Cut to the Quick (28 page)

A sharp-nosed girl was hovering in wait for him at the top of the stairs. “Please you, sir, I’m Miss Craddock’s maid. My young lady told me to watch for you to come back, and ask if you’d be good enough to meet her in the music room.”

Julian thanked her and went back downstairs. He could tell by her sly smile that she thought there was a hole-in-corner love affair brewing between him and Miss Craddock. Hugh had all too clearly jumped to the same conclusion. That was awkward, but perhaps not such a bad thing for Miss Craddock. A romantic like Hugh would not be disposed to fall in love with a girl who was thrust on him unsought and unwanted. He would expect to woo his beloved, fight for her, struggle against obstacles to win her. And there was no denying a rival made a very good obstacle.

He found Miss Craddock walking about the music room, twisting and untwisting her fingers. “I hope you didn’t mind my asking Alice to watch for you. I thought you’d be willing to meet me here, when you knew what I had to say.’’

“I should be willing to meet you anywhere, even if you had nothing to say at all.”

“You’re so kind to me, and I've tried your patience so sorely!— keeping a secret from you that might possibly have something to do with the murder. I told you I’d think hard what I ought to do, and I have thought. I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to tell you everything.”

A maddening scruple forced him to say, “You know, my involvement in the investigation is—unofficial. Strictly speaking, you ought to make your statement to Sir Robert.”

“I thought of that. But you see, what I have to say is about his sister—where she was at the time of the murder. And they’re so loyal to each other, all the Fontclairs. I think Sir Robert means to do right, but I don’t see how he can be impartial. I’m sorry to say this about Hugh’s father, but I just don't trust him. I’d rather talk to you.”

“Talk to me, then.”

They sat together on the sofa. She confessed, “I left something out of the statement I made to Sir Robert about what I did on the afternoon of the murder. It’s true I went on a botany outing with Miss Pritchard and Josie and Pippa. But what I didn’t say is that when I came back, at about a quarter to six, I went to Papa’s room. I wanted to ask him if I could invite Miss Pritchard to London for a holiday. I was just about to knock on his door when I heard voices inside. Mr. Kestrel, Lady Tarleton was in there with him. She wasn’t telling the truth when she said she was in her room all afternoon.” “Do you know what she was doing there?”

“She was quarrelling with Papa. I'm afraid I listened at the door. I didn't mean to, but I was so startled to hear her voice. She was saying, I've regretted that, scourged myself for that, for more than twenty years.' ”

Their eyes met, full of foreboding.

“Did he say anything in reply?”

“They both said something, but I was so flustered, I didn't hear it distinctly. I was just going to move away from the door, when suddenly Papa shouted at her. It was terrible! He said there was no truth in her—just a monstrous, swollen pride that devoured every-

thing in its path. He said her reputation was everything to her: there was nothing she wouldn’t sacrifice for it, and they both knew it. And then he said, ‘Do you know what you are, the whole lot of you Fontclairs? You’re like one of those fruits that looks ripe and shining on the outside, while the inside is rotten and stinking. I only wish the rest of the world could have seen what I saw when I came in and found you—'

“But I don’t know where he found her, because she cried out, That's enough!' She warned him to keep his voice down. She said she couldn't bear any more. Then she said, ‘If you say anything to anyone about this—! You may think I've been making empty threats, but you little know—you can’t begin to understand—how much I hate you. You think I won’t dare to betray you. Well, we’ll see, Mr, Craddock! We'll see!' ''

Maud came out of her trance of memory with a gasp and pressed her hand to her mouth. Julian took her other hand and held it in both of his, “Did they say anything else?"

“I don’t know. I heard her coming toward the door, and I ran away. I shut myself in my room. My head was whirling. All I could think was that Papa must know something shameful about Lady Tarleton—whatever it is she's been regretting for more than twenty years. Perhaps that’s the secret he's been holding over the Fontclairs' heads. But why was he so angry and upset with her? And what was she threatening to betray him about?

