Cut to the Quick (11 page)

Sir Robert ordered Senderby to describe the murdered girl to the servants and ask them if they had ever seen such a person at or near Bellegarde. More particularly, he was to find out if any of them had seen the girl today or knew how she got into the house. “Don't tell them yet that she’s been murdered,” he said. “Simply relate what I’ve told you of her physical traits and clothing. If anyone knows anything about her, bring that person to my office. I shall wish to question him or her myself.”

Senderby was then to ascertain the whereabouts of each of the servants during the latter part of the afternoon. “Better yet,” said Sir Robert, “find out if you can which of the servants was last in Mr. Kestrel's room, and when that person left. Then attempt to discover where each of the servants was between that time and six o'clock. You may wish to take a pencil and paper with you, to note down their answers.”

Rawlinson found a pencil and notebook for Senderby, who pocketed them with mournful resignation. “I'll do my best, sir. But, sir—”

“Yes?”

“Well, sir, excuse the liberty, but won’t the servants want to know why I'm asking all these questions?”

“Tell them you are acting on my orders—and my orders are that for the present you should ask questions, not answer them.” He turned to Julian. “In the meantime, would you be so good as to accompany me to the drawing room, Mr. Kestrel?”

Lady Tarleton was the last of the Fontclairs and Craddocks to come down to dinner. Mark Craddock watched her closely as she entered the drawing room. She took no notice of him. Maud blushed and looked searchingly from her father to Lady Tarleton and back again.

“Good evening, Catherine,” said Lady Fontclair. “I'm afraid dinner s been delayed. Robert is dealing with a tiresome business matter that simply can’t wait.’’

“What sort of business matter?” Lady Tarleton said sharply.

“I believe it’s something Mr. Kestrel brought to his attention.” “What business can Robert have with Mr. Kestrel?”

Lady Fontclair hesitated for a moment. “I’m sure if it’s anything important, Robert will tell us.”

Lady Tarleton stood tapping her fan against her hand. “How long is dinner to be delayed?”

“Not very long, I hope!” Lady Fontclair said, smiling. “I know some of the gentlemen have been out riding, and they must be as hungry as hunters by now.”

Sir Robert and Julian joined them soon after. Julian observed them with heightened awareness, in this final moment of calm before they learned of the murder. Lady Fontclair was seated on a sofa beside Maud. Craddock sat as though enthroned, in a high-backed chair.

Hugh and Isabelle were in one of the window recesses, talking about the relative merits of Lycidas and Paradise Lost. Lady Tarleton stood by the other window, staring out with unseeing eyes. The colonel sat a little apart, his face in shadow. Guy was seated at a tripod table, energetically playing patience.

Everyone looked up when Sir Robert and Julian entered. Lady Fontclair went to Sir Robert and laid her hand on his arm. Craddock’s gaze was expectant. Guy’s was curious. Catherine’s demanded an explanation. No one else seemed more than mildly interested to know what had delayed their dinner.

“I have something to tell you all,” said Sir Robert. “I hope you will try not to be alarmed. I assure you, all appropriate steps have been taken to resolve the matter swiftly and safely.” His voice began to falter, like a music box running down. “I thought it was time I told you. I’m—afraid—the news may—come as a shock—”

Everyone stared at him. Hugh got up and came quickly to his side.

“What is it, Robert?” stammered Colonel Fontclair.

“A young woman has been found dead in this house. We don’t know yet who she is.”

There were murmurs, gasps, the rustle of silk dresses, the scraping of chairs.

“What?” shrieked Lady Tarleton.

Guy came to his feet, knocking over the tripod table and scattering playing cards all over the floor. “Dead? Did you say a woman’s been found dead?"

“Yes,” said Sir Robert. “I’m afraid it’s true. Dr. MacGregor is examining her to determine when and how she died. But already it appears that she died by violence—that, in fact, she was murdered.”

There was absolute stillness.

The first person to move or make a sound was Maud, who ran to her father. Craddock put an arm around her shoulders, and she nestled against him—like a little bird taking shelter, thought Hugh.

“My God, Robert,” Geoffrey whispered.

