Page 74 of The Curse of Ill-Gotten Gains
“That doesn’t necessarily mean he’s guilty,” Barnaby said. “Cordingley hasn’t been mentioned by others, either, not after he went upstairs.”
Stokes nodded. “So we’re down to those three, and in reality, that’s as far as we can go at this point.”
Barnaby observed, “In light of the plethora of guests, the multiplicity of Monty’s victims, and the mountain of minutiae we’ve had to trawl through, getting our suspects list down to just three—and really only two—is a notable accomplishment.”
“Yet considering who those suspects are, we still have to find incontrovertible proof that one of them is our killer.” Stokes studied his notes, then said, “We should follow the obvious trails. Ask Gearing about letters from Percival and Leith.”
Barnaby added, “Ask the gardeners and also the indoor staff if any of them saw our three possibles anywhere outside their rooms during the nine-to-ten-o’clock window.”
“We should also ask,” Penelope put in, “whether any of the staff saw anyone going into or out of the study after the scream and the ensuing commotion.”
Nodding, Stokes was jotting. “Further to that point, we should also see if, after everyone reacted to the scream, any of the guests or staff remember Leith or Cordingley joining the groups on the front lawn. We know where Percival was at that time, and both Cordingley and Leith said they came downstairs—Cordingley soon after the scream and Leith later, sometime after he heard the commotion. Someone ought to have seen them.”
After a moment, Stokes went on, “We should also check who was where at nine o’clock on Tuesday evening.” He looked at Penelope. “What would the company have been doing at that time?”
Penelope grimaced. “In light of the murder, they might well have retired early. The ladies, at least.” She looked inquiringly at Barnaby.
“Difficult to predict,” Barnaby said, “but I doubt the gentlemen would have retreated to their rooms at such an early hour. More likely, they congregated in the library or billiardsroom.” He tipped his head at Stokes. “But you’re right—that’s a point we should check.”
Stokes studied his notes, then shut the book. “Right, then.” He looked at Barnaby and Penelope. “We’re very close. Let’s focus solely on Percival, Leith, and Cordingley. We have several supposed facts for which we need corroboration.” He held up his hand and, as Penelope had earlier, marked the points off on his fingers. “First, when he spoke with the gentlemen in the library at around nine o’clock, did Underhill approach the vase close enough to reach inside? Second, on Monday morning, did Percival leave letters on the hall table when he rushed from the house, and is there evidence Leith wrote letters in his room? Did he leave any to be posted? And third, did Cordingley or Leith join the others gathered on the front lawn, or were they searching the study at that point? We acknowledge that’s something Percival couldn’t have done, but we’re leaving him on the list for the moment.”
Penelope observed, “We know the murderer isn’t Richard, but he could be a useful stalking horse of sorts and including him at this point shows we’re not playing favorites.”
Stokes nodded. “Keeping him on the list will make sure we’re ticking all the boxes in provably logical fashion. But we have one more test for our putative murderer. We need to determine where Percival, Leith, and Cordingley were at nine o’clock on Tuesday evening.” He met Barnaby’s gaze. “If we can get answers to all four questions?—”
“We’ll have our killer.” Barnaby nodded confidently. “I can’t imagine we won’t.”
“What I honestly can’t imagine,” Penelope said, “is what secret would be major enough to push either Cordingley or Leith to kill to keep it hidden.”
Barnaby admitted, “I can’t, either. Nevertheless, one of those two has just such a secret, and he’s our killer.”
CHAPTER 11
The following morning, immediately after breakfast, Richard accompanied Rosalind and Regina in taking a turn about the Grange’s well-stocked conservatory.
Rosalind had been tasked by Mrs. Hemmings to keep her sister close. At the very least, under her eye. Mrs. Hemmings was still in two minds about the murderer possibly being a lurking vagabond—a notion that still held currency among the older matrons—and had taken to fussing over Regina’s safety, something Regina didn’t appreciate but bore with a long-suffering air.
Consequently, Richard was ambling beside Rosalind, keeping pace as she, in turn, followed her idly strolling sister along the wending paths between the potted plants that transformed the glassed-in room into a jungle of verdant green.
In truth, Richard was keen to engineer a moment alone—preferably two or more—with Rosalind. He wanted to…explore the sense of like-mindedness, the camaraderie of sorts that had steadily grown between them over the past few days. He wanted to see if she was, by any chance, thinking along the same lines he was.
There was nothing quite like being involved—too closely involved—in a murder investigation to strip away all superficialities, revealing people for who they really were behind their glossy social façades. Courtesy of the events of the past days, he’d come to understand and appreciate Rosalind—her personality and her strengths—in ways he never otherwise would have. And somewhat to his surprise, he’d found himself in complete agreement with his aunts’ assessment. Rosalind Hemmings would make him an excellent wife.
The only fly in that ointment was that he wasn’t sure if she was so inclined. Despite his extensive experience of ladies—earned via the string of well-born lovers of whom he’d long ago lost count—nothing in that history had prepared him for how to take the next step.
Hardly surprising. I never imagined marrying any of them.
So now, he paced beside Rosalind—close but not too close, just close enough that her skirts occasionally brushed his trouser legs and the scent from her hair wafted and teased his senses—and wondered what his next move should be.
They were admiring the orchids, several of which were in bloom, when Alison Waterhouse walked in. On seeing them, Alison paused, but when Rosalind smiled encouragingly, Alison smiled back and joined them.
“Hello,” Rosalind said. “Are you looking for ways to pass the time?”
Alison’s grin was quietly confident. “I think most of the company are. Everyone’s waiting to see what the investigators do next.”
Regina smiled warmly at Alison and indicated a pretty pink-and-white orchid. “Isn’t this just perfect?”
Alison agreed and fell in beside Regina, and the pair continued down the line of pots, examining blooms and commenting on the variety of colors.
