Cut to the Quick (18 page)

“When I got upstairs, I thought I would go and look for Miss Craddock, so I could show her my design and see if she approved of it. I went to her room and knocked on the door, but she wasn’t there. So I went to my own room and worked for a while on some other sketches. Then I rang for my maid and dressed for dinner.”

Julian said, “Miss Fontclair, if you walked from the first floor of the new wing to Miss Craddock's room in the main house, you must have had to cross the corridor that leads to my room.”

“I didn't cross it, precisely. I went down it a little way and then turned left into the corridor where Miss Craddock’s room is.” Julian mentally retraced her steps. His room was at the end of a corridor. She would have come down that corridor from the opposite end, and at the point when she turned left, his room would have been only a few doors ahead. Was it too much to hope that she might have seen or heard something before she made that turn? Of course, by the time she came home at twenty minutes past five, the murderer might long since have killed the girl and fled from that part of the house. But, still—

Sir Robert apparently had the same thought. “You may well have passed close to Mr. Kestrel’s room at or near the time of the murder. I don’t wish to distress you with that idea, but merely to impress on you that your observations of that part of the house could be of the greatest importance.”

Isabelle took time to think. “I’m afraid I didn’t make any observations. I was there a very short time, and my only concern was to

speak to Miss Craddock. Once I knew she wasn't in her room, I went directly to mine. I didn’t stop to look about me. Everything seemed just as usual.”

"And you heard nothing out of the ordinary?”

“No, Uncle Robert, I didn’t.”

“If you should remember something later—any detail, however small, that seemed strange or out of place to you—will you let me know?”

“Yes.”

“Geoffrey?” Sir Robert turned to his brother.

“Afraid I don’t have much of anything to say. Bit of a bore, after Isabelle. I went riding till after six, and then I dressed for dinner. That’s about all.”

Sir Robert continued to gaze at him expectantly.

“Well,” said the colonel, beginning to fidget, “what more do you want to know?”

“The servants say you didn’t leave to go riding until after five o’clock. In order to obtain a complete statement, I must ask you where you were between half past four and five.”

“For God’s sake, Robert! Have we got to the point where you’re questioning the servants about me behind my back?”

“I questioned the servants about everyone's comings and goings this afternoon. Now, if you would be so good as to complete your statement—?’*

“I was in my room! Are you satisfied? First I wasn’t doing much of anything, then I put on my riding boots. Then I went out.” “Did your manservant help you with your boots?”

“My God, do you need a witness? He was dining. I didn't bother to ring for him. I can put on a pair of boots myself!" He threw himself back in his chair. “I'm afraid I don’t remember which foot I started with. Sorry.”

Sir Robert stood very still. It took Julian a moment to realize he was trying to command his voice. At last he got out, “Some of the servants thought you seemed disturbed about something when you left to go riding.”

“I wasn’t disturbed about leaving a dead woman in Kestrel’s room."

“I didn’t suppose you were. I'm merely attempting to make a thorough enquiry.”

“Well, I don't have anything else to say.”

“Very well. Catherine, may I trouble you to continue?”

“Oh, by all means. As long as everyone else is being put through this senseless humiliation, I mustn't be behindhand in bearing my share. It’s some comfort that I can be very brief. I never left my rooms—my bedchamber and boudoir—from shortly after luncheon until I came down to dinner. My maid came to help me dress sometime after six. Otherwise, I was alone.”

“May I ask what you were doing all that time?”

“I consider it an insult you should ask, but of course I am bound to answer. I was sewing—working on my embroidery. Is there anything else you wish to know?”

“That will suffice. Thank you. Guy?”

“Between about half past three and half past five, I was asleep. Then I woke up, rang for my man, and dressed for dinner. I came downstairs sometime between six and half past.”

“You were asleep in your room?”

“Yes, sir. I was fogged out this afternoon. I'd been out a good part of last night, and then I got up early this morning to go to the horse fair. I didn’t have anything else to do, so I slept for a couple of hours. The col—my father would remember that. I saw him just before I went up to my room.”

Geoffrey nodded. “I asked Guy if he wanted to play a rubber of piquet, and he said he was sleepy and was just on his way upstairs to have a nap.”