“What are you saying?” cried Catherine, clutching wildly at her hair. “Robert, what’s the meaning of this? I demand to know at

once! Do you mean to say there’s a strange woman, dead, murdered —here—in our house?”

“Please try to be calm, Catherine. I must remind you that the children and the servants will look to us to set an example. If we are not unduly alarmed, they won’t be, either.”

“How can we not be alarmed? Robert, what are we to do? How are we to— to—”

“I’ve commenced an investigation.” He described how he had ordered Travis to search the house, and Senderby to question the servants.

“Surely you don’t suspect any of the servants?” said Lady Fontclair. “No, my dear, of course not. But that is all the more reason to have them formally cleared of suspicion at once—to ensure that no rash and ill-founded accusations are made against them.”

“Is there anybody you do suspect?” asked Geoffrey.

Sir Robert eyed him narrowly for a moment. “It’s too early to say. I have no information about the criminal, and very little about the girl. She was perhaps eighteen years old, with reddish hair and blue eyes. She was wearing a yellow dress—and a shawl, I think—” He looked to Julian for confirmation.

“A fringed shawl with an India print in blue and yellow. And she had a bonnet with long blue streamers and a heavy veil. She was small and slight, and very beautiful.”

By the time he finished this speech, all eyes were fixed on him. “How do you know so much about it, Mr. Kestrel?” Lady Tarleton demanded.

“It was I who found her body.”

“Where?” asked Geoffrey.

“In my room.”

There was a chorus of sharp, indrawn breaths. For what seemed to him like the hundredth time, Julian explained that he had found the girl dead when he got back from riding, and had no idea who she was.

“How did she die?” Guy asked blankly.

“Dr. MacGregor should be able to tell us for certain,” said Sir Robert. “But it appears she was stabbed in the back.”

“Do you mean to act as magistrate in this matter?” asked Craddock abruptly.

“I am a magistrate, and the crime took place in my house. I should have thought it obvious that the matter fells within my authority.”

“You're not concerned that people may make charges of partiality?”

“I can assure you, Mr. Craddock, that if I doubted for a moment my ability to act impartially, I would turn this investigation over to another magistrate. I have no such doubts. Should the evidence implicate one of my servants or tenants, I shall commit that person for trial without hesitation. But I think it far more likely that some stranger entered the house—why, I have no idea—and killed the girl, leaving her body in Mr. Kestrel’s room. Whether the murderer brought her with him or found her here—again, I don't know. You've all heard her described. Does she sound familiar to any of you?”

No, they said, none of them knew such a person.

Julian's glance lit on Isabelle. She was pale, and her eyes were very grave, but after the first wave of shock she had regained her composure. She was like a quiet pool that may be shaken by ripples, but always subsides back into a beautiful, cool stillness.

Lady Tarleton was haranguing Sir Robert again. "This is a nightmare—an outrage! Why, the murderer could still be here in the house!”

“He's far more likely to have put the greatest possible distance between himself and Bellegarde. But as a precaution I'm having Travis search the house, as I told you before.”

“I for one don't intend to stir a step from this room until he's found!” Lady Tarleton walked about, wringing her hands. “How can such a thing happen under our roof? Great heavens, what will people say?”

“I hope that by the time this becomes generally known, we'll have discovered who the girl is and arrested her murderer,” said Sir Robert. “The sooner the crime is solved, the less likely it is to become a cause celebre.”

“What’s going to happen, Robert?'* Geoffrey asked hoarsely. “Are we going to have Bow Street Runners nosing about the place?**

“I shall do everything I can to protect our privacy,** said Sir Robert coldly. “I cant promise you I shall succeed/*

“Is this going to interfere with the wedding in any way?** said Craddock. “Because I tell you here and now, I don’t see why it should, and I’ll take it in very bad part if it does/*

“Of course, Mr. Craddock, youve guessed it!” cried Lady Tarleton. “It’s all a plot to interfere with the wedding! We induced some dangerous lunatic to creep into Bellegarde and slaughter a woman in Mr, Kestrel’s room—and all to keep your daughter from marrying Hugh! Confess it, Robert! You know that’s what we did!”

Lady Fontclair ran to her. “Sit down, my dear. I know it’s been a terrible shock. We’re fairly reeling with it, all of us. Let me ring for a drink of water for you.”

