“Bad news first,” Michael said. “Let us get the worst over with.”
“Miss Peach’s room above the chandlery at Pickering was broken into last week. The room was thoroughly searched, but the only things that appear to have been taken are the books.”
Michael groaned. “So we cannot decode the notebook.”
“Now let me tell you the good news,” Neate said smugly. “The only book remaining was the prayer book, which was still inside her pocket that you brought from Tonkins Farm, and that was not searched, seemingly. She had marked the page, and I have decoded the entire notebook.”
Michael grinned. “James, you are a genius! But does it say anything interesting?”
“Well… nothing definitive. Nothing that says‘The murderer is…’. That would be far too convenient. There was nothing new from her observations in Pickering. She saw Mr Eustace’s carriage collecting the ladybird from the brothel, but we knew about that. That was what led her to the tower. She seems to have been suspicious of Mr Eustace because of that. She was very pleased with herself for the mule idea, although she was concerned that the droppings would give her away, but then she found there was a field full of old ponies and donkeys next to the tower. She obviously knew about the smuggling and recorded everyone coming and going from Welwood as well as the tower. Very detailed notes, but I am not sure it helps us, except that the Pickering ladybird was a regular visitor at Welwood. Quite a rake, Mr Eustace. I wonder if his betrothed knows what he gets up to.”
“Does she mention the laudanum?” Michael said.
“Oh, the laudanum! She was experimenting with it, but it was her own sleeping she was concerned about. The laudanum made her sleep late, and she was nearly caught out by Mr Kent and Miss Parish. She had to run outside and up to the viewpoint on the top of the tower, with no time to lock the door behind her or hide her bag. She stopped using laudanum after that.”
“And the brazier? Why did she not light it when it must have been perishing at night?”
“She dared not, in case the glow could be seen. She used to light the kitchen fire once a day for hot water, and then she would heat a brick in the embers to warm her feet at night. But Michael, listen to this.‘I am almost certain of the murderer’s identity now. I only need to find the saddle, and then I shall have the proof. I will look properly in the obvious place tomorrow.’And that is the last entry.”
“But she does not name him?”
“No.”
“But we know who it is — Kent Atherton.”
Pettigrew was sitting watching this exchange, his hands folded over his stomach. “Are you certain of that, Michael?”
“Yes! You have heard my arguments, so you know how much evidence there is against him, and he was in charge of the smuggling operation. He had the most to lose if Nicholson threatened to report him to the Excise men.”
“And he presumably stole the books from Miss Peach’s room to prevent us from decoding the notebook?”
“Of course! Who else?”
“Almost anyone elseexceptKent Atherton. You told everyone at dinner here about the notebook and how you needed to decode it. I am not sure why you did that—”
“To see if anyone looked alarmed at the prospect, that is why. I should have thought you would have worked that out, Pettigrew. But sadly, no one did.”
“Well, someone noted it, and stole the books to prevent us from decoding the notebook, but whoever it was, it could not have been Kent Atherton. Not only was he not here at that dinner, he was two days’ travel away in Branton when the books were stolen.”
Michael deflated instantly. “Then it is hopeless! We still have nothing.”
***
Katherinecouldscarcelybelievethe state of grace in which she now existed. All her worries were swept away, and she no longer had to tell herself sternly not to harbour any hopes of Kent, that he was just being kind to a poor orphan. Helovedher, truly loved her, and all her most extravagant dreams were coming true.
The Cathcart family shared her happiness, albeit slightly bemused that the inarticulate, unprepossessing mill-owner’s daughter should have caught such a prize. Even Aveline was polite to her, perhaps seeing the advantage of the family connection to the Athertons. If she could not marry into that family herself, then having a cousin to boast of was almost as good.
Uncle Cathcart smiled benignly at Katherine, and murmured “All’s well that ends well”, as if he himself had effected her rescue, and had not sent her away with a stranger and retreated with a sigh of relief to his study. As for Aunt Cathcart, she was delirious with joy at the prospect of a wedding to the noble Atherton family, and was already planning the entertainments to celebrate the event. She carried a notebook everywhere with her, to write any little hints gleaned from the preparations for the forthcoming wedding of Mr Bertram Atherton and Miss Bea Franklyn. There was to be a grand ball at Corland Castle two days before the wedding, and she fully expected one at least as grand for the marriage of her dear niece to Mr Kent Atherton.
The night before this auspicious event, Katherine was just dropping off to sleep when she became aware of noises in the house, strange noises that she could not quite identify. Intruders in the house! Thoroughly awake now, she threw on a robe and crept to her door. Opening it a crack, she peered out. The landing was in darkness, apart from a crack of light from beneath the door of Alex and Neil’s bedroom.
The noises were much louder now, strange moans and gasps, as if someone were in pain, and it emanated from the boys’ room. Odd high-pitched squeaks were mixed in with the moans now. She was just about to rush across to see if one of the twins was ill, or under attack in some way, when Uncle Cathcart, resplendent in an embroidered nightcap, came marching up the stairs with a candelabrum. Behind him, still fully dressed, was James.
Uncle Cathcart threw open the boys’ bedroom door. Instantly, silence fell.
“Father?” came a wavering voice.
“Get out!” Uncle Cathcart said, in tones sterner than Katherine had ever heard him use before.
