It was rather an awkward gathering at dinner. Drew and Madeline did their best to keep the conversation going while Tal hardly spoke or ate. Carrie didn’t make an appearance at all, and Nick was too distracted with worry for her to say much, either. Mrs. Cummins seemed overwhelmed by the task of playing hostess, though she seemed determined to carry it off nonetheless. Laurent was remarkably tactful in his dealings with her, helping her over the uncomfortable pauses and, for once, refraining from making sly insinuations.
“I wish the police would either arrest him or allow him to leave altogether,” Drew muttered as he escorted Madeline away from the dining room. “If he gives me that ‘see how innocent I am’ smile one more time, I’m quite likely to beat him over the head with the copy of Les Misérables I found in our room. It’s in French.”
She squeezed his hand, not quite smiling. “Think how Inspector Endicott must feel after months of watching him and finding nothing.”
“And poor old Birdsong. Truly, a policeman’s lot is not a happy one.”
“I beg your pardon, sir,” Beddows said, coming up to them, his grave face even graver than usual. “Chief Inspector Birdsong is here to see you again. I’ve put him in the library.”
Nick came up to them once the butler was gone. “It’s a bit late for business, isn’t it?”
“He must have some news,” Drew said. “We’d better not keep him waiting.”
“You don’t suppose he’s come to take Monsieur Laurent off our hands, do you?” Nick suggested, and there wasn’t a trace of humor in his expression.
Drew shook his head. “I doubt we’re so lucky, old man. Otherwise our chief inspector would have called for him and not me.”
“I’d like to hear, too.”
Drew was surprised to see Tal had joined them, but he only nodded. “Of course.”
“I thought you’d like to know what Dr. Fletcher’s autopsy found,” Birdsong said once they were all seated in the library. “Would Miss Holland wish to hear, as well?”
Drew looked at Madeline. “Do you think she’s feeling up to it?”
“I know she’ll be pretty mad if we don’t tell her there’s news.”
Nick hesitated and then he exhaled heavily. “I’ll go see if she wants to come down.”
He was back a moment later. At his side, Carrie was pale but determined. “Please,” she said when the gentlemen rose. “Sit down.”
She sat on the sofa, watching Birdsong with wary eyes, saying nothing. Nick sat next to her, Tal returned to his chair by the window, and Drew took his seat again beside Madeline.
After a moment, the chief inspector sat too, pulling his chair up closer to them. “I spoke to Dr. Fletcher this afternoon, Miss Holland. He gave me the results of the autopsy on your brother’s body.”
She drew a shuddering breath. “What did he say?”
“Those wine barrels didn’t kill him. He was dead before that. Maybe an hour before. Maybe two.”
Carrie squeezed her eyes shut and twisted her fingers together in a little knot. Madeline went to stand behind her, comforting hands on her slender shoulders. Carrie reached back to take her hand.
“What else did he find?” Drew asked, forcing the sickening image of the wine cellar back into his mind, trying to see anything in the picture that didn’t fit. Anything that was wrong. That barrel with the leak . . .
“The boy was hit on the right side of the head with something heavy, something with a flat circular end. Dr. Fletcher thinks some kind of mallet most likely.”
Tal caught a hard breath but said nothing.
“Death was instantaneous,” Birdsong continued. “Afterwards the barrels were pushed onto him. The way he was lying—” the chief inspector paused and glanced at Carrie—“the way the neck and shoulders were damaged, the doctor says it is quite clear that he was already on the floor when the barrels hit him.”
“Then there’s no question about it being murder,” Tal said.
“Not in the least,” Birdsong told him.
“Did your people find anything in the house that could have been used?”
“There were two mallets in the garden shed, but they had clearly not been moved for some time. There were the croquet mallets as well, only they’re not quite the right size. There was a mallet in the kitchen, the kind used for pounding meat, but it had been scrubbed clean.” Birdsong looked only mildly annoyed. “The cook seemed rather put out that we would expect anything less in her kitchen.”