“When was that?” asked Sir Robert.

“I don’t remember exactly,” said Geoffrey.

“It was just before I went up to my room,” said Guy. “Half past three.”

“And where did this conversation take place?”

“I found Guy in the library,” said Geoffrey. “He left, and I stayed.”

“Did the two of you see one another again before dinnertime?” “We couldn't very well have,” said Geoffrey.

“I told you, Uncle, I was asleep,” said Guy.

“Mr. Craddock, you appear to be the only person who has not yet given a statement. If you would be so kind—?”

“I took my horse out for exercise this afternoon. When I got back it was still a good while before dinner—I’d say, between half past four and a quarter to five. I handed over my horse to my groom and went for a walk. I came in at twenty minutes past five. I know, because I looked at my watch. I went upstairs to my room and dressed. That’s how and about it.”

“Were you alone all the time you were walking?”

“Yes.”

“Where did you walk?”

“In the Chase. There's a little clearing there I had a mind to see again.”

Lady Tarleton spun around to look at him, eyes blazing. He did not glance her way. Sir Robert was facing away from her and did not notice her reaction. “Did you see anyone in the Chase?” he asked Craddock.

“No.”

“Michael says he let you in at the front door at about twenty minutes past five.”

“That's right.”

“Did you see anyone on your way to your room?”

“No. And no one saw me, that I know of. My man came up to help me dress, but that wasn’t till after six. So I don't have what the lawyers call an alibi. But then, which of us does?”

Af you must talk in terms of alibis,” Sir Robert said coldly, “allow me to point out that Lady Fontclair was with me throughout the period in question, apart from a very brief interval when I was in the library. And my son, Mr. Kestrel, and Miss Craddock are absolved from suspicion, if Dr. MacGregor is correct that the girl was killed no later than twenty minutes to six. We know from their statements, as confirmed by Michael, that none of them returned to the house until after that time.”

“If I understand Dr. MacGregor correctly,” said Lady Tarleton, “the only reason he thinks the girl was dead by twenty minutes to six is that Mr. Kestrel says she was cold when he found her. And we have only Mr. Kestrel's word for that.”

“I also touched the girl and found her cold, only a matter of minutes after Mr. Kestrel discovered her,” Sir Robert pointed out.

“And I had other factors in mind besides the coldness of the body when I gave an opinion about the time of death,” said MacGregor. “Based on the onset of rigor and the loss of blood, I'd have said she was most likely killed between half past four and half past five.” Lady Tarleton tossed her head. “As long as we're all answering questions, I should like to ask Mr. Kestrel if by any chance he chose to rid himself of some—creature—he'd formed a connexion with,

by having his servant kill her in our house, so as to throw suspicion on us.”

“I hope you’ll be reluctant to believe that of me, Lady Tarleton —just as I’m reluctant to believe that any of you could have killed the girl in my room, so as to throw suspicion on me''

“None of you is under suspicion,” said Sir Robert. "I cannot counsel you strongly enough not to make a difficult situation worse by accusing one another.”

“Robert, you’re growing hoarse,” said Lady Fontclair. “And you've had nothing to eat, and it’s nearly midnight. Why don’t you and Dr. MacGregor and Mr. Kestrel have dinner? We’ve all finished making our statements. Surely there’s nothing more you can do about the murder tonight.”

“I’m afraid there are a few tasks left to perform.” He gave her a brief, strained smile. “One of those tasks is to ask each of you to look at this and tell me if you recognize it.”

He reached into a pocket of his waistcoat, and held out his hand. The silver scallop shell glinted in the candlelight.

“Wljat is it?” asked Hugh.

“It’s an ornament that the young lady was wearing around her neck.”

“How revolting!” Lady Tarleton backed away. “Surely you don’t expect us to touch that thing!”

“All I ask is that you look at it long enough to tell me whether you’ve seen it before.”

Lady Fontclair held out her hand to him. “May I?” she asked gently.

He gave her the scallop shell, still strung on its blue ribbon. She looked at it closely and earnestly, then shook her head and offered it to Hugh. Sad and a little awed, he ran his eyes slowly over first one side and then the other. He passed it to Isabelle with a look of apology, as though he would have liked to spare her this ordeal. But Isabelle took it with a steady hand and looked it over as though she were being asked for an artist’s opinion of its quality.

