Cut to the Quick (10 page)

“His office? Look here, man, what’s going on? Something’s very wrong here.”

“I don’t know what’s going on, sir. I only know Sir Robert asked me to conduct you to his office, and after that I’ve other orders of his to carry out.”

“So you want me to make haste, is that it? Well, of course I’ll do as Sir Robert wishes—but I’ll do it with a much better will once someone explains to me what’s afoot in this house!”

Travis brought MacGregor through the screens passage into the servants’ hall. All the servants were gathered round the large oak table. They looked mightily nervous, MacGregor thought. Mrs. Cox, the housekeeper, sat at the head of the table, prim and stern in a high-necked dress the same iron-grey colour as her hair. As MacGregor and Travis entered, she was glaring, arms akimbo, at a pretty young girl in a mobcap. “Now, Molly Dale,” she was saying, “you’re to ask no more questions. Sir Robert will tell you in his own good time whatever you need to know.”

MacGregor wished the servants good evening. There was a low murmur of response, then a sudden loud wail from Dorcas, the kitchen maid: “Someone’s dying, I know it, or the doctor wouldn’t be here!”

A nervous start ran through the servants. Mrs. Cox cried sharply, “Don’t be silly, Dorcas! Dr. MacGregor’s here because he was invited to dinner, the same as he is every Friday.”

“I don’t know myself what’s amiss,” said MacGregor. “But whatever it is, we’ll soon put it right, you’ll see.”

They moved on to Sir Robert’s office. MacGregor went in, looking eagerly around for Sir Robert. But instead he found a stranger—a young man, very nattily dressed in riding clothes. He stood with one arm resting on the mantelpiece, and one ankle crossed in front of the other. An effective sort of pose—too effective by half. A coxcomb, MacGregor thought.

Travis bowed and withdrew. The coxcomb came forward, extending his hand. "How do you do? I’m Julian Kestrel.”

"Duncan MacGregor.”

They shook hands. MacGregor expected the coxcomb to offer him a few limp fingers, but Mr. Kestrel’s grip was surprisingly firm.

“What’s going on here?” MacGregor rapped out. “Where’s Sir Robert?”

“He went to speak with Lady Fontclair. I’m expecting him back at any moment.”

MacGregor eyed him, taking his measure. Evidently the young man was used to being looked at—a coxcomb would be, MacGregor supposed. He stood at his ease, with lifted brows and a faint, quizzical smile.

“You’re Hugh’s groomsman, aren’t you?”

“I have that honour, yes.”

“Maybe you can tell me what’s going on in this house. The instant I came through the door, Travis barred it behind me as though we were under siege. Instead of being taken to the drawing room, I find myself hustled into Sir Robert’s office. All the servants are in a taking, Sir Robert’s nowhere to be seen, and here you are making yourself at home as coolly as you please.”

“I’m sorry if I seem unconcerned. I can’t see that my kicking up hell’s delight would do anyone any good. I’d explain what this is about, but I think Sir Robert wants to tell you himself. He should be back shortly.”

“Look here, if somebody’s ill, I ought to be with that person, not cooling my heels in here!”

“No one is ill, Doctor. If you must know, someone is dead. No one Sir Robert knows,” he added, seeing the quick concern in MacGregor’s eyes.

“What have you to do with this?”

“I found her—the body, I mean.”

“Are you sure she’s dead?”

“Quite sure.”

“It sounds like a nasty business.”

“It is.”

MacGregor paced back and forth, ruffling up the hair at the back of his neck. His hair was thick, black, and spiky, and so was his beard. He looked, thought Julian, like one of the noisier Old Testament prophets. “How did she die?”

“I think Sir Robert means to ask you that.”

“I ought to be taken to examine the body at once! What’s the point of all this delay?”

“We’re waiting for Sir Robert. He has the key to the room where the body is.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so from the beginning?”

“I can’t imagine. I can see I’ve been extraordinarily remiss.” “See here, young man, there’s nothing in this situation to smile about!”

“No, Doctor, nothing whatever. So I’m all the more grateful you made me feel, for a moment, that there was.”

“Stuff and nonsense!” said MacGregor, sitting down very hard in a stiff-backed chair.

He was up again a moment later, when Sir Robert came in. “Good evening, Doctor,” he said. “I’m glad to see you.”