“All I could think of was to talk to you. You know the world better than I do. You might understand what that conversation meant. I came looking for you when you got home, but you'd already gone up to dress. Then after the murder, when I told Papa what I'd overheard, he said I mustn't tell anyone. He said I'd get the Fontclairs into terrible trouble if I did. I felt so bewildered! I didn’t want to hurt the Fontclairs, or expose Papa for a liar. And I was afraid— just a little—that his quarrei with Lady Tarleton did have something to do with the murder, even though he said it didn't. Oh, not that I think for a moment— Mr, Kestrel, Papa wouldn't kill anyone! At least, he might kill a man who attacked him, but not a young girl. She can’t have been much older than I am."

“I understand." But he was thinking of all the debtors Craddock

had driven into prison—all the rivals in business he had destroyed. Would a man like that stop at cold-blooded murder?

“In the end I had to tell you/’ she finished. “I kept thinking about what you said—that there was no knowing what might be important to the investigation. I thought, suppose some innocent man were hanged for want of information I knew that could have saved him? I’d never forgive myself.”

“You’ve done the right thing. I promise you, I'll hold what you’ve told me in the strictest confidence, and reveal it only to the extent I must. But I may have to confront Lady Tarleton with it, in order to get the truth from her about where she went and what she did on the afternoon of the murder.”

“What if she won’t tell you?”

“She will, in the end. Because I shall give her no peace under heaven until she does.”

*

While he dressed for dinner, Julian thought over all he had found out today, from his visit to Mrs. Warren to his conversation with Maud. He felt as though he were sorting swiftly through the contents of a desk, taking papers out of first one drawer and then another, comparing, rearranging, looking for patterns and inconsistencies. He recalled with sharpened interest the family history Guy had recounted to him on the night before the murder. And a theory took shape in his mind that, amazingly, fit all the facts.

It might not be true, but it gave him something to work with —a tool, or a weapon. Of course, even to hint his suspicions to Lady Tarleton would be like putting fire to powder. But if he had to set off an explosion to get the truth from her, he would.

He had no chance to speak to her alone till after dinner, when the gentlemen joined the ladies in the drawing room. She had withdrawn into a window recess, and he followed her there.

He kept his voice low but did not whisper; whispering only attracted attention. “Lady Tarleton, I have something very important to speak to you about. Will you come with me to another room— the library, perhaps?”

“Of all the effrontery! No, I will not come with you, Mr. Kestrel!

Do you think I’m a lackey, to go hither and yon at your pleasure?” "I thought you might rather talk in private. But if you prefer, I’ll tell you here and now what I have to say.”

“I don’t want to know what you have to say!” she hissed.

“I’m afraid you have no choice. I want to know what you were doing in Mr. Craddock's room on the afternoon of the murder. And, by God, I will have an answer.”

She gasped. Her hands found their way to her throat.

“The library?” he repeated.

She closed her eyes and nodded jerkily. He took up a small candelabrum, and they went out.

The library was dark and silent. Julian set his candles on a table and turned to face Lady Tarleton. She lifted her chin and demanded, “What makes you think I was in that man’s room?”

“I know you were.”

“If Mr. Craddock told you that, he was lying. And Robert will take my word against his, you'll see.”

“It wasn't Mr. Craddock who told me. It was someone who •overheard your conversation with him.”

“No!” She flung herself at him, all but tore the lapels off his coat. “Who overheard us? What have you found out?”

“Only that you were in Mr. Craddock's room, and the two of you quarrelled. I don’t know what it was about—I was hoping you could explain—”

She hung on him, staring into his face with wild, dilated eyes. “Then you don’t know—you haven’t found out—”

He gently loosed her hands from his lapels and guided her to a chair. “May I get you some water—or wine, perhaps?”

“I don't want anything. Except an explanation! Why are you putting me through this horror? What do you want from me?” “The same thing I want from everyone in the house: a true account of your movements on the afternoon of the murder, You said you never left your room. I know now that you did. I should like to know when you left it, whether you went anywhere besides Mr. Craddock's room, how long you were in his room, and why you went there.”

“Why I went there is nothing to you!”

"If it has any bearing on the murder—**

"It hasn’t!”

"I can’t know that for certain till you tell me."

She threw back her head. "Find out if you can, Mr. Kestrel! I shall tell you nothing. I was in Mr. Craddock’s room—very well. Why don’t you ask your mysterious informant what I was doing there? I don’t believe your informant knows anything, and I don’t believe you do, either. Do your worst! Tell Robert—tell everyone! You won’t get a word out of me. But when all this is over—when your brute of a servant’s been convicted and hanged—then I shall do plenty of talking! I shall make it known all over London how you tried to fasten his guilt on one of us. And that will be the end of you, Mr. Kestrel! You’ll be driven out of good society—even servants will cut you dead!"

