call at noon, if that suited him. Since he expected to be berated for something, even if he was not sure of the precise nature of the offence, he dressed with more than usual care that morning, and, since it was raining and he had no wish to appear mud-bespattered, took the carriage.
Cathcart was in his study. In fact, now that Kent thought about it, he suspected the fellow seldom left his own fireside, for he was an indolent man. It was a comfortable enough nest, several tables liberally covered with books, newspapers and journals, a desk with a row of wooden boxes for bills, letters and other papers, and a well-used leather chair beside the fire, a glass of wine resting on a table within easy reach.
“Ah, Atherton… yes, do come in. Thank you for coming so promptly. Very much obliged to you. A glass of something? Madeira or Canary? I have claret, if you prefer, or port or… or brandy? Or—?”
“Madeira, thank you. What was it you wished to discuss with me?”
“Well. An awkward business, Atherton.” He stopped, throwing anxious glances at Kent. Then, taking a heavy breath as if he were about to dive into a deep lake, he said, “The thing is, Atherton, Mrs Cathcart is… a little troubled.”
“Indeed?”
“Indeed. Troubled. For myself, I would not say anything about it… these things work themselves out for the best, one way or another, but… Mrs Cathcart feels that… and she is quite right, I am sure. One can never be too careful, can one?”
“I cannot say, sir, since I have not the privilege of understanding you as yet.”
“Oh. Of course. It is my niece, you see.”
“Miss Parish?” That got Kent’s attention all of a sudden. “I hope nothing I have said or done has distressed Miss Parish. I should be sincerely sorry for it, if so.”
“No, no! Far be it from me to imply any criticism. I would not dream… not the least thought of such a thing.”
“She has made no complaint against me?”
“Heavens, no! Katherine is such a timid little thing, she never complains about anything. The difficulty is that she has led a very different life… a much more restricted one, and she has never met… well, anyone like you before. It is not surprising that she is a trifle dazzled by you.”
“Dazzled by me? Is she?”
“Not to put too fine a point on it, she has developed a littletendrefor you, so you see, if you were to pay her too much attention, you might be… drawn in, so to speak. Find yourself in deep waters, and if you should not wish to… erm, find yourself there… well, it might be awkward.”
