Murder at Blackburn Hall

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Murder at Blackburn Hall Page 20

by Sara Rosett


  I sighed and tucked the list away in my pocket. “Well, at least we’ve been thorough.” I frowned at Zippy. I might as well be thorough with Zippy as well. Despite being rather drunk, he’d been forthcoming. I should find out all I could from him. Maybe I could wring some tiny detail from him that would help sort everything out. “Zippy, did you ever go to East Bank Cottage?”

  He pulled his gaze away from Lucy and squinted at me. “Why would I do that?”

  “To meet Mayhew? To chat? Or anything else . . . ?”

  “Never saw Mayhew . . . like a ghost. People said someone lived in East Bank Cottage, but you never saw Mayhew.”

  “So you never saw Mayhew, not even when you were on your way to visit Lucy here at night?”

  “Nope.”

  “But your mother thought you were visiting the cottage.”

  “I let her think that. Easier that way, don’t you know?” Zippy’s mouth curved into a smile. He looked like a little boy who had managed to sneak several treats from the cook without his mother knowing. “If she thought I was going to East Bank Cottage, I didn’t have to worry about her finding out about this.” He waved his pint around, indicating the pub.

  “But Lady Holt was upset with you when she thought you were visiting East Bank Cottage.”

  “Yes.”

  “She thought that there was perhaps some . . . connection . . . between you and Mayhew.”

  Zippy frowned. “Connection?”

  “An—ah—romantic connection?”

  Zippy shook his head. “No. I’m not that sort.” His gaze drifted to Lucy.

  “But if Lady Holt thought there was a connection, what would she have done?” I asked.

  “Ended it,” Zippy said without missing a beat.

  “Really? I can’t picture Lady Holt doing something like that.” She’d told Calder she’d never met Mayhew—not that she couldn’t have lied, but it was difficult to picture the extremely proper Lady Holt doing something as primeval as bashing someone on the head or pushing someone off the edge of the path near the river.

  “Not her,” Zippy said. “She’d have someone warn Mayhew off.”

  “That’s all she’d have done? A stern talking to? Not . . . something more?”

  My hint went directly over his head. His gaze was focused on his nearly empty pint, and he giggled. “She couldn’t find the cottage on her own. No. She’d send someone else.”

  “Who?” Jasper asked.

  Zippy drained his pint and set it down with a clatter. “Bower. He’d do anything for her.”

  “Anything?” I asked.

  “Yes. He’s been with us for years and years. He was with the mater’s family before she married father. He’s one of those old-school retainers—loyal. The kind who don’t seem to exist much anymore. He takes care of everything for her—all the problems.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Do you think we should have left him there?” I asked Jasper as we walked back along the path from Sidlingham through the dark fields toward Blackburn Hall.

  “Zippy will be fine. And short of bodily removing him, I don’t think we could have convinced him to leave with us.”

  “But will he be able to get back to Blackburn Hall on his own?”

  “I had a word with the owner of the pub. If the lovely Lucy leaves Zippy high and dry, I told the owner of the pub to put Zippy up for the night and I’d cover the cost.”

  “That’s philanthropic of you.”

  “I’d hate to see him tumble into the river on his way home.”

  We’d walked through the fields away from Sidlingham, and now the path was near the river. We could hear the dull roar of moving water even though we couldn’t see it yet. At the mention of the river, we both fell silent and paced along.

  “No matter what Zippy says about his mother and Bower,” Jasper said, “I have a hard time picturing either Lady Holt or Bower doing away with Mayhew.”

  “I do too.” I shoved my hands deeper into the pockets of my cardigan, stretching the fabric as I shrugged. “But I learned at Archly Manor appearances can be deceiving.”

  Jasper dipped his head. “Quite.”

  “I’ll just have to see if I can sort out where Bower and Lady Holt were on Wednesday morning.”

  “Don’t you mean we? I thought this was a partnership. You seem to be forgetting that point—quite a lot, actually.”