“I've asked the servants to remain in the servants' hall,” Sir Robert reminded her.

“I'll get you a drink of water, Aunt,” said Hugh.

“Make it a bottle of wine, can't you?” Guy called after him. “Or better still, brandy. Never mind, I'll come with you.”

They went out. Isabelle emerged from the window recess and started gathering up the playing cards Guy had left strewn on the floor.

Sir Robert asked everyone to remain in the drawing room until dinner, which the servants would resume preparing as soon as Sen-derby finished questioning them. “When will you dine, Robert?” asked Lady Fontclair.

“Very late, I imagine. Don't worry. I should find it impossible to sit down to dinner, with so many puzzles hanging over my head. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must find out if Senderby or Dr. MacGregor has anything to report. Mr. Kestrel, I’m afraid I must ask you once again to come with me.”

On his way out, Julian caught Miss Craddock's eye. Are you all right? his lifted brows asked. She looked white and frightened, but she nodded, and even managed a wavering smile.

Senderby was feeling miserably unequal to his task. He had never wanted to be constable of Alderton. He had yielded to the urging of his neighbours, who insisted he had more time for the job than most men in the parish. His shoemaking business was apt to be slow, except in the weeks just after the harvest, when people had money in their pockets. And he was tall and strapping—just the right build for a constable, everyone said. But what did he know about questioning servants and tracking murderers? Till now, he’d had nothing more alarming to deal with than rounding up vagrants for the house of correction, or breaking up fights between farm labourers who’d had a drop too many. Once he had arrested a petty thief, and that was unpleasant enough—but murder! And murder of a woman! And at Bellegarde, right under Sir Robert Fontclair’s nose! Oh, Lord, he thought, I wish I was anywhere but here, and anybody but myself tonight!

Now he had to question some forty servants—for that was how many there were, including the indoor and outdoor staff of Bellegarde and the servants who came with guests. Forty of them and only one of him! He could hardly get a word in edgewise, with all their questions and exclamations.

Mrs. Cox, the housekeeper, made some attempt to keep order, but she was too taken up with her own sense of injury to be much use. “If Sir Robert hasn’t seen fit to take me into his confidence, and I in his service for fifteen years, and always as loyal and discreet as could be wished, then I can’t think why any of you should have cause to complain at being kept in the dark.”

It was a relief to Senderby when Sir Robert and Mr. Kestrel returned from the drawing room. They took him aside, and Sir Robert asked what he had found out so far.

“Please you, sir, nobody seems to know who the girl is, and nobody remembers seeing her today.’’

“No one knows any young woman who fits her description?” “Not as how they can recall, sir. A couple of the servants thought they might know her, but when we talked it out, we found they

couldn't have been thinking of the same person. That was as far as we got, sir. Except—”

"Except what?" Sir Robert prompted.

“Am I to tell you everything they said?"

“If it pertains to the matter we're investigating, yes."

“Well, sir—one of the grooms said the girl was most likely an acquaintance of Master Guy’s.''

“What made him think that?**

“It was mostly meant as a joke, sir, because I said the girl was young and good-looking, and—well, sir—Master Guy—”

“Quite so,” Sir Robert said drily. He turned to the servants. “Has any of you seen any stranger at or near Bellegarde today?’*

They all looked at each other, shrugged, shook their heads.

“Are you certain? This is extremely important.”

They gave every appearance of racking their brains, but their answer remained the same.

Sir Robert thought for a moment. “Lady Fontclair had morning callers. Is it possible someone attending them remained behind after they left?”

The servants were positive no one had stayed behind. Asked who else had visited the house today, they said several tradesmen made deliveries to the kitchen, the blacksmith stopped by the stables, and two farmers went to see Rawlinson with a boundary dispute. All these people were well known to the servants. More to the point, they had all been seen to leave Bellegarde by early afternoon.

“Which of you was last in Mr. Kestrel's room?” Sir Robert asked next.

There was a buzz of excitement. Julian found himself the target of some forty curious stares.

At last Dipper stood up. “I think that would've been me, sir.”

“And what were you doing there?”

“Tidying up, sir, and getting me master’s dinner togs ready to put on when he come home.”