And then he was gone, leaving her smiling and cheerful. What a charming man! She felt a delightful warmth inside, which stayed with her until she heard Aveline’s voice behind her.
“There you are, cousin! What are you doing hiding away in here? Come on, there are new bonnets at Miss Prinkley’s.”
Katherine rose obediently and followed her from the church.
1: Murder In The Night
CORLAND CASTLE, NORTH RIDING: JUNE
Murder!
It was hard to believe. Such a thing had never happened in this remote part of Yorkshire, and to have such an occurrence here, in Corland Castle, in the very home of the Earl of Rennington, was too much to take in. The Honourable Kent Atherton, third and youngest son of the earl, was the most optimistic of men, always with a light-hearted quip and a smile on his lips, but even he was reduced to silence today.
Only the earl murmured incessantly. “Nicholson was an inoffensive man, would you not say? A chaplain, for heaven’s sake! Who would kill a chaplain, and in so brutal a fashion? An axe! Why an axe? Why would anyone come here with an axe and slaughter a man in his bed? Never anything wrong with Nicholson that would cause anyone to want him dead, one would have thought. Always very kind to my poor sister. Oh, dear God — Alice! Poor, poor Alice, to discover her husband like that. For once, I believe it to be a blessing that she is blind and did not see the worst of it, as we did. My poor sister!”
Kent listened in silence. They were in the earl’s study, one of the corner tower rooms of the castle, the three of them, Kent, his eldest brother, Walter, and the earl, gathered around a small table where the brandy decanter sat. Only the earl was drinking. Walter had abandoned his glass after a couple of sips, and Kent’s lay untouched. The matter was too serious even for brandy.
The afternoon drifted on, and even the earl had lapsed into silence when Eustace, the middle brother, walked in.
“Eustace? Were we expecting you?” the earl said, looking puzzled. Eustace had a modest estate of his own some twelve miles from Corland and rarely turned up without warning.
“No… no, I was just passing. The servants are all of a twitter… has something happened?”
“The most damnable thing,” the earl said. “Nicholson has been murdered in his bed.”
“Nicholson?”
“It is unaccountable, is it not?” Walter said. “Who under the sun would want to murder Nicholson?”
Walter poured Eustace a brandy and gave him all the details of the case. Eustace sat in silence, as stunned by the news as they had been early that morning when Aunt Alice’s screams had woken the household.
“But what is being done? Who is out looking for the murderer?” Eustace said, when Walter’s tale wound to its close.
“Strong and his brother are here, and the coroner fellow — I forget his name,” the earl said, rubbing his forehead tiredly.
“Ashbridge,” Walter said. “A Helmsley man. We have turned it over to Strong, as the magistrate, but he thinks we should bring in outsiders to investigate.”
“Bow Street Runners?” Eustace said with a bark of laughter. “Some ruffian from London?”
“Not Runners. Strong knows some people — clever but discreet,” the earl said. “From Hartlepool.”
“Well, ruffians from Hartlepool, then. It is all the same. The murderer will be long gone by the time they get here, and there will be nothing to investigate.”
“There is the weapon… the axe,” Kent said. “And someone might have heard something, or seen a stranger loitering in the village or staying at the White Horse. There might be traces of blood… there was a lot of blood, brother.”
“A pity I was not here,” Eustace said. “I am a light sleeper, so I might have heard something.”
“So is Kent a light sleeper, and Mother and Olivia,” Walter said sharply, “yet they heard nothing. Besides, if you had been here and heard something and gone to investigate, it would have been you lying in your own blood, brother.”
“That is the one bright spot in this whole dreadful affair,” the earl said. “Nicholson… losing Nicholson is a tragedy, of course, especially for your poor aunt, but it could have been a great deal worse. It could have been one of you, or one of the girls… or several of you, if this fellow had gone on a rampage. We couldallhave been slaughtered in our beds last night, so let us be grateful for that small mercy.”
No one had anything to say to that hideous thought. The earl reached for the brandy decanter, and the four remained wreathed in gloom, neither moving nor speaking until the dressing bell sounded.
***
Thelastnotesofthe sonata died away. Katherine rested her hands in her lap, savouring the moment. There was always a satisfaction in completing a piece of such length, knowing that she had played it a little better than the previous time. For a few precious seconds, she could almost imagine herself home again, on one of those rare days when there were no immediate tasks requiring her attention and she could sit down to play for a while.
Almost as soon as the thought crossed her mind, she remembered the truth — that Papa was dead, the mill and her home were lost, and she lived now with her Aunt and Uncle Cathcart. She was not unhappy there, she reminded herself sternly, and she had a great deal to be thankful for, but even after three months there were still many days when she found herself in low spirits. On bad days, she could not bring herself to be cheerful at all, and might start or end the day with a few tears for dear Papa and her beloved Branton. On good days, there were no tears and perhaps an hour of solitude in the garden to cheer her.
