“J. J. Butterworth, you are a deceitful trollop. You knew about the entire story before you came in here this evening and yet you blackmailed me into telling you anyway?”
She grinned. “Best get your beauty sleep now, Veronica. It is late and we have a case. See you tomorrow, partner.”
CHAPTER
16
The next morning I woke in a dangerous mood. I was thoroughly annoyed at being manipulated into taking J. J. on as a partner, and I was more than a little vexed with Stoker. In spite of my protests to J. J., I was not in the least surprised that Tiberius had decided to skirt the rules of fair play. But Stoker’s gamesmanship had taken a new turn I did not like. Hitherto, we had been partners in our investigative endeavours, even when we pursued separate lines of enquiry. Now, he seemed content to carry on without me, and it would not do. I had to plot precisely how to bring him to heel. It never profits a lady to permit a man to gain the advantage in matters of the heart, I reflected.Imust have the whip hand, I told myself as I dressed. It was an unfortunate choice of words. That particular phrase led me to woolgathering in an especially saucy vein, and it was some minutes before I recalled myself to the task at hand: protecting Tiberius from a possible murderer.
Of course, we had no absolute proof that the murderer was even amongst us, I reminded myself as I pinned my hair neatly into place. We had gathered a collection of potential victims, and it might take considerable unravelling to make progress. The situation called forkeen observation and patience, skills innate to a lepidopterist and honed to a razor’s edge in the field.
In a burst of exuberance, I put aside the simple country walking dress I had selected and dressed instead in my hunting costume. It was a collection of garments whose design had been refined over the course of many years’ experience. I owned several in various fabrics, and this was a particularly suitable pale violet twill, light enough for the warmth of the day. The ensemble began with trousers, cut tight to the leg but with good freedom of movement for scrambling over rocks and hillsides. A fitted white shirtwaist came next with an immaculate white collar pinned at the throat by a small brooch bearing a cameo of Medusa’s head. A waistcoat and jacket followed, and atop the trousers went a slender skirt fitted with various pockets and an ingenious system of buttons so that it might be secured out of the way when necessary.
Into the starched white cuffs went a set of minuten, the small headless pins used by butterfly collectors to secure specimens. They were used more in the laboratory than the field, but I found them particularly convenient for warding off predators of the two-legged variety. More than once an importunate suitor had made to grab my hand only to draw back, bleeding and thoroughly cowed. I filled my pockets with various tools and the odd knife or two—I had, after all, promised Tiberius I would be his stalwart protector. The last to go on were my boots, flat and flexible of sole and laced tightly to the knee. The effect was eccentric but not unbecoming, and I pinned on a hat with a broad brim to shield my face from the late summer sunshine. I preferred a wide brim for the shade, and the necessary hatpins were another handy weapon. I kept mine sharpened to a needle point, and once suitably kitted, I felt equipped to meet any threat that might befall Tiberius.
I found him on the terrace outside the morning room, dressed with his usual fastidious neatness and explaining the lay of the land to his guests.
“I am sure you all remember, but Beatrice is new to Cherboys and the rest of you may care to refresh your memories. To the south,” he said, sweeping his arm, “is the sea, just down the rose alley and beyond that copse of trees. Do be careful if you go that direction. The cliff paths can be hazardous.”
Someone, I could not determine who, made a strangled sort of sound and the count gave a dry little cough. Tiberius’ smile was grave.
“I am certain you recall the dangers,” he said. He fell silent a moment, and I had no doubt he was thinking of Lorenzo. Then he gave a little shake and lifted his chin. “That direction is the village.”
The countess furrowed her pretty brow. “But surely we came the other way yesterday?”
“The road is the long way round,” Tiberius explained. “If you wish to go to the village, there is a path directly through the trees on that side of the estate. Two, in fact. One more direct and the other a meandering walk but more picturesque. It comes out at the wall of the churchyard, which is well worth a visit. The church is quite pretty.”
“Norman,” Merryweather put in proudly. “With a rather fine window of St. Frideswide the Lesser.”
“Popery,” Sir James muttered under his breath with the true vigour of a Scottish Presbyterian. Merryweather drew back as if stung and I decided instantly that Sir James was my favourite candidate for pushing Lorenzo d’Ambrogio to his death. Anyone who could offend so amiable a spirit as Merryweather was entirely capable of murder.
Tiberius went on. “If you wish to ramble further, then to the north you will find chalk downs and a few hills worth climbing for the views down to the sea. I have interviews with my tenants this morning and cannot accompany you, I regret, but you cannot lose yourselves. The paths are well maintained and it is quite easy to find your way,” he promised. “Just make your way back by one o’clock so that Collins may serve you luncheon in the dining room.”
The guests moved into the topiary garden, debating the merits of the various walks, as I stayed behind, fixing Tiberius with a gimlet eye.
“I thought you meant to spend the day with them,” I said, nodding towards the assorted group in the garden.
“And I thought perhaps it might be better to let you do what you do best.”
“Ah, you mean employ the keen observational skills of a trained lepidopterist?” I asked, feeling a tiny thrust of satisfaction.
“I meant follow people about and ask impertinent questions,” he replied. “It is damnably rude, but it does get tremendous results.”
“Speaking of rude,” I murmured.
He laid a hand upon my sleeve. “Said with the greatest admiration, Veronica. You know the depth of my regard for you.”
The bantering tone was almost right, but an undercurrent of something melancholic flowed beneath. “Tiberius,” I began.
He waved me off. “Don’t let us get distracted, my dear. I am fine, I promise.”
“I am fond of you too, Tiberius. Mind you do not get yourself murdered. I should be very cross indeed.”
“Because of your regard for me?” he asked lightly.
“No, because I shall never collect my five guineas. By the way, it seems the gentlemen were quite unsettled when they joined us ladies last night after your port and cigars. I cannot imagine what you might have been discussing to raise such a reaction. Is there anything you would care to share with me?”
I watched him closely for any sign of duplicity, but Tiberius was an accomplished liar. “We were talking about the Prince of Monaco. He died last week, and we were contemplating whether his successor will keep the casino open. It would be a grave disappointment if it were shuttered.”