  His tone was light, but that was Jasper’s way. He didn’t confront. He dodged to the side and came at the issue obliquely, usually with a diffusing humor or casual demeanor. The fact that he’d brought it up showed he wasn’t going to dismiss it.

  “I should’ve let you know I was going to follow Zippy tonight, but I thought you would try to talk me out of it.”

  “And miss all the fun? I’d never do that. Tooling around the countryside in deepest darkness is one of my favorite things to do.”

  We could see the river as we came to the portion of the path that had collapsed. The clouds had drifted away, and moonlight glittered on the rippling water. Our steps slowed, and we watched the water as it swirled around the massive trunk of the tree that still lay in the middle of the river. After a moment, Jasper asked, “You’re sure Mayhew hadn’t prepared to leave?”

  “It didn’t feel that way. By all accounts in the village, Mayhew didn’t travel. And if Mayhew left the cottage on her own, where was she going?”

  “Perhaps to visit Mr. Hightower?”

  I shook my head. “No, Mr. Hightower said Mayhew had an aversion to London and refused to meet with him.”

  “Maybe Mayhew got word of his father’s —I mean, her—father’s death.”

  “It’s possible. But would that cause Mayhew to drop everything and leave the cottage at a moment’s notice?”

  Jasper asked, “But you said a suitcase was found.”

  “Yes, and that does indicate either preparation to leave town . . . or an incredibly devious mind.” I could feel Jasper looking at me as I said, “If I’m right, Mayhew didn’t intend to depart that day. The whole ‘departure’ is a ruse to distract everyone, to put off the discovery of Mayhew’s death. The person who killed Mayhew went back to the cottage and typed up some notes, one to Anna, telling her to continue with the manuscript, and others to the grocer and the milkman to cancel deliveries. I think that’s what happened.”

  “Perhaps Mayhew was leaving to start over somewhere else, somewhere where she could live without a mask and without pretending to be a man.”

  I turned away from the water to the trees. “But Mayhew made no arrangements to move out of the cottage or close accounts.” We plunged into the woods to go around the washed-out section of the path. “I know there’s no solid evidence, yet I don’t think Mayhew planned to leave.”

  “You are good at these intuitive leaps, I will give you that, but . . .”

  “You think I’m jumping to conclusions,” I said.

  “I didn’t say that. You have a way of putting together all sorts of things. You’re good at reading people and assessing situations below the surface. You sense things others miss.”

  “I think that’s quite the nicest thing you’ve said to me.”

  “I could say much nicer things to you than that, but I must leave you here.” The windows of Blackburn Hall were dark. “How are you getting back in?”

  “I wedged a coin into the lock of the library door. And if that fails, Zippy left the front door open.”

  “Of course he did.”

  Jasper walked with me up the steps to the terrace as I said, “I’ll poke around and see if I can find out what Lady Holt was doing on Wednesday.”

  “I believe Grigsby might be able to help.”

  “Grigsby is here?” I hadn’t seen Jasper’s valet at all and assumed he’d stayed behind in London.

  “He is now. He went to visit his sister in Canterbury for a few days, but he rejoined me today. I’m sure he and Bower would get along well. Lady Holt has invited me to stay at Blackburn Hall tomor
row evening after the dinner party. I’ll bring Grigsby with me. Perhaps he can find a few moments to chat with Bower.”

  “Just don’t tell Grigsby it’s for me.” Grigsby disapproved of me. The few times I’d met Grigsby, he’d behaved like an elderly chaperone trying to protect Jasper from an unwelcome suitor—me.

  “I’ll tell him it’s one of my quirky inquiries,” Jasper said.

  “You have many of those?”

  “Constantly. He’ll take it in stride. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

  “I may not be here. Serena arranged for us to play golf. She wants to introduce me to the game. I suppose it will be after lunch before we return.”

  “Tomorrow afternoon, then,” Jasper said as I approached the door to the library. It opened easily, and I caught the half crown before it hit the terrace.

  “Clever . . . and a bit devious,” Jasper said.

  “Thank you.”