“This fellow’s just told me there’s been a death in the house.” “Yes, I’m afraid so.” Sir Robert sat down at his desk. “Knowing you would be coming this evening, I’ve made only a cursory examination of the body. I should like you to examine it, if you would.” “Of course, of course. But who’s dead, and how did it happen?” “We don’t know who she is. As to how she died, she seems to have been stabbed in the back, but we don’t know for sure if that caused her death. I hope you can tell us.”

“Do you mean to say a woman’s been murdered?”

“It appears so,” said Sir Robert. “She’s a young girl—perhaps eighteen—well dressed. Very pretty,” he added after a short pause. “Where is she? Is she in the house?”

“She’s in Mr. Kestrel’s room—in his bed, actually.”

MacGregor started, blinked, and turned a scandalized gaze on Julian.

Julian lost no time in explaining. “I found her there this evening

when I came back from riding. I have no idea who she is, or how she came to be in my room—or my bed.” He knit his brows. “She couldn't have been in the bed when she was killed, or not in that position. She was stabbed in the back, and she was lying on her back when I found her, with the bedclothes pulled up to her neck.”

“Are you telling me someone killed the girl, and then tucked her into bed as if she were having a nap?"

“I realize it sounds peculiar, but that seems to be what happened, yes."

MacGregor shot him a darkling look, then turned to Sir Robert. "I'd best examine the girl at once."

"If you'll come with me, I'll let you into Mr. Kestrel's room. I've been keeping it locked to ensure that nothing is disturbed. Mr. Kestrel, would you be good enough to accompany us?"

Lest I make a dash for the Continent, Julian thought. "Certainly," he said pleasantly.

MacGregor shook his head, thinking: And I took him for a coxcomb! By God, I hope he's nothing more dangerous!

*

Even though Julian knew what he would find when they got to his room, he still felt a jolt when he saw the dead girl lying in the bed where he had slept last night. The bedclothes were heaped at her feet, as he and Sir Robert had left them. She looked very tiny in the massive Elizabethan bed.

MacGregor gazed at her sadly, then summoned his brisk, professional manner. "I'll work best alone. Give me half an hour or so, and I'll let you know what I've found out."

“Very well." Sir Robert sighed. “I'm afraid it's time I told the family."

“No one knows yet?" said MacGregor.

“Only the three of us and Lady Fontclair."

“How is she taking it?"

“She's distressed, naturally, but she's kept her head, as I knew she would. Of course her first concern was to ensure that Joanna and Philippa were safe. We went to the schoolroom and found them having their tea with Miss Pritchard. Everything was peaceable

there—they hadn’t seen or heard anything out of the common. We told Miss Pritchard to keep the schoolroom locked, and on no account to leave it or let the children leave it until I give permission. I'm afraid we made her very uneasy. I hope she says and does nothing to upset the children.”

"This whole business is bound to upset them,” said MacGregor. “But don’t be too concerned about that. Children are very hardy— it’s easy to dash them down, but they bounce right up again. And your girls are stronger and healthier than most.”

“Thank you,” Sir Robert said quietly, but with feeling. “You’re very kind.”

MacGregor shrugged. “I'll just ask Mr. Kestrel a few questions, and then I'll get to work. You say she was under the bedclothes when you found her?”

“Yes,” said Julian.

“Both the sheet and the coverlet?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.” MacGregor ran his hands over the girl’s face and neck. “Was she cold when you found her?”

“Colder than a living person, but not stone cold. I remember thinking she must not have been dead very long.”

“You can’t go by that. The bedclothes might have kept her warm, at least for a good while. She’s cold now. How long has it been since you uncovered her?”

“When was it?” Julian asked Sir Robert. “Half past six?”

“A little earlier, I think.”

“And when did you find her?”

“A few minutes before six o’clock.”

MacGregor looked at his watch. It was a little after seven. “Was the window closed when you came in? It might have made a difference in how long it took her to cool, if there was a free ventilation of air in the room.”

“I remember it was closed, because I looked to see if anyone might have got out that way. In any event, it must have been closed, because it’s closed now, and neither Sir Robert nor I closed it, and no one but us has been in here since I found the girl.”

“Well, that's sensible enough, I suppose.” MacGregor went over to the window. “Could anybody have got out this way?”