Tal’s lips trembled. “Does my father know about this?”
“I questioned him about it this afternoon, Mr. Cummins. He says he doesn’t know who would have wanted to kill the boy or why. Obviously he couldn’t have done it.”
“But one of his cronies could have.” Tal’s voice shook, and he took three deep breaths to steady himself. “I’m . . . I’m not feeling very well, Chief Inspector. Unless you have any further questions for me, I’d like to be excused.”
“No more questions, not at the moment. Do stay nearby, eh?”
Tal looked white to the gills now, and he managed only a nod before disappearing down the corridor.
“Maybe I’d better look after him,” Drew said after an awkward silence. “Excuse me a moment.”
He hurried out of the room, just in time to see Tal reach the top of the stairway.
“Tal. Hold on a minute, old man.”
Tal stopped and turned and then started walking again. Drew picked up his pace, taking the steps almost at a run and then making his strides long and swift until he was nearly at Tal’s side.
Tal came to an abrupt stop but didn’t turn around. “What is it?”
His breath was coming in little gasps, and Drew gripped his shoulder, trying to steady him. “Are you all right? If there’s anything I can—”
Tal’s body lurched, and he quick put a hand over his mouth. “Sorry, Drew, but I’d rather not embarrass myself just now. There are better places than the upstairs hallway to be sick. Excuse me.”
Not waiting for a reply, Tal sprinted down the corridor. Drew heard his door open and then shut with a faint thud. For a moment, Drew stood there at the top of the stairs, praying Tal would somehow find his way through all this, and then he turned to find Laurent walking down the corridor toward him.
“Monsieur Tal, he is unwell?”
Drew fought down the urge to strike the man’s smug face. “It’s very kind of you to be concerned, but it really isn’t anything to do with you.”
Laurent looked mildly taken aback. “You do me wrong, Monsieur Farthering, indeed you do. How can I be a friend to the father and to the poor maman so many years now and yet have no worry for the son?”
“Perhaps, Monsieur Laurent, you ought to be worried for yourself. After all, you are in a house where two murders have taken place.”
“I, monsieur? What do I have to worry myself? Since I have stepped off my Onde Blanc, I have the innocence of the new lamb. Who could be safer?”
“Someone bashed in Will Holland’s head with a mallet. I don’t see how anyone could feel safe.” Drew studied him for a moment. “Unless you were the one with the mallet.”
Under his thin mustache, Laurent curled his lip. “A mallet? Such implements are the province of hirelings.” He spread the long white fingers of one hand over his immaculate shirtfront. “What should one such as I know of them?”
There was a twinkle in Laurent’s eye. He was mocking Drew just as he had mocked the police all this while. Until there was evidence . . .
Laurent made a bow. “But just as you say, Monsieur Farthering, I will withdraw myself for now. I trust you will let me know if there is any way I might be of service.”
Drew gave a cold nod in return and watched him wander back down the corridor to his room. He turned his thoughts back to Tal. Clearly something about Birdsong’s information had upset him. Something about the mallet. It was a common enough thing to have in a kitchen, wasn’t it?
Perhaps Tal was calmer now and could a
nswer a few questions. Drew went down the hallway to his room and tapped on the door. No answer.
“Tal? I say, Tal, it’s Drew. I just wanted to make sure you’re all right. Anything I can do? Tal?”
For a moment there was perfect silence. Then the latch clicked, and the door opened. If possible, Tal looked worse than when he left the library. His hair was slicked back, wet. He’d removed his coat and tie and opened his shirt at the neck. His cuffs and collar were damp. There was no doubt he’d been sick just as he’d feared. The smell of it hung in the too-warm room. Tal stared at Drew, tiny beads of sweat standing cold on his upper lip, his eyes red-rimmed and empty.
“May I come in?”
Still silent, Tal took a step back to admit him.
Once inside, Drew nudged the door shut. “They’ll sort it all out. The police will. These things just take time.”
