Page 7 of Murder at Hambledon Hall
“It must be the murder weapon. Now all we have to do is wait and watch to see who returns it.”
That would have been a good plan, except we’d stand out like elephants. While the bachelor’s wing wasn’t strictly off-limits to women, there was no reason for us to be there. We’d look suspicious.
“I have another task for you,” I told her. “Find out where the servants were when the shot was fired and who was with them. Take a note of any who can’t be accounted for or were alone at that time.”
“What will you do?”
“The same thing, but with the guests and family.”
We atea light luncheon on the terrace. The casual arrangement allowed me to move among the other guests and listen in to conversations. Lady Kershaw put an end to my endeavors before I’d truly begun, however. She made a point of introducing me to the vicar, Reverend Pritchard.
“I know you have already met, but I don’t think that should count,” she said, smiling. “This is a more appropriate place to make new acquaintances. Or, if I may be forward, newfriends.”
I caught her exchanging a sly look with Aunt Lilian and inwardly groaned.
If Reverend Pritchard noticed, he was polite enough not to say. “I want to apologize for earlier, Miss Fox. I don’t think we started on the right foot.”
“I agree with Lady Kershaw. That encounter should be set aside. The circumstances were…extenuating.”
“Reverend Pritchard was invited to join us for shooting and dinner yesterday,” Lady Kershaw went on, “but unfortunately, he was detained elsewhere.”
“Duty called.” The vicar pressed one finger to the bridge of his glasses as he glanced around at the party. His gaze settled on one of the gentlemen chatting to Floyd.
Lady Kershaw encouraged me with a nod then excused herself, leaving me alone with someone who may or may not have killed the gamekeeper. “Did you know Mr. Shepherd?” I asked.
“Who? Oh. Yes, the er… No, not really. I met him only once.”
“He wasn’t a regular churchgoer?”
“Not in my time, but I’ve only served this parish for six months.”
“Where were you before that?”
“Cornwall.”
“You don’t have a Cornish accent.” When he didn’t respond, I added, “Whereabouts in Cornwall?”
“A small village. A mere speck on the map.” He gave me the sort of smile I suspected he gave an annoying parishioner he was forced to converse with after a service. “Tell me about yourself, Miss Fox. You’re the niece of Lady Bainbridge, I hear.”
Despite giving me his undivided attention, I got the distinct impression he wasn’t interested in a word I said. I was relieved when Floyd joined us.
“Excuse me, Reverend, do you mind if I borrow my cousin for a moment?” Floyd asked.
The vicar stepped away with a bow and sipped from his wineglass. He was alone for barely a moment before Lady Kershaw swooped in. She seemed to have recovered from her earlier uncertainty over the correct protocol following the untimely death of one’s gamekeeper, and was once again immersing herself in her hostess duties.
“I thought you might need rescuing,” Floyd said to me.
“You thought correctly, although you do surprise me. I was sure you’d want me to become goodfriendswith him by the end of luncheon.”
“The vicar?” He snorted. “He’s not your type. If that’s my mother’s reason for forcing an introduction, then I apologize. She’s not in her right mind at the moment.”
I saw an opening for a deeper conversation about his mother’s health. “You need to do something about that.”
“Me?”
“Talk to her. Tell her to get a new doctor, at the very least.”
He shook his head. “It’s up to my father to talk to her, not me.” He eyed the table of food. “Do you think it’s too soon for a second helping?”
