Saint Just felt a pang of guilt over keeping secret the fact that he still possessed his cell phone. But that pang both came and left quickly. «Yes, I know. But perhaps a visit to the attics will make everything clearer. Shall we?»
«Since I don't see any way out of it, sure,» Maggie said, leading the way back out of the morning room, then turning left.
«Where are you going?»
«The servant stairs are at the end of the hall on our floor, so it has to be the same on this one. I saw Sterling and Perry heading that way earlier. Sterling was carrying a butterfly net. Somehow that's not so funny now as it was then.»
«I agree. But I believe we might check on the others before continuing our investigation. Just to know that everyone is where they should be?»
«Going to count noses are you? Sounds like a plan,» Maggie said, following him.
As they neared the main staircase, Evan Pottinger stepped out from the main saloon. «Going somewhere? If it's anywhere but in there,» he said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the large chamber behind him, «I think I'd like to tag along.»
Saint Just considered this. Perhaps the man was truly bored with the company in the main saloon, or perhaps he was interested in what was happening outside the main saloon. After all, what did anyone know about Evan Pottinger, save that he was an annoying person who thought very highly of his acting skills. «We're going to investigate the attics at the spot where Undercuffler was lowered from the window.»
«Oh. Someone said there's bats up there.» Evan shrugged. «There's bats down here, come to think of it. Okay, I'm game, I'll go.»
Maggie led the way up the stairs, holding one oil lantern, while Saint Just brought up the rear with the other.
«Is Troy still trying to get everyone to tell him where they've been all day?» Maggie asked as they paused on the landing.
«He was, but everyone ignored him. Just the way everyone's ignoring Joanne and her insane idea that we should forget there's a murderer among us and get in some rehearsing. Somebody has to remind me why I slept with the bitch to get this part. I could play rings around Troy as Saint Just.»
«I believe you could, yes,» Saint Just said as they made their way along the landing and into the unrenovated wing of the building. «You actually made love with the woman?»
«Made love? Buddy, nobody makes love where I come from. Sex is a commodity, and we buy it and sell it and lend it and borrow on it. Joanne was offering a part, I needed the work—there's the couch, try not to take longer than ten minutes, and don't mess my hair. I figured I'd be doing stud duty for the whole shoot, but she cut me off the minute we got here. She's banging somebody, though. She always is.»
Saint Just stopped at the door that opened onto the servant stairs. «And who do you suppose that someone might be, Evan?»
«I dunno. Could be anybody. Well, not anybody. I overheard her yesterday arguing with somebody—unless she was talking to herself. Didn't see either one of them, though, as I was on my way upstairs and I'm not sure where the voices were coming from—the way sounds bounce off the high ceilings and all this marble, you know? Joanne should have thought of that. The soundman's going to have fits with the echos in here. Anyway, Joanne was having a cow about bringing her diaphragm through customs for no reason, and he'd damn well better keep his pants zipped unless he was unzipping them for her.»
«Thank you,» Saint Just said, very much aware that Maggie had heard every word. «I think we now have a general understanding of Miss Pertuccelli.»
«Your ears are red, Mr. Urbane,» Maggie teased, slipping past him up the stairs. Once at the top, she bent down, picked up the butterfly net. «Sterling and Perry must have left the attics in a hurry.»
«The bat. Or bats,» Saint Just said, holding up the oil lantern and looking toward the many-eaved ceilings of the quite wide, yet more-than-twice-as-long attics. «None here. Shall we push on?»
Evan Pottinger stepped past Saint Just, wiping at a cobweb that had gotten caught in his hair. «This is where Sam thought we could do the bit where I kill the servant girl? The crew would have a hell of a time lighting the scene.» He turned to Maggie. «I used to work lights. Sound, too. Played stunt double a couple of times, did anything I could, until I got my first part. But I can tell you, there's no way we could film up here, not on our budget.»
«And Undercuffler would have known that almost immediately?» Saint Just asked. «He would have known that with only a cursory examination from, shall we say, right here?»
«He should have. One look's enough. So, where's the window someone hung him out of?»