“And who else dies in the meantime?”
“Tal—”
“Who else dies because of my father?”
Drew took hold of his arm and made him sit down in the overstuffed chair by the window. He then pulled back the curtains and threw open the sash.
Tal covered his eyes with his hand. “Don’t.”
“It’s stuffy in here.” Drew pushed the matching armchair over to the window and sat down.
“Look here, Drew,” Tal said, blotting his face with his damp sleeve, “I know you mean well. I know I asked you to help, but it’s just no good. Can’t you see that? My father’s locked up, maybe for good, and still people die.”
“I don’t think he killed Alice. He certainly didn’t kill Will.”
“No. He couldn’t have killed Will. And he loved Alice. I’m sure he did. He said she was the daughter he never had. She loved him, too. Oh, Drew.” Tal dropped his head into his hands. “I just don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore. He couldn’t have, right? He couldn’t have killed Alice. He knew. He knew.”
“Knew what?” Drew jostled his shoulder when he didn’t respond. “What did he know?”
“He knew how much I loved her. How much I needed her.” Tal finally looked at him. “And there’s . . .” He stared at Drew for a minute and then just shook his head.
“What?”
“I don’t know. She wanted to tell me something before she died, and I never gave her a chance. Maybe if I had stopped trying to be the life of the party and just taken the time to listen to her, maybe she wouldn’t have died. Maybe . . .” He choked off a sob, fists and jaw clenched in determination. “Maybe nobody else would have died, either.”
“What do you think she was trying to tell you?”
Tal inhaled painfully and then exhaled, forcing his hands to relax. “It had to be about Dad, don’t you think? About this nasty business he was in. But why didn’t she just tell me? Why couldn’t she come right out and tell me instead of looking at me as if I should be able to read her mind?”
“Maybe she was afraid,” Drew suggested. “She told Madeline she didn’t want to hurt you. If it was about your father, someone you loved and trusted, she knew it was going to hurt you. Maybe she thought you wouldn’t believe her. I wouldn’t have believed it myself then.”
“But what could I have done? How was I supposed to know?”
Drew considered that. “What did she say?”
“She said she wanted to talk to me, but when we had a moment alone, she didn’t say much of any consequence. Said she didn’t like Laurent being around, and I daresay you know why that is by now, and she wished Dad wouldn’t do business with him. And I don’t know what else. She was telling me something about helping to get ready for the party a few days before everyone came, and then those silly girls Violet and Georgie came to get her to look at their headdresses for the ball that night.” Tal drew a couple of shuddering breaths, and once more his eyes pooled with tears. “And that was the last time Alice and I had a word alone.”
It was deuced little to go on. Had she been trying to get him to go down into the wine cellar? Evidence he would have to see to believe? And had that evidence been what had also gotten Will Holland killed?
“The police have had their eye on Laurent for some time now,” Drew offered. “Do you think she wanted you to know something about him?”
“I don’t know anything,” Tal said. “If I did, this would have been stopped years ago. Why didn’t I see it? Why didn’t I know about all of this? My own dad.”
“He deceived everyone, not just you. Even your mother didn’t know.”
“Poor Mum. He was everything to her, and now he’s done this? It’s a rotten way to treat any wife, much less one as devoted as she is. Even now, I expect she’ll stand by him to the last.”
Drew managed a smile. “Wouldn’t surprise me. ‘Love is not love that alters when it alteration finds,’ eh?”
“Alice was the same way. I never met another girl like her in that, one I could depend on. One who was meant for me.” Tal shook his head and wrapped his arms around himself. “How am I meant to do without her now, Drew? How can I ever have any peace not knowing who wanted her dead and why?”
Drew hesitated. Tal was already raw and bleeding inside, clinging with battered hands to the shreds of what he had believed all his life. Still, it had to be asked.
“Tal, are you sure? Given what you know about your father now, are you absolutely sure he couldn’t have given Alice that cocaine? Perhaps because she saw something she shouldn’t have?”
