“Like what, sir?” The sweating man looked completely miserable.
“Like did any of the guests leave the drawing room? Do anything unusual?”
“No, sir. Not a one,” the butler replied, wringing his hands.
“Did your master say anything to you last night to make you think anything was different?” Mark asked the butler next.
“Not that I can think of, sir. Lord John was in high spirits. He was always happy to see Lady Arabelle, if not her mother.”
“Mother bothered him, did she?” Oakleaf asked with a smirk.
“As much as anyone’s future mother-in-law is bothersome, I suspect, sir,” the butler replied, his voice cracking.
Mark pulled his card from his inside coat pocket. “Ifyou think of anything, anything that happened that was out of the ordinary, don’t hesitate to contact me.”
“Yes, sir.” The butler nodded profusely.
Mark dismissed the butler and smiled kindly at the maid. The poor woman had obviously been crying and now she had the look of a person headed for the hangman’s noose. Her face was pinched and pale.
“Who was here last night? Serving, I mean?” he asked.
The housemaid looked startled and shook her head. “The usual servants wot serve. Both footmen, Matthew and Timothy.”
“They’re not here at the moment,” Oakleaf explained.
Mark narrowed his eyes. “Where are they?”
The maid’s face grew paler. “They went out with a few o’ the other servants to have a pint, sir. Ta toast Lord John. They were all frightened something awful. And Mr. Cartwright gave them money.”
“Mr. Cartwright? He was one of the guests last night?” Mark asked.
“Yes, he’s the one wot’s rumored ta be takin’ Lord John’s place as the marquess. Seems ta be a generous man.”
Mark and Oakleaf exchanged a look.
“And the usual cook prepared the meal last night?” Mark prodded.
“Yes,” the maid replied. “Mrs. Whately. She’s down at the pub wit the others.”
“I see.” Mark flashed a bill to the maid and handed her another card. “When they return, ask the footmen and the cook to come to this address later today. There will be money for them if they arrive.”
“Yes, sir,” the maid said, bobbing a curtsy and rushing out of the room.
Mark crossed back to the table where Oakleaf stood.
“Do you know this Cartwright man?” Oakleaf asked.
Mark placed a fist on his hip. “Never met him.”
Oakleaf crossed his arms over his chest. “Seems to me he should be first on the list of possible suspects.”
“Agreed,” Mark replied. “I’ll meet you at your offices this afternoon.”
Oakleaf nodded. “Where are you going?”
Mark took a deep breath and blew it out, hanging his head. “To perform the unsavory task of telling my uncle his only son was murdered. We need his help.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
