“Oh no.” Her eyes clouded with tears. “He was such a lovely man.”
“He was,” Ellen agreed.
“We had word from Uncle Bram that he, Aunty Ivy, and Lottie are due to return any day now. They will be sad too,” Fred said.
Uncle Bram could not have killed George, even if he’d wanted to, which he absolutely would not. He was taking a trip through the Lake District with Aunt Ivy, his wife, and their daughter. It was Aunt Ivy’s birthday, and the nieces and nephews he’d stepped in to care for upon his brother’s death insisted they go away, just the three of them.
“We all long to see them. But now, off you go, Fred. You don’t want to miss out on the next chapter of Lord Hazel’s adventures. Tomorrow is soon enough to discuss this further. For now, I too wish to wash and rest.”
Her sister didn’t move her eyes from Ellen.
“She’s well, don’t fash, Miss Fred. Go on now and do as your sister asked, and tomorrow we can go to Mr. Nicholson’s shop and place flowers outside.”
Mungo’s words had the desired effect, and her sister left after hugging Ellen. Chester stayed.
“Go with Fred, you great big beastie,” Mungo said to the dog. He didn’t move.
Mungo and Chester weren’t exactly friends, and the dog knew that and seemed to go out of his way to annoy the Scotsman.
“He stole one of my boots this morning.”
“Funny how he steals nothing from us,” Ellen said. She kissed Mungo’s cheek. “Thank you for sending Fred back upstairs. I had no wish to upset her with details of George’s death. I shall clean up now. Please tell Leo and Alex to meet me in the parlor.”
Big and brash, Mungo Fraser had no more than six years on Ellen but was a great deal more world-weary. He’d been with Uncle Bram since they’d returned from their travels many years ago. The hair on his head was as thick and wild as his beard and the color of sunset. His face was tanned, and he seemed to have boundless energy.
“Will you tell me what it is you are hiding, Miss Ellen?”
Not much slipped by him.
“How is it you know I am hiding anything from you, Mungo?”
“Because I know you.” He moved to stand beside Chester. The dog shuffled slightly until he could lean on the Scotsman’s leg. Then they both stared at her.
Mungo might say he didn’t love Chester, but the Nightingales knew better.
“I was going to do it when I saw Leo and Alex.”
“But you’ll tell me now,” he said.
“I fear it is the weapon that killed Mr. Nicholson.” She removed the bloodstained knife from her sleeve. Unwrapping it, Ellen held it out for him.
He took it and examined it. “Where did you find this?”
“Under the body. The handle was sticking out. I removed it from the scene. It was wrong, Mungo,” she rushed to add. “But I panicked because I’m sure it’s Uncle Bram’s.”
“I would have done the same.” Mungo patted her shoulder. “And aye, it looks like your uncle’s. For now, this will be a secret that does not leave the house. Go on up and clean yourself. I’ll take this and call for the tea.”
“George had so much blood, Mungo. His white shirt was colored red with it.”
“And you’ll remember that for some time and no doubt have visions. You tell us now if you do.”
She nodded.
“We both know your uncle couldn’t have murdered George Nicholson, Miss Ellen. It seems someone may have wanted people to think otherwise.”
Ellen nodded. “My thoughts as well.”
“Go on with you up those stairs and change. I’ll collect your brothers and have Bud bring tea.”