Saint Just pointed away into the darkness. «According to my rude calculations, Maggie's bedchamber windows are some sixty of my usual walking paces that way.»
Evan shook his head. «Nope. No reason for Sam to go all that way. There's not even any lightbulbs up here. No electricity. So why would he stick around?»
«He heard something?» Maggie suggested, hanging onto
Saint Just's sleeve. «He heard something, or saw something, and went to investigate? It's not a clear shot from here to the end of the wing. I mean, I can't see that far, but I think there are a couple of rooms up here.»
«That's a couple more than I want to see,» Evan said, heading for the stairs once more. «Have fun, don't take any wooden bats. Ha! Wooden bats—get it?»
«You don't have a lantern, Evan,» Maggie reminded him. «Besides, aren't you afraid of being alone, with a killer in the house?»
Saint Just watched the man's expression closely, then mentally scratched the fellow off his list of suspects as Evan's complexion paled slightly. Hardly the hero all of a sudden, and most definitely not the villain. «You'll be staying with us?»
«If you don't mind, yeah, I will. Not that I'm afraid. But I'm not stupid, either. Then again, I'm also not Lord Hervey. He'd be too bored to care, right? Believe me, I'm not bored. I'm just me right now, Evan Pottinger, a man intending to stay very much alive, thank you. Okay, what are we looking for, exactly?»
«Clues, dear man. Clues. Maggie, why don't you hand Evan your lantern while you stick close as mustard plaster to me as we initiate our search. Oh, and although I'm convinced you and I have come to the same conclusion, allow me to say that Evan here is of no worry to us.»
«I was wondering if you picked up on that,» Maggie said, handing over the lantern. «Here you go, Evan. Welcome to the wonderful world of amateur sleuthing. Look high, look low, don't touch anything, and give a yell if you see anything you shouldn't see.»
«Like what?» Evan asked, starting off toward the left side of the attics, while Saint Just and Maggie kept to the right side, under the eaves.
«If we knew that, my good man, our search would be infinitely easier,» Saint Just said, counting off steps as they passed by each low, dirty-paned dormer window.
The sound of the rain was much louder up here, and there were puddles here and there where the old roof had failed to hold back the water. A smell of damp was everywhere, the few bits and pieces of dust-sheeted furniture made more obvious, and more ominous, each time the lightning flashed.
«You notice something, Alex?» Maggie asked, speaking quietly as she pointed to the floor.
«Yes, I have. No footprints in the dust after those first few, which could have been from Sterling and Perry's aborted visit. None of the puddles disturbed. Don't mention either to Evan, if you please. I think the man is close to making a cake of himself as it is.»
«Yeah, if he was method acting now,» Maggie whispered, «he'd be dressed as the Cowardly Lion.»
«I beg your pardon?» There were times, too many times, when Saint Just became aware that his knowledge of the modern world, although growing each day, was at times still lamentably lacking in scope.
«Never mind. Are you still counting?»
At forty-two paces, the rooms began on either side of the attic. Each had its own door, and each door was closed, including that of the second room on the right.
/> «This is it?» Maggie asked, pointing to the door.
«I believe so. Evan? We could use an extra lantern over here. Ah, that's better. Shall we?»
Maggie motioned for Saint Just to go first, and he did so, holding the lantern high as he stepped into the room, then quickly ducked as several bats flew past him out into the main attic.
«Oh, cripes. Oh boy. Oh—oh !»
«It's all right, Evan,» Maggie said. Of course, she said that as she wrapped herself around Saint Just, all but cutting off his respirations.
«I'm so very fortunate to have two such stalwart assistants,» Saint Just said, peeling Maggie off him. «The chamber is larger than I'd supposed. What do you say we inspect the area outside this window, and then shut said window?»
«Good plan,» Maggie said, still holding onto him as, together, they sort of shuffled across the floor toward the window. «Really good plan. Except, how will the bats get back out again?»
«That, I believe, is a dilemma we'll leave for Sir Rudy,» Saint Just said, holding his lantern out over the scaffolding. «Ah.»
«Ah, what?» Maggie asked from behind him, her head pushed into his back. «Ah, I see? Ah, there's the scaffolding? Ah, the murderer left a clue? What ah?»
