Page 12 of The Meriwell Legacy
Eventually, Edward Mandeville, still on his feet before the hearth, shifted and said, “I believe we’ve done all we can. Now, we must wait for Sir Godfrey to arrive, consider all the facts we can place before him, and decide on his verdict.” Edward glanced at Percy, who hadn’t stirred; his hand still concealed his face. “Perhaps,” Edward went on, “in the circumstances, we should spend the intervening hours in quiet pursuits.”
Edward looked around the gathering, but no one argued. He straightened and nodded. “I’ll have Carnaby inform everyone when Sir Godfrey arrives.”
Several seconds passed, then the ladies exchanged glances and rose. The rustling of their skirts filled the otherwise silent room as they filed out of the door, followed by the gentlemen—no doubt to find some quiet nook and gossip about Glynis and speculate…
Constance hauled her mind from that tack. She couldn’t do anything about Glynis’s reputation, not until they found the murderer and learned why he’d killed her.
After a moment’s thought, Constance glanced at Carradale, who hadn’t yet risen.
He’d apparently been waiting to catch her eye. With a tip of his head, he indicated the door. “Shall we?”
She rose, and he came to his feet. It wasn’t often that she met a man tall enough—with a personality robust enough—to make her feel…not the largest person in the room. Carradale accomplished the feat without trying.
As they fell in at the rear of the stream of guests, she murmured, “Can we believe Mrs. Cleary? Or is it possible she invented the tale of the man leaving the shrubbery to pay back the old lady—or perhaps to divert attention from her own activities?”
Looking down as they walked, Carradale didn’t immediately reply, but as they neared the door, he met her eyes. “I think we must believe her. Aside from all else, she’s never been the sort to invent tales, much less purely to make herself important. I’ve never heard of her courting that sort of attention.”
She arched her brows. After a moment’s thought, she said, “In that case, she was brave to speak out.”
“Indeed.” Carradale followed her into the front hall. “Especially as it seems she might well have glimpsed Glynis’s murderer.”
In the front hall, the guests were sorting themselves into groups—some for the library, others for a walk in the rose garden, still others to sit quietly in the morning room or to convene about the billiard table.
Constance saw no benefit in joining any of the groups. She paused just outside the drawing room door, debating what to do next.
Alaric studied the surprising Miss Whittaker’s expression, then gently touched her arm. When she looked at him, he gestured to the front door. “After all that, I need some fresh air. Would you care to join me?”
She regarded him for a second, then nodded. “Fresh air sounds like an excellent idea.”
Alaric wasn’t sure why her ready acquiescence so pleased him, but there were several questions he wanted to put to her. He nodded to the footman stationed by the door. He opened it; as Alaric followed Miss Whittaker through, he informed the footman, “We’ll be on the front terrace if anyone has need of us.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“You can close the door.”
“Indeed, my lord.”
Miss Whittaker heard and glanced back, but she made no demur. She looked around, then walked to the right, to where a semicircular outcrop at the front corner of the terrace offered a stone bench, also semicircular, running beneath the balustrade. It was the perfect spot to sit and share information; no one could overhear, and they would see anyone approaching.
She sat with a sibilant rustle of petticoats. Alaric claimed a seat opposite so they could easily see each other’s faces.
He held her gaze for a second, then said, “If we are to catch your cousin’s killer, it might be helpful for us to share what we know.”
She arched her brows. Her unspoken questionWhat did he have to offer?hung in the air between them.
Despite all, he almost smiled; she was prickly, ready to be defensive, yet he sensed she would do whatever she had to to avenge her cousin. “I know a great deal about Percy and Mandeville Hall and also quite a lot about each of the guests. You, in turn, know about your cousin. If we pool our knowledge, we’re liable to get further faster.”
After a second of regarding him assessingly, she inclined her head. “If you’re willing, then yes. I agree.”
He inclined his head in return and leapt in. “First, was this event the sort of party your cousin normally attended?”
“No. Obviously. That’s why, as soon as she heard of Glynis’s plans to attend, her mother came and begged me to come south and fetch Glynis home.”
“Home being where?”
“Kilburn. North of Derby.” She pinned him with her green gaze. “Glynis was normally a biddable girl, but she could be stubborn. Her mother, my grandfather’s cousin Pamela, isn’t strong, yet she was set on giving Glynis her Season. They spent the earlier months of the year in London, in a rented house. Toward the end of the Season, as the weather warmed, Pamela fell ill and had to return to the country—the air of the capital didn’t agree with her. Glynis begged to remain for a little while longer—until the lease on the house expired—and as Mrs. Macomber was willing to continue in her role of paid chaperon, Pamela agreed. However, Pamela expected Glynis to return home last week. Instead, Glynis sent a letter saying she’d been invited to Mr. Mandeville’s house party and had accepted, and that she would return home after the house party ended.” She paused, then added, “From what little I gleaned from Mrs. Macomber before we found Glynis’s body, she hadn’t been convinced it was appropriate for Glynis to attend, but Glynis overrode her objections.”
She sighed. “Sadly, I can imagine that all too readily. As I said, Glynis could be stubborn. The family can’t hold Mrs. Macomber to blame for Glynis being here. She was hired to be Glynis’s chaperon at social events, not her keeper.”
