Page 83 of Lies in Little Sutherland
ChapterEighteen
“According to the coroner,”Tom said, “Alfred died during the same time period as Lionel Meadows, and from the same sort of wound.”
It was hours later.The cocktail hour had come and gone, and so had supper, before the constables finished their inquiries in the carriage house and left.The van from the mortuary had taken Alfie’s body away, and the coroner—a chap from Salisbury, since Doctor Meadows wasn’t around to do the honors—must have had time to compare the bodies, if what Tom said was true.
“A wound caused by what?”I wanted to know.I was perched on the arm of Christopher’s chair in a corner of the game room, with a glass of gin and tonic in my hand.
Laetitia made a moue of distaste.“Really, Miss Darling?—”
“I want to know,” I said.“These were people we knew.I realize they were strangers to you, but?—”
“Enough, Darling,” Crispin said.He was perched on the arm of Laetitia’s chair in the same fashion I was, and she looked up at him adoringly when he came to her rescue.“Just because you’re as cold-blooded as a snake, doesn’t mean that everyone is.”
I sniffed, offended.“I’m not cold-blooded, St George.Quite the opposite, in fact.I knew Alfie.I’m upset that someone killed him.I’m sorry that it’s unpleasant to think about, but I want to know who did it.And how.”
“With a wrench,” Tom said calmly.“We found it on the floor of the carriage house, under one of the motorcars.”
“Which motorcar?”
“The Daimler,” Tom said, as Laetitia blanched and Geoffrey’s head came up, “but I don’t think that matters.Whoever used it, simply tossed it out of sight on their way through the carriage house after committing the crime.The fact that it ended up under the Daimler and not one of the other motorcars was simply the luck of the draw.”
“Fingerprints?”I wanted to know.
Tom shook his head.“Whoever did it wore gloves.Everyone does these days.”
“Especially this time of year,” Christopher agreed.“And whoever did it would have come from the outside.Not strange if he—or she—kept their gloves on.Even in the infirmary.”
Tom nodded.“Not strange at all.”
We were all gathered in a corner of the game room, with the exception of Geoffrey, who had joined the older generation for a game of cards.With Aunt Roz and Uncle Herbert gone, it was just Uncle Harold and the earl and countess left, and they needed someone for a fourth.A game Geoffrey was now ignoring in favor of listening to our conversation.
He had been strangely subdued this weekend.Which had been pleasant, don’t get me wrong.Fending off Lord Geoffrey’s advances was always a chore.But it did cross my mind to wonder whether the personality change—and his current rapt attention—signified anything murderous.
He had been alone in his bedchamber for part of the morning, so he could have gone to the carriage house, and from there into Little Sutherland, without anyone noticing.He might have murdered both Alfie and Doctor Meadows.Although surely, after such a close call just weeks ago, he wouldn’t want to risk the gallows again so soon?
Besides, what would his motive be?He hardly knew either of them.
Unless his mind had been destroyed by what had happened to him, of course, and he had lost the plot.He didn’t like me much, so trying to frame me for the crime might have been motive enough.And his sister despised me, which was additional incentive for getting me in trouble, I assumed.
“…don’t you think, Miss Darling?”
“I certainly do,” I said, still in my own little world.And then I blinked awake.“Wait… what?”
Laetitia was looking at me.So was everyone else.“Don’t you think it likely,” she repeated, or at least I assumed it was a repetition of the previous question, “that this is all connected?From the maid to Doctor Meadows to the footman?”
Her eyes were challenging, while Crispin’s were flat, opaque.Christopher’s were worried; I could feel his concerned gaze on the side of my head.Tom’s expression was cautious, and when he met my eyes, he gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.
“I’d hardly think so,” I said, in spite of knowing full well that it was almost certainly all connected.“Most of us never even met Morrison, and the rest of you haven’t seen her for months.It’s much more likely that she ran afoul of someone in Upper Slaughter.Shreve said that she wasn’t very friendly.She probably rubbed someone the wrong way.”
“And the other maid?”Laetitia wanted to know.“Did she rub someone the wrong way, too?”
“She must have done.”I turned to Tom.“You were there—afterwards, I mean.There was no indication that it wasn’t simply a random crime, was there?”
Tom shook his head.“The Bristol constabulary had their eyes on a few of the usual suspects, they said.The ones with a penchant for money and the lack of self-control not to grab for it, you know.She was a relative newcomer with enough of the ready to catch someone’s notice.”
Thanks to Uncle Herbert’s blackmail payment.And also, Hughes had been Aunt Charlotte’s lady’s maid for a number of years, so it wouldn’t be surprising if the latter had provided a little something for Hughes in her will, as well.Or if Uncle Harold had done, as severance when he let her go.
“The same was true for Lydia Morrison,” Tom added.“A single woman of a certain age with the means to purchase a nice home.She might have been a bit too flash around the village or chapel, perhaps.Someone might have decided it was worth the trouble to go inside her cottage that night, and when she woke up, he or she had to silence Morrison with the means available.”
