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“What happened?” William gave him a cursory scan, ensuring he was not hurt. “Vivian is convinced someone is here.”
“Someone is here. Dead in my bedchamber. Looks to have been dead for a few days.”
William’s eyes flashed to the second floor. “Who?”
“According to Harold, a man from the village. A ne’er do well.”
“Why would he be here, dead in your bedchamber?”
Alex shook his head. “That is the question I am asking myself.”
Together, they went upstairs so William could see for himself. His friend lowered to the floor and peered at the dead man’s face. “He was poisoned.”
“Are you certain?”
“By the blueish coloring around his lips. Arsenic.”
* * *
“Is there anyone who wishes you harm?” the constable asked, his eyes darting from Alex to Harold. “How was it possible for Peter to remain here unnoticed?”
“As you can see”—Alex motioned to the empty house—“my staff was given the holidays off. Everyone in the village is aware that I do this every year; some of my staff live there.”
“In order to gain access, one would need a key,” the constable continued. “Do all your staff have keys?”
“No,” Harold replied, looking down his nose at the constable. “Only the housekeeper, who is my wife, and I do. I will add that in all these years, we have never once lost them.”
The constable studied the surroundings for a moment, as if expecting clues to jump out from the walls. “To your knowledge, does anyone wish you harm, Mr. Yarnsby?”
“To answer your question,” Alex said, “there were two people who came to Father’s funeral, claiming to be my half-siblings. They informed me they had hired help to challenge his will.”
“Their names?” the constable asked, pencil poised.
“Jasper and Bettina d’Arques.”
“They are not here, I am sure,” William said. “Probably hired someone to kill Alexander. Whoever it was thought the interloper was he.”
The constable glared at William. Clearly, he’d come to the same conclusion but was annoyed that he did not get to state it first. “Mr. Yarnsby, I suggest you do not eat or drink anything kept here.”
Harold blanched, and his eyes widened. “Good Lord, I just drank tea and ate cold biscuits.”
“You would have been dead by now,” the constable said by way of assurance. “There was an open bottle of brandy in the bedroom. I am positive that is what caused Peter’s demise.”
Two of his staff who’d been called to help came down the stairs with the draped body on a stretcher, carrying past to a waiting cart.
Together with the constable, Alex, William, and Harold walked out to the front of the house to look on as the men handled the body.
The constable neared the cart and spoke to the two in low tones. The men glanced toward Alex and nodded. They rode around the back of the estate with the body.
“Can you remain hidden for the time being? I will begin to make discreet inquiries in the village in case the people in question have the idea that the killer was successful. I have asked them to temporarily place the wrapped body in your family crypt. Do you trust them not to say anything?” the constable asked, looking to where the men with the body had gone.
“I will ensure it,” Harold replied and hurried off after the young men.
“They are good people, have worked in the stables for a few years. They are related to Harold, so I do trust them,” Alexander said, wondering what would happen next.
Riding back to Lark’s Song, Alexander pondered the reason for the duo wishing for his demise. If they were truly his father’s offspring, he would have ensured they were taken care of in the event of his death. Yet they worked in a dress shop, which he gathered did not bring the kind of affluence his father could have left them in.
He had little doubt that his father had a lover or two in London. Perhaps one had been Jasper and Bettina’s mother, however, the fact he’d not left them an inheritance gave him pause as to the authenticity of who they said to be.
