Page 23 of The Meriwell Legacy
She didn’t glance again at the hidden pillow but instead advanced with her arms spread to gather and herd Percy and Edward, along with the other men, out of the room ahead of her.
She followed them into the corridor and closed the door behind her. Up and down the passageway, guests were gathered in small groups, discussing the latest horror in shocked and somber tones. The ladies looked as shaken and rattled as, inside, Constance felt. Glynis’s death had been a shock, but Rosa’s death—under the same roof beneath which they’d all been sleeping—went well beyond dreadful into outright frightening.
To Constance’s mind—and she was sure in many others—they had a murderer in their midst.
She cleared her throat and, when everyone looked her way, said, “This may sound insensitive, but as we are all wide awake, early though it is, it might be best to dress and go down to breakfast and”—she glanced at the door behind her—“vacate this area.”
Carnaby had dispatched footmen to do his master’s bidding; as pale and as distressed as anyone, he remained in the corridor, obviously waiting to carry out any further requests the guests might make. He added his encouragement to Constance’s. “Breakfast will be ready momentarily, should anyone feel so inclined.”
“I’m not sure I could eat anything.” Prue Collard looked at the door behind which Rosa lay. “But I do think you’re right about us all going downstairs. We don’t need to hover within sight of…our latest tragedy.”
Constance inclined her head; she couldn’t have put it better.
Unsettled, wary, and uncertain, the guests dispersed, retreating to their rooms to dress before heading downstairs.
Once they were alone in the corridor, Constance turned to Carnaby. “There’s a lock on this door, but no key. Do you have it?”
“Yes, miss. The key will be in the housekeeper’s room—we don’t leave keys in the locks, as the guests are prone to forgetting and locking the doors, and then the maids can’t get in.”
“Of course. But I believe we should lock this chamber until the authorities have made their decision about what caused Mrs. Cleary’s death.”
“Indeed, miss.” Carnaby glanced around and spotted a maid waiting nervously by the servants’ stairs. He beckoned her nearer and sent her for the key.
Constance had been thinking; no one but she and the staff would know the door was locked. “As well as locking the door, I believe it would be best to station two men from your staff on guard, here in the corridor. Then if anyone attempts to gain entry, perhaps one of the men could come and fetch me?”
“Of course, miss. If I might say, that’s a wise precaution. There are always those who have a ghoulish fascination with the dead.”
Especially murderers who want to hide their tracks.Constance merely nodded. She waited until the maid returned with the key and Carnaby locked the door. He regarded the key, then presented it to her. “Perhaps you should hold this, miss.”
She looked at the heavy key resting in the butler’s palm, then reached out and took it.
Two footmen arrived, and Carnaby directed them to stand guard before the door to Rosa’s room and to report to Constance if anyone approached, wanting to get inside.
With all as secure as she could make it, with a grateful nod, Constance left Carnaby and his guards and hurried back to the room she shared with Mrs. Macomber.
Constance scrambled into her day gown. Her maid, Pearl, arrived as she was settling the bodice; while Pearl did up the tiny buttons closing the back, Constance related what had happened.
Grimly, Pearl offered, “I can sit with the body, if you want.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary—the door’s locked, and we’ve got guards outside.” Constance glanced at Mrs. Macomber. “I would rather you kept an eye on Mrs. Macomber. I—Carradale and I—really need to know if she can shed light on any of this, or at least on why Glynis was murdered.”
“Has to be the same man, surely. But why’d he do Mrs. Cleary in? Might she have known who he was—or known enough to guess?”
Constance stilled. “Those are excellent observations and questions.” She twitched the sleeves of her gown into place. “But now that Mrs. Cleary’s gone, it’s going to be much harder to learn the answers.”
After allowing Pearl to brush out her hair and tame the long tresses into a plaited coronet, Constance left Pearl to her vigil beside Mrs. Macomber’s bed and hurried back to where the two footmen stood guard outside Rosa’s door.
She glanced up and down the corridor, but saw no one lingering in the shadows.
“Most of the guests have gone downstairs to breakfast, miss,” one of the footmen reported. “Some of the ladies looked a mite green—they seemed ready enough to get away from here.”
“I see. Do you have any idea how long Lord Carradale will be?”
“Shouldn’t be long, miss,” the other, older footman said. “His lordship’s not one to dally when asked for help.”
Realizing she meant to wait for Carradale to arrive, the older footman fetched a straight-backed chair for her and placed it against the wall. Constance sat and waited, trying to suppress her impatience.
Five minutes later, she heard footsteps—boot steps—pounding up the back stairs. She leapt to her feet as Carradale appeared at the end of the corridor; the relief that flowed through her was powerful enough to make her blink.