  “Where did you learn a trick like that?”

  “Boarding school provided quite a well-rounded education. Good night.”

  “Good night,” Jasper said, then waited until I was inside the library before he melted into the shadows of the terrace. I made sure the door to the terrace was locked, then I listened for a moment before I crossed the library. The ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece was the only sound.

  I used the torch to make my way through the library but switched it off when I left the room because the moonlight filtering through the windows above the landing lit up the entry hall. I crept by the stairs and kept going until I reached the morning room.

  I went across to Lady Holt’s desk with a little twinge of guilt. I switched on the torch, shining it on her calendar. It was a monthly calendar and lay open on the desk, thank goodness. It seemed less like snooping if I merely glanced at something on the desk rather than digging through the drawers.

  On Wednesday of last week, a note in Lady Holt’s penmanship read, “Bridge lunch.” A few notes under the entry with instructions for preparations made it clear Lady Holt was hosting the bridge lunch at Blackburn Hall. As I returned to my room, I wondered how elaborate the lunch had been. Would preparations for it have taken all day, or would someone like Bower have been able to slip out and confront Mayhew?

  I should’ve slept deeply after hiking around the countryside, but I spent most of the rest of the night plumping my pillow and shifting from one side to another. After what seemed like hours, the notes of a jaunty whistle drifted through the air. I turned my head toward the door. Had I been dreaming?

  No, there it was again. The notes grew louder, then faded. Faintly, I heard a solid thud as a door closed. I’d wound my watch and put it on the bedside table before I’d crawled into bed, and now I tilted it so I could see the face. The hands and numbers picked out in radium glowed. Four in the morning. So Zippy had made it home no worse for wear.

  It was only as sunlight began to press between the folds of the drapes that I felt my muscles begin to relax. The sheer exhaustion of going several hours without sleep finally overtook me, and I dropped into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  I came awake when Janet entered my room with a cup of hot chocolate. She opened the drapes and sunlight streamed into the room at an angle that indicated it was late morning. “Pardon me, Miss Belgrave,” she said. “Bower sent me to tell you someone is here to see you.”

  I pushed my hair out of my eyes, squinted against the invading light, then struggled up on an elbow as I reached for the hot chocolate. “I told Jasper not to come until this afternoon.”

  “It’s not Mr. Rimington, miss. It’s Inspector Longly.”

  “Sorry to keep you waiting, Inspector,” I said, wishing my heartbeat would calm down. It wasn’t as if I’d done anything wrong. From Inspector Longly’s point of view, I’m sure it looked as if I could be guilty of Pearce’s death, but I wasn’t guilty, and I shouldn’t act like I was. I smoothed my features into an expression of polite interest.

  “Good morning, Miss Belgrave.” Longly gestured to a seat on a sofa opposite him, and I sat down. “I need to clarify a few points.”

  “Of course. I’ll help in any way I can.”

  “Excellent.” He consulted his notebook. “Tell me again what you and Mr. Pearce discussed when you met.”

  “I don’t believe you asked about it.”

  He looked up. “Very good. No, I didn’t, but I need to know now. What did you talk about?”

  The hot chocolate suddenly wasn’t settling well in my stomach, but I didn’t let my expression slip. “I don’t remember exactly. I do know I asked him if he came from the firm of Mercer, Blackthorne, and Thompkins. He confirmed that. And we talked about the Hartman debacle. He said he lost money too.”

  “What else?”

  “That’s all I recall.” My heartbeat quickened again, and my armpits grew damp. I hated lying, and I knew where these questions were leading.

  Longly put his notebook on the cushion beside him and draped his arm across his leg. “Miss Belgrave, let’s not dance around it any longer. I have statements from the other guests that you threatened Mr. Pearce.”

  “Threatened?”

  “Yes.” He pressed the notebook down into the cushion, tilting it so he could read from it. “‘I’d like to wring his neck. I must get my revenge.’” Longly looked back at me. “Did you say that?”

  I clapped my lips together for a moment, then said, “I believe I need to make a phone call before I say anything else.”

