I wanted to ask him which of his charges was a murderer, but I didn’t dare.
He walked away from me, his shoulders so stiff with his anger that he seemed to strut. But I thought it was more the desire to lash out at me, held in check because I was a woman and this was a very public place.
I waited, in the expectation that he might turn, that he might get himself under control and protest that I’d got it wrong. But Mr. Appleby knew he’d already betrayed too much. He wasn’t going to risk betraying more.
I went back to the motorcar, drawing in a deep breath as I took my seat.
Ram said, “That man was very angry indeed.” He turned, his eyes anxious. “Is all well?”
“I don’t know,” I said slowly. “Take me home, if you please.”
We drove sedately out of Chilham, down the hill and toward the road west. I had stirred up a hornet’s nest. Pray God I wasn’t the one who was stung as a result.
We stopped on the way back to the Crawford house. I wanted to make sure that Peregrine had all he needed for a visit there.
It took me three quarters of an hour to find everything on my mental list, and I was rather pleased with the result. I’d had no luck in finding evening dress, but then Melinda had never been a stickler for dressing for dinner. She would accept Peregrine’s uniform.
Ram was waiting for me near Rochester Castle, and I paid the boy from the haberdashers a shilling for carrying my bundles and packages for me. He had struggled up the hill under his burden and was breathing hard by the time we’d stowed them safely in the motorcar.
He stared at Ram and said, “Who’s that, then?”
“My driver. He’s from India.”
“Does he have an elephant?”
“Once upon a time, he may have.”
Satisfied, the boy ran off.
Ram chuckled. But I was struck by something else.
Melinda Crawford’s driver must be unique in Kent… I should have insisted on hiring someone else. Someone who attracted no attention.
I settled back for the drive to Melinda’s house. It was too late to worry about today, but tomorrow I’d do things differently.
As we turned up the drive, I realized that I’d missed my lunch and was looking forward to tea.
Shanta greeted me and took my coat and gloves.
“Ram has packages that belong in Lieutenant Graham’s room,” I told her.
“Memsahib is in her sitting room. Will you have your tea now or later?”
“Now,” I said, and walked on to the sitting room. I discovered our tea had already been brought in.
“Peregrine will be down shortly. He was asleep when Shanta went to his room. Are you sure he’s well? That he doesn’t need to see a doctor?”
“I think he’s surviving on his will alone. But he’s not coughing as much, and I don’t think he’s feverish. Sleep is the best medicine, and good food.”
“What did you accomplish today?”
“I made Mr. Appleby very angry,” I said. “When I suggested that, after Peregrine had been dealt with and the household had returned to nearly normal, he had doubts about what had been done so quickly and without fuss.”
“But he gave you no feeling for which boy he suspected?”
“Sadly no. He’s an arrogant man, he takes great pride in being a good teacher, but I agree with what someone else said-he’s really second-rate. I don’t think Mrs. Graham wanted a sharp mind seeing through-”
I could hear the rasp of the door knocker.
“Who can be calling at this hour?” Melinda demanded testily. “No, don’t get up, my dear, Shanta will send them away.”
“My father-”
“-is in Somerset, I should think.”
But the sitting room door burst open, and brushing Shanta aside, there stood Jonathan Graham, backed by two burly police constables.
The raw, puckered scar across his face accentuated his determined expression. He knew what he wanted, and he was set on getting it.
“I’ve come to fetch my brother,” Jonathan said.
Melinda drew herself up to her full height and said, “I beg your pardon. Constable Mason, what is the meaning of this abrupt and very rude intrusion?”
I stood there, astonished, unable to believe my eyes. And then I collected my wits.
He’s guessing-he’s not sure-
The Colonel Sahib firmly believed in a sharp counterattack when the enemy began a tentative probe.
And so I did just that. “Your brother is dead. So I’ve been told. If you wish to know why I’ve been asking questions about what happened in London fourteen years ago, it’s because I’m not convinced that the real murderer was ever caught. Then there’s Ted Booker’s suicide-I have a strong feeling that he was murdered. It’s not remotely possible that Peregrine killed him, is it? And what about all those other deaths in Owlhurst-Inspector Gadd, Dr. Hadley, the rector? Peregrine was in the asylum during that time, was he not? This begins to shed new light on Lily Mercer’s murder, wouldn’t you agree, Lieutenant Graham?”
That rocked him back on his heels.
Constable Mason, the older of the two uniformed policemen, ignored me and said to Melinda, “It was reported, ma’am, that there was a dangerous murderer in this house, and we’ve come to fetch him before any harm comes to you or your staff.”
“And why should I entertain a murderer under my roof, pray? I don’t