Page 15 of The Meriwell Legacy
Edward glanced at Percy, who finally seemed to be pulling himself together, but Percy waved at Edward to speak.
“We,” Edward said, “by which I mean all those here, attending the house party, pooled all we know of Miss Johnson’s movements last night.” Briskly, he outlined what the company collectively believed to have been Glynis’s actions through the evening’s gathering. “Sadly, no one has any recollection of Miss Johnson’s whereabouts after the gathering broke up and the company retired upstairs.”
When Edward fell silent, Carradale said, “The one additional potentially relevant fact is that one of the other ladies, out taking the air on the terrace a little later, saw a gentleman come out of the shrubbery through the entrance beyond which Miss Johnson’s body was later found. The other lady did not see the man well enough to identify him.”
“I see.” Sir Godfrey had assumed what he no doubt imagined was a judicial expression. Frowning, he stroked his chin. From under his bushy eyebrows, his beady eyes shifted from Percy to Monty to Carradale, where his gaze lingered, then he glanced at Edward before returning his attention to Percy. “How long’s this party been running, heh? And what about your guests—any rum customers among them?”
The suggestion succeeded in rousing Percy. “Good Lord, no!” He stared at the magistrate for a second, then dragged in a breath, straightened in the chair, and made an effort to explain that the house party had commenced on Sunday afternoon, so the previous evening had been only the second of a projected six nights. “Everyone is…was planning to stay until Saturday. As usual.”
“I’ve heard that you host this house party every year,” Sir Godfrey said. “I can’t recall any bother at any of the previous years’ events.”
Percy looked taken aback. After a second, he responded, “If by bother you mean murder, then certainly not. Indeed, we haven’t had anything untoward occur before. Not at any event I’ve hosted.”
“Quite right, quite right.” Sir Godfrey seemed to realize he’d come perilously close to insulting a well-born landowner. “If you can tell me about your guests—I take it they are frequent visitors here?”
“Some certainly, but I’ve known most—including all the gentlemen—for years.” Percy’s attitude toward the magistrate was hardening, his accent growing more clipped. “All come from good families and are well established in society.”
“Naturally, naturally.” Sir Godfrey nodded gravely. He frowned, appearing to sink deep into consideration of the facts, then he drew in a portentous breath, looked around at them all, and stated, “From all you’ve told me, it seems obvious the poor young lady went out to take the air and fell victim to a passing itinerant. A gypsy, perhaps.”
When everyone stared at him in patent disbelief, Sir Godfrey airily waved. “Only to be expected if a pretty young thing goes walking alone in the country at night.”
Constance felt as if she’d been struck. For the first time in her life, she was, quite literally, speechless.
Carradale and Percy shifted, then Carradale coldly inquired, “Forgive me, Sir Godfrey, but do you have any evidence of a homicidal itinerant in the neighborhood?”
Sir Godfrey’s color rose, and he puffed up like a challenged rooster. “No need for evidence beyond what we have—it’s perfectly obvious it must be some wanderer.” His tone turned contemptuous. “Who else, pray tell, could it have been?”
With unimpaired and decidedly chilly calm, Carradale replied, “My people have reported no sightings of anyone unusual in the vicinity. They usually send word if any stranger is lurking in the woods.”
“None of my farmers have said anything, either.” Despite his continuing pallor, Percy seemed determined to hold his own. “And it’s the wrong season for gypsies around here.”
“I have to wonder,” Carradale said, his gaze steady on Sir Godfrey’s face, “if this matter shouldn’t be reported to Scotland Yard. I was under the impression that it’s currently the case that all murders are to be brought to the Yard’s attention to ensure a proper investigation.”
Sir Godfrey recoiled. “Nonsense! What use would they be, heh? Londoners, the lot of them, with no understanding of how matters are dealt with in the counties.”
Constance, along with Carradale and Monty, looked at Percy. He was frowning, clearly debating which side of the argument he should support.
Edward, too, was frowning. When Percy didn’t immediately speak, Edward said, “I’m not at all sure that inconveniencing everyone by bringing in the Metropolitan Police would be a good idea.”
Constance drew in a long breath and stated, “My cousin was not merely inconvenienced. She wasmurdered!”
Her forceful, whip-like tone jerked Edward and Sir Godfrey to attention; both looked at her, almost in surprise.
Edward recovered first. “My apologies, Miss Whittaker. I merely meant that bringing in outsiders might be counterproductive. I can’t see how they will get to the bottom of this any more expeditiously than the local authorities.”
“Exactly so,” Sir Godfrey stated.
As Constance, too, didn’t know that the investigators of Scotland Yard would be any improvement over the local constable, and from all she’d heard, they might well be worse, she compressed her lips, narrowed her eyes on both men, and glared—primarily at Sir Godfrey—and let her expression state her position; she would be damned if she allowed Stonewall—or Edward Mandeville—to sweep Glynis’s death under any carpet.
A tentative tap on the door distracted them all.
Alaric turned, along with everyone else, and saw the door open and Rosa Cleary look in. Seeing them, she hesitated, then clearly girded her loins and came in.
As she walked forward, Alaric got to his feet, as did the other gentlemen.
Rosa’s gaze fixed on Sir Godfrey. She halted at the end of the sofa beside Alaric. “I thought…that is, I wanted to be sure that what I saw last evening was made clear.”
From under beetling brows, Sir Godfrey frowned at her. “And you are?”