He had no one to blame but himself, he thought. Because she was a woman, and so distraught, he had been too soft with her— reasoned when he should have insisted. She had the whip hand now, and he would have to wrest it back. He fanned his anger, beating down his chivalrous instincts.

"If you won’t tell me what I need tq know," he said, "I shall have to draw my own conclusions. And when I take this up with Sir Robert, I shall tell him what those conclusions are."

"What do you mean? What conclusions?"

"This investigation is like putting together a Chinese puzzle. You have an assortment of odd facts, and you try to arrange them in a pattern. That's what I’ve clone. It may be all wrong from beginning to end, but it’s the only pattern I can find. A young lady, a foreigner, turned up in Alderton three days ago. She must have been about twenty years old. Her hair was reddish, and her eyes were blue."

He had been walking about as he spoke, but now he stopped and fixed his gaze on her. Her red hair was straggling down from its chignon. Her blue eyes stared into his.

"The night she arrived in Alderton, she asked Mrs. Warren where Bellegarde was. And she told Mrs. Warren she would soon be meeting again someone she was devoted to—someone who had to leave her when she was very young. It was that person who gave her the

silver scallop shell she wore around her neck—the trinket you were so reluctant to touch.

“Suppose for the sake of argument that the person she looked forward to seeing again was at Bellegarde. And suppose that person was—her mother.”

Lady Tarleton was rigid. A muscle near her mouth twitched. Her hands clenched into fists.

“Now some family history. Mr. Craddock was a groom at Bellegarde some twenty years ago. You were a fierce and venturesome rider. If Craddock was the groom you took on your rides, you could have been alone with him for long periods of time, far from Bellegarde.

“At some point you demanded that Sir Robert dismiss him. No one seems to know why. Craddock is still in a passion of rage against you, and you return his hatred with interest. But you feel something more, too—guilt, and bitter regret. You said to him, ‘I have scourged myself for that for more than twenty years.*

“One other significant fact. As a girl, you made a trip to the Continent against your family's wishes. You took advantage of a lull in the wars with France, which must have been the Peace of Amiens. That was in 1802—some two-and-twenty years ago.**

“What—what are you implying?**

“Did you leave a daughter behind you in France, Lady Tarleton?
¹
* She shot up from her chair and struck him in the face.

He barely blinked. “I take it you prefer not to answer.**

“How dare you! How dare you! No! It isn’t true! That wretched girl was not my daughter! How could you think such a thing?** She staggered away from him, shaking violently. “Youve stumbled on a piece—a very small piece!—of the truth. Mr. Craddock, in his unparalleled effrontery, once sought to put his hands on me. We were riding together in the Chase, and I'd dismounted in a small clearing—yes, Mr. Kestrel, the clearing he was taunting me with the other night! He tried to take liberties—he, a servant I*d trusted to ride with me alone, to whom I’d shown all manner of favour, far beyond his deserts! I escaped from his repulsive advances and rode home and told Robert what he had done. Robert very properly

discharged him at once. For the sake of my reputation, we said nothing in public about the reasons for his dismissal. To have it known that a creature like Craddock had so much as lifted a hand to touch me would have soiled me forever. A mere groom! The refuse of a stable! And I a Fontclair!

“Of course Mr. Craddock has never forgiven us. He was so puffed up with pride, he couldn’t see how great a distance there was between him and me. He actually thought I might return his feelings! You ought to have seen him—swaggering, boastful, proud—thinking that because servant girls fell into his arms, Catherine Fontclair might do the same! I soon disabused him of that notion! But he's hated me and my brother all these years, and now fate's given him a chance to take revenge. He means to marry his mouse of a daughter to Hugh—to mingle his blood with ours. There's nothing I wouldn't do to stop him—nothing! That’s why I went to his room. Nothing else could have brought me to set foot there, and take the chance I might have to confront him alone. I knew he was out riding, and I hoped to be gone before he returned, but I wasn’t so lucky. He came back and found me.’’