Julian followed him. “It would be easy enough to climb down that tree to the ground. What would be hard—impossible, in fact—would be to climb out of the window and then bolt it from the inside.”

They exchanged puzzled glances. For not only was the window closed, but the bolts were shot into place.

“The murderer couldn’t have got out this way anyway,” said Julian. “If I’d thought more carefully, I would have realized that. Whoever was last in the room before I came in would have had to leave by the door, in order to lock it from the outside and leave the key on the hall table. Which means the killer most likely went out through the door, but might have come in through either the door or the window.”

“What about the girl? You don’t think she got in by climbing trees?”

“Well, that might have been how she tore her dress at the hem. But I admit it’s implausible.”

“Well, I’m glad you admit something,” grumbled MacGregor. “So we’ve got a door locked from the outside, and a window locked from the inside. My God, if the killer left the room through the door, he must have walked straight through the house! How could it be that no one saw him?”

Julian turned to Sir Robert. “When I went looking for you after I found the girl, I didn’t see any servants in the main house. The place was as quiet as a tomb.” He grimaced at the figure of speech. “I beg your pardon. What I mean to say is, it might have been quite easy for the killer to slip out unobserved.”

“There often isn’t anyone in the main house between half past four and six,” said Sir Robert. “That’s when the servants have their dinner.”

“Is that generally known?” asked Julian.

“I don’t know what you mean by ‘generally known.’ It’s known to the members of my household. Mr. Kestrel, can you be implying that someone familiar with the routine of this house killed the girl, feeling confident that he would be able to get out without being seen?”

"The possibility did cross my mind. Needless to say, I wasn’t thinking of anyone in particular, and I should be happy to believe that no one at Bellegarde is involved.”

“Thank you,” Sir Robert said icily. “I have no doubt that my servants are wholly innocent of this crime. Nevertheless, I shall have them questioned, and publicly cleared of suspicion. Will that content you?”

“I never doubted you would do everything justice demands,” said Julian. “The question of contenting me doesn't arise.”

Sir Robert turned to MacGregor. “Do you think you’ll be able to tell us when she died?”

“None too precisely, I'm sorry to say. But I’ll do my best.” Julian showed MacGregor the blood in the washbasin and on the towel. MacGregor whistled under his breath. “What a cool customer! Washed his hands afterward, and most likely the weapon, too! By God, if there’s any justice on earth, we’ll hang the person who did this!”

Sir Robert closed his eyes. After a moment, he opened them and said heavily, “Mr. Kestrel and I will leave you to your work. Will you be good enough to come to my office when you’ve finished?” “Yes.”

Sir Robert gave him the key to the room, so that he could lock the door behind him when he left. “Now then, Mr. Kestrel, I think before we speak to my family, we should go to my office and see if Senderby’s arrived. I want him to begin questioning the servants as soon as possible.”

*

There were two men waiting in Sir Robert’s office. Julian recognized one of them as Rawlinson, Sir Robert’s clerk. He was about thirty years old and as soberly dressed as a curate, with dark smooth hair and a complexion delicate as a girl’s. He was sitting at a table with pen, ink, and paper ready to hand. Beside him was a tall, lanky man in his early forties. He had limp, straw-coloured hair and watery blue eyes. His front teeth protruded a little, giving him the look

of a large, ungainly hare. He was leaning forward, his arms resting on his knees, his hat dangling loosely from his hands. He carried a small truncheon, and a pair of handcuffs hung from his belt.

On seeing Sir Robert, he clambered to his feet. “You sent for me, sir?”

“This is Stephen Senderby, the parish constable,” Sir Robert said to Julian. “Senderby, this is Mr. Julian Kestrel, who has reported a crime that I wish to have investigated without delay. Rawlinson, you are to attend me this evening and take notes.”

Sir Robert gave Senderby a terse but thorough account of the crime. As he listened, Senderby's shoulders drooped, and he twisted his hat between his hands. From time to time he cast his eyes around the room, as though longing for some means of escape. Rawlinson, in contrast, went to work with a will, jotting down the details of the murder as though they were so many rent rates and harvest statistics. But Julian noticed that, as Sir Robert described the girl and told how she had been found in Julian s bed, Rawlinson pressed his lips tightly together, and a blush spread over his fine skin.