  A look of what seemed to be disappointment traced across Longly’s face. He closed the notebook with a snap. “I suggest you do that.” He scooted forward to the edge of the cushion but paused before he stood. He seemed to want to say something else.

  I sat still. After a second, he said, “I’m not pleased with the direction the investigation has taken, but I must pursue it. I suggest you engage legal counsel at the earliest convenience.” I opened my mouth, but he held up his hand. “No, don’t say anything. I’m not speaking as an officer of the law now. I know how deeply your family cares for you, and I would hate to see any of them hurt because of your involvement in this situation.”

  It took me a moment to parse the plethora of words, but then I said, “You’re worried about Gwen and how this will impact her.”

  A trace of pink suffused his cheeks. “I think I have a . . . friendship with your family—your extended family, that is. I say this out of concern for you . . . and them. I suggest you retain legal counsel at your earliest possible convenience.”

  My heartbeat skipped into an even faster pace, but I kept my voice steady. “I don’t see how I could have anything to worry about. Pearce’s death and Mayhew’s must be linked somehow. And I was not even in Hadsworth when Mayhew died.”

  Longly shook his head. “It’s a faulty conclusion that the two deaths are linked.”

  “How can they not be? Two deaths within such a short period of time in a small village? Surely they must be associated.”

  Longly stood. “There’s no evidence Mayhew’s death was anything other than an accident.”

  “But several people had a motive to want Mayhew dead—Dr. Finch and An—um—and Lady Holt, to name two.”

  His head came up. “Lady Holt?”

  “You didn’t know Lady Holt was afraid her son was visiting Mayhew at East Bank Cottage? That she thought that he might be . . . um . . . involved with Mayhew? It wasn’t true,” I added. I didn’t want to start any rumors. “Zippy was sneaking out of the house to visit a barmaid in Sidlingham, but he let Lady Holt think he was doing something else to cover up his real destination.”

  Longly’s eyes narrowed. “I wasn’t aware of this. What’s your source of information?”

  “Zippy, but I heard it first from the servants.” I didn’t mention it was servants’ gossip I’d been eavesdropping on, but Longly seemed to be turning things over in his mind. He knew as well as I did the servants were often better informed about everything that went on in a household than the owne
rs.

  “And you think Lady Holt did something to prevent this association from continuing?”

  “No, probably not Lady Holt. But I wonder if she enlisted the help of someone else to do it for her . . . someone like Bower. Zippy says Bower would do anything for her.”

  Longly gave a little shake to his head as he closed his eyes for a second. “Miss Belgrave,” he said, his tone one of someone who was dealing with a person who tried their patience. “Both Lady Holt as well as Bower’s whereabouts on the morning of Mayhew’s death have been accounted for.” He held up a hand as I opened my mouth. “Multiple witnesses confirm both Lady Holt and Bower as well as the rest of the staff were fully occupied preparing for Lady Holt’s bridge lunch last Wednesday. No one left Blackburn Hall that morning. I’m sure of it. Neither one could possibly be involved in Mayhew’s death. And—again—we have no solid evidence Mayhew’s death was anything other than an accident.”

  My confidence that I’d found a new angle on the situation deflated as Longly went on, “On the other hand, Mr. Pearce’s death was unquestionably murder. I suggest you leave off these absurd theories and concentrate on locating a solicitor.”

  I swallowed and raised my chin, glad Longly couldn’t know how hard my heart was pounding. “I have nothing to worry about related to Mr. Pearce.”

  “We have statements you threatened Mr. Pearce. We never take that lightly.”

  I fisted my hands. “I was frustrated and upset, but I didn’t hurt him in any way.”

  “I advise you to retain a solicitor at your earliest convenience.” Longly left the room, and a cocktail of anger and frustration swirled through me . . . along with fear. I hated to admit it, but I was frightened. Longly had been completely serious, and I doubted he usually urged suspects to get legal advice. He had a fondness for Gwen, and he’d spoken out of loyalty and concern for her.

 

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