“No.” Tal lowered his head into his hands once more, the word scarcely more than a low moan. “No, no, no. He couldn’t have. I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t bear knowing my own father had . . . Oh, God help me, I couldn’t.”
Drew gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze, not saying anything, and finally Tal exhaled and lifted his head.
“I’m all right now, Drew. Really. I just need to think things out a bit.”
“Tal—”
“Really. I’m all right.” He picked up the damp towel he’d flung onto the bed and wiped his face. “You’d better go back and finish up with the chief inspector.”
Drew rose and went to the door.
“And Drew?”
Drew turned again.
“If I don’t get a chance to tell you again, thank you.”
“Tal, I haven’t—”
“No, that’s all. Just thank you.”
Then Tal shut the door.
Fourteen
By the time Drew returned to the library, Birdsong had already left and Nick had escorted Carrie back to her room. Madeline was still there waiting.
“Is he all right?” she asked.
“No. He’s not all right. He’s not all right at all. This is tearing him up. I’ve got to figure this out and quickly.” Drew began pacing the room. “Did Birdsong have anything more to say?”
“Not really. He said he’d be back later to ask more questions. I don’t know what else anyone has to say. What else are we supposed to do?”
“Think,” he told her, then sat down next to her. “We’ve got to think. If Billy was already dead when those barrels fell, then someone or something had to push them over.”
“But Mrs. Ruggles was in the kitchen cooking, and Beryl was helping her. Even if they didn’t see Billy go into the pantry, they would have seen someone coming out.”
Drew nodded, again picturing the wine cellar and how everything in it had been situated. “I’ve been wondering about that smaller barrel for some while now. I couldn’t figure out how it could have spilled out where Will was and at the back of the cellar too, not if it sprung a leak when the barrels fell.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“And I’ve been thinking about how that barrel split. There’s a little place between two staves where it popped open, just a couple of inches long. The rest of it is sound as a bell. How does that happen from a blow? Unless it wasn’t the impact of the wine cellar floor that opened it.”
“Then what was it?”
“Consider this,” h
e said, leaning closer to her and lowering his voice. “Suppose you wanted to kill someone and not have anyone know he was dead for another hour or so.”
“That wouldn’t be very kind of me, but all right. Then what?”
“Perhaps you mean it to look like an accident, too. So you bash the fellow on the head and cover it up by dropping something heavy on him. Wine barrels are the perfect choice, but they’re deuced loud, aren’t they? You can’t be anywhere near when they fall or you’ll be found out right away, so you take this little cask of wine from one of the shelves and use it to prop up the larger barrels. Once you’ve done your dirty work, you take something—a thin blade of some kind, I’d guess—and pry open the staves of the smaller barrel, but just a bit mind you, just enough so the wine begins to leak out. And then—”
“The wine leaks out until the little barrel is too light to hold up the bigger barrels anymore, so they fall down onto the body and make a huge clatter when I’m somewhere else entirely.” She caught her breath. “Oh, it makes perfect sense.”
“Exactly, which is why some of the wine was puddled near the body and some was under the barrel where it landed at the back of the cellar.”
Madeline wrinkled her brow. “Then anybody could have done it.”
“Anybody who was around the house.”
“He’d have to get past Mrs. Ruggles, wouldn’t he? She doesn’t much like people in her pantry.”
“I suppose that’s true,” Drew admitted, “but it couldn’t be that hard. Will said he’d done it more than once.”
“And look where it got him.”
“True. And she was out at the butcher’s that morning, which would give someone plenty of time to set up the barrels and then get Will to go down into the wine cellar. Now instead of there being nobody who could have done it, we’re pretty much back to anyone being able. Anyone in the house or out of it, including Laurent and Adkins, their time on the Onde Blanc notwithstanding. I’ll have to ring up the chief inspector.”
Madeline nestled against him. “Can’t you phone him tomorrow? I don’t want you to have to worry about this tonight.”
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