«Ah, it's still raining, actually,» Saint Just said, stepping back and winding the casement window shut, noting the squealing sound made by the old, unoiled hinges. Yes, Sterling and Perry may have had a lucky escape.
He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his wet face. «Other than that, all I see is the remainder of the drapery cord blowing in the wind. We cut it from below, you understand, Arnaud and I. However, this does establish as fact that Undercuffler was hung from this room, and that he very possibly was killed here as well.»
«Right, Sherlock,» Maggie said quietly. «Now tell me how Sam and his killer got here.»
Chapter eleven
Maggie figured she jumped, oh, a good three feet in the air when Sir Rudy said from the doorway to the attic room: «Hullo, everyone! Find anything interesting?»
«Nothing yet, Sir Rudy,» Alex said, squeezing his fingers lightly around Maggie's upper arm. Like she needed the warning?
«What brings you climbing up to the attics, Sir Rudy?» Maggie asked, before Alex could—because she was positive that would have been his next line.
«Me? Oh, nothing. I was just nosing about as head of the household, making sure everything was right and tight, and saw the door open to the stairway. Made me remember the leaks. I'd forgot them, you see. Mrs. Wimbles and the girls usually take charge. We've got the other wing all fixed—cost the earth, roofs—but I had my worries about this wing. So. Why are you all up here?»
«Good question, Sir Rudy. We're investigating,» Evan said, lifting one corner of a dust sheet off a large chest, then dropping it just as quickly. «The murderer hung Sam out that window over there. Did you know that?»
Sir Rudy went up on tiptoe, sort of leaned in the direction of the window. He did not, however, step farther into the room. «That so? Interesting bit of happenstance, wouldn't you say? You see, I've been hacking about in the history of the family, you know, since the last of the brood cocked up her toes a year ago—ninety, they say she was, but she was ninety-five if she was a day—leaving this entire pile open for my purchase. I'll bet she's spinning in her casket out back in the mausoleum, poor old biddy, to think someone in trade is walking these halls now, sleeping in her bed, eating fish and chips off her fancy china. Still, I used to help my Da with the landscaping around here as a boy. Makes me very sentimental about the place, so maybe that's all right with her.»
«I'm convinced the dear lady is resting comfortably knowing that you are restoring her family home to its former glory. Although,» Alex added, «the change of name may ameliorate some of that joy.»
«Yes, well, I'm Sir Rudy now, and it's no wonder I wanted to put my stamp on the place. Besides, Medwine Manor has a certain… ring to it, don't you think? At any rate, it would be a shame to just heartlessly evict them, all those hatchet-faced portraits and such. Thought I'd sort of adopt them, take them as my own, seeing as how all the family I've got is m'brother, Henry, who emigrated to Australia to marry a bassoonist with the Sydney Opera, if you can believe that. Oh, and there's Byrd, of course. He'd gone off with Henry for some months, but that didn't work out, so now I've got him again, right down to his quarterly allowance.»
«You don't sound all that choked up about that, do you, Sir Rudy?» Maggie asked, remembering the not-exactly-warm greeting Byrd had received from his uncle. «You two don't get along?»
«Occasionally we do. Runs hot and cold, my nephew does. Sort of jumped-up, thinking how he'll one day have all my money. Bigger than his britches, as you Americans say. Doesn't even seem to remember I threw him out last time he was here, my heir or no, telling him he'd not be welcome anymore. At least, not until he owned up to the missing silver candlesticks in the dining room.»
«He stole from you?» Maggie asked. «I wouldn't have let him back in, either. Not unless he crawled here from London on his hands and knees. Maybe over broken glass.»
«Yes, yes, thank you, Maggie,» Alex cut in. «We are all aware of your more bloodthirsty inclinations, along with your tendency to believe a punishment should outstrip the crime by at least double.»
«Only when I'm feeling magnanimous,» Maggie corrected. «My favorite is more a three-to-one retribution. I'm not proud of that, but I'm not giving it up, either.»
«As we also all well know. But, if we may be allowed to get back to the point? We seem to have been drifting, haven't we? Sir Rudy, you appeared to be slightly amused to hear that Mr. Undercuffler was hanged in this room. Is there a reason for that?»