It seemed settled that the scallop shell would travel in a circle around the room. Colonel Fontclair came next. As Isabelle brought

it to him, he shrank back a little in his chair, staring at the gleam of silver between her fingers. He reached out slowly and took the scallop shell, looked at it, then handed it to his son. Guy gave it the briefest possible glance and practically thrust it into the face of the next person, who happened to be Maud. She gazed at it in puzzlement, then passed it to her father.

Craddock gave it his narrow, flinty-eyed stare. Then he brought it to Lady Tarleton. He seemed to loom up on her as he approached, making her tall, proud figure look amazingly slight and vulnerable. “Do you want me to hold it for you, or will you take it?”

She held out her hand imperiously. He gave her the scallop shell. She turned it crisply from one side to the other. “It means nothing to me. Here, Robert. Take it back.”

Sir Robert stared at her outstretched hand. Lady Fontclair and Julian, standing on either side of him, stared too.

A red stain was spreading over her white glove, fanning out from the side of her forefinger nearest the thumb. When she saw it, she flung the scallop shell on a table and jerked her hand away.

“My dear, you’re hurt!’’ exclaimed Lady Fontclair.

“It’s a trifle. I thought it would have stopped bleeding long since. I wrapped it in a piece of linen, and it seemed to do very well.” MacGregor came forward. “Let me see it.”

She pressed both hands to her breast, the left clutched around the right. “It’s nothing, I tell you!”

“I’ll be the judge of that. Give it here, madam, if you please.” She made a sound between a sigh and a snort, and thrust out her right hand. MacGregor carefully removed her long glove and unwound the thin strips of linen she had wrapped around her finger. “Nothing serious, but a very ugly cut. How did you do it?”

“I cut myself on my embroidery scissors. It was when I was working in my room this afternoon. I don’t know why it should start bleeding again after all this time.”

“It started bleeding again because it didn’t have a proper dressing. You ought to have gone to Lady Fontclair. She knows how to look after this kind of thing.”

He dabbed the blood away with his handkerchief. Julian, stealing

a glance over his shoulder, saw that the gash extended from the base of her forefinger to the middle joint. He tried to remember if she was right-handed- Yes: he pictured her brandishing Sir Roland Font-clair's sword in the gun room last night. She had used her right hand, he was sure.

He said, "I don’t quite understand how you cut your finger, Lady Tarleton.”

“And I don't understand why that should be any concern of yours!'*

“I beg your pardon. I was just trying to picture how a righthanded person could cut the lower part of her right forefinger with a scissors. If you*d been cutting with the scissors, your forefinger would have been inside one of the holes, not near the blades."

“The effrontery of this is beyond all bearing! How dare you question me like this? Next you'll be saying I cut myself while killing that wretched girl! Anything to cover your servant's guilt, I suppose! And your She raked the men in her family with her gaze. “You can all stand by and see this nobody—this social hanger-on, with his trumpery airs and graces—publicly cast doubt on my honour and question my word! If you were any of you worthy of our name, you'd demand satisfaction on my behalf! He would have done as much!" She flung up a yearning gaze to the portrait of Sir Roland Fontclair.

There was a shocked silence. The Fontclair men looked at each other, tense and uncertain. Julian wondered if Dipper had thought to pack his duelling pistols.

“See here," said MacGregor, “nobody's giving anybody that kind of satisfaction! I don't mean to take the reins of this business away from Sir Robert, but duelling's a barbarous, heathen custom, and I'm sure Sir Robert, being a magistrate, would agree with me it's no way to settle a quarrel between honest Englishmen. The fact is, there's nothing amiss in Kestrel's asking how you cut your hand, Lady Tarleton. This is a murder investigation. If there's any misunderstanding about what people were doing this afternoon, we've got to clear it up. Anyway, I need to know just how you cut your hand, if I'm to treat it properly. So you might as well tell us and have it over,"

Sir Robert let out a long breath. Hugh and Guy dropped back

into their chairs. Julian made a small flourish with his hand, as though taking off an imaginary hat to MacGregor. MacGregor tried, halfheartedly, to glare at him in return.