Page 27 of The Meriwell Legacy
Possibly very useful.Stokes was distinctly pleased to discover he had a contact already in the household.
The carriage slowed, then halted. Stokes opened the door and climbed down. He looked up at Carradale, nodded to signify recognition, and started up the steps.
Carradale pushed away from the pillar and came to meet Stokes. Somewhat to Stokes’s surprise, Carradale held out his hand and said, “I hoped they’d send you.”
Grasping the proffered hand, Stokes arched his brows. “In that case, I’m glad not to disappoint.”
Carradale’s mobile lips twitched, but then he sobered. His gaze moved past Stokes to Pemberton as the surgeon stumped up the steps, his telltale black bag in hand.
Stokes gestured to Pemberton. “Our police surgeon. He needs to examine the bodies.”
Pemberton touched the brim of his black hat and nodded to Carradale. “My lord. If you could direct me to the deceaseds, plural, I’d like to get started immediately. I’m expected to return to London tonight.”
“Of course.” Carradale turned to the open door. “Carnaby.”
The butler came forward and inclined his head to Stokes and Pemberton, then looked at Carradale. “My lord?”
“Mr. Pemberton needs to examine the bodies. Please show him to the cool room.”
“Indeed, my lord. At once.” To Pemberton, Carnaby said, “If you’ll come this way, sir.”
With an “I’ll come and make my report before leaving” to Stokes, Pemberton went, pacing alongside Carnaby, his focus already on his work.
Carradale stared at the surgeon’s retreating back. When Carradale glanced at Stokes and realized he’d noticed, Carradale said, “I’ll be interested in hearing his findings.”
Stokes allowed his brows to rise. After a second, he said, “I take it you’re staying here.”
“Yes and no. I’m attending the house party, along with about twenty others. However, my own house is just through the woods, so I haven’t been spending my nights here. I’ve attended through the days and evenings, and as I’m an old friend of the owner—Mr. Percival Mandeville—and was acquainted, however briefly, with you, Percy asked, and I agreed to meet you and act as your liaison with the other guests, as well as with Percy and the staff.”
Inwardly, Stokes rejoiced; his task had just got immeasurably easier. “You know everyone?”
“Some better than others, but yes—we run in the same circles.”
Excellent. Stokes felt much more confident of catching his man sooner rather than later. In acknowledgment of Carradale’s willingness to act as go-between, he said, “If you were glad to see me, then I expect you’ll be even happier to hear that Adair’s on his way. Along with his wife, who is shockingly adept at ferreting out social secrets.”
Fleetingly, Carradale grinned. “Mrs. Penelope Adair—indeed, her reputation is legion, even among this set.” He paused, then admitted, “Given the season, I didn’t dare hope Adair might be available.”
“Well, if one can talk of luck in the face of murder, in this instance, it was on your side—the Adairs deposited their son with his doting grandparents at Cothelstone Castle and came down to attend a house party near Andover. I sent a courier before I left London. I’ll be surprised if they aren’t here soon.”
Carradale looked relieved. “That’s…excellent news.”
Stokes nodded. “Meanwhile, I haven’t received any detailed information. The magistrate simply wrote that two women—ladies attending this house party—have died in suspicious circumstances, one on Monday night and the other on Tuesday, again sometime during the night.”
Carradale grimaced. “As far as it goes, that’s accurate.”
“But not terribly informative.” Stokes glanced at the house. “I would appreciate having a better notion of what happened before I go in and meet possible suspects.” He held up a finger. “One moment.”
At the bottom of the steps, Philpott and Morgan were waiting for orders. “Usual procedures,” Stokes said. “Philpott—you’re with me. Morgan—go and charm the cook and the maids and see what they can tell us.”
“Aye, sir.” Morgan grinned and snapped off a salute, then he turned and made his way around the house.
Carradale watched him go, then looked back at Stokes. “Your constable appears to know his way about a country house, at least when it comes to ingratiating himself with the staff.”
“That he does—an invaluable trait.” Stokes arched a brow at Philpott, who quietly extracted his notebook and pencil, then Stokes looked back at Carradale. “The beginning is always a good place to start.”
Carradale gathered his thoughts, then offered, “The house party officially commenced on Sunday afternoon. All the guests were here by then, and I’d ridden over from Carradale Manor—there’s a bridle path between the stables of the two houses.”
“Did you notice anything unusual on Sunday—or on Monday, during the day?”