Sir Rudy nodded furiously. «Oh, right. Lost my train of thought there for a moment, didn't I? Very well. I've been reading all those dry histories in the study, getting to know my new relatives, as it were. Anyway, I'm certain that this is the very same room where they found Uncle Willis. Our resident ghost, although I've yet to hear him scream or make anything go bump in the night. This was his bedchamber, you understand. Banished, he was, to the attics, for a nasty thing he'd done. At least, that's the story. Hanged himself, too. Odd that, don't you think? I wonder if I'll have two ghosts now? That could be confusing.»
Everyone looked up. «He hanged himself here? Where?» Maggie asked. «There aren't any open beams or anything.»
«Oh?» Sir Rudy rubbed at his chin. «Probably some chandelier that's long gone. Couldn't have been jolly, being stuck up here. Not even a fireplace. Just some holes somewhere in the floor, some pipes that lead off one of the main chimneys, or so I was told. Pretty modern for the seventeen hundreds. Some little trick conjured up by the fellow who added this wing. He's the one who did most of the prettying up around the place. But nothing I'd like, as the heat couldn't have been that strong, although I imagine the smoke made up for that. Well, I believe I'll push off to the kitchens and find some pots to catch that rainwater in, or it'll be down to the next floor, putting paid to the plaster.»
Maggie waved weakly as Sir Rudy left the room, followed by Evan Pottinger, who said he'd had enough of attics, then turned on Alex. «Sir Rudy sure does like the sound of his own voice, doesn't he? But did you hear that? Two hanged men in the same room, even centuries apart? Well, Alex, I'm waiting. Tell me that's a coincidence.»
«Coincidence? Possibly. Or inspiration,» Alex said, bending over to right an overturned chair. «Would you call this a sign of a struggle?»
«Maybe. Or a messy attic.» Maggie held her own lantern high and turned in a circle. «This is pretty big for an attic room, although this whole place is fairly immense. And cold. And damp. No central heat back in those days. No fireplace in here. Uncle Willis must have been a very bad boy. I wonder what he did. Oh, look, wallpaper. What there is left of it.» She touched the wall. «I think it might have been red, once upon a time.»
«And from that you conclude?» Alex asked, poking about in one of th
e corners of the room.
«Not a lot, sorry. Just that, maybe, once upon a time, this room wasn't all that bad. Wallpaper. Maybe a chandelier. But still the attic. And did you notice the size of the lock on that door? Maybe Uncle Willis was off his trolley, and they stashed him up here. People used to do that with mentally ill relatives because the madhouses were pretty awful. Then there's Jane Eyre , and Mr. Rochester's wife— that was later, and fiction, but still? Do you think we should go read up on Uncle Willis?»
Alex straightened, began looking around the entire room again. «Not unless you and the Troy Toy wish to join forces on the theory Uncle Willis murdered Undercuffler.»
Maggie stuck her tongue out at him. «Thanks, but no thanks. I guess I was just curious. Doesn't the whole coincidence thing make you curious?»
Alex paused in his inspection of the large chest Evan had looked at earlier and turned to her. «Yes, yes, I thought I'd noticed that when Pottinger moved the dust sheet. Hmmm.»
«Noticed what? And you didn't answer my question.»
«Oh, very well. Indeed, people are curious about ghosts, black-sheep relatives, all that sort of thing, aren't they? And with Sir Rudy so proud of and eager to share his knowledge about his newly acquired heritage. And all those histories he talks about. Maggie? How long has everyone else been here?»
«I don't know. A couple of days? Maybe five? And it's been raining for, like, three or four of them. Definitely long enough to get bored enough to maybe pick up one of those histories, read about Uncle Willis. Okay, I give up. Where is this going?»
«Nowhere that I can think of at the moment, I'm afraid. In fact, all it does is enlarge the number of suspects. If only Sir Rudy and, possibly, his nephew knew about Uncle Willis, this room, the method of the man's demise. But we've just proven that it's possible everyone knew.»
«Gee, thanks. That helped. What are you looking for? What did you see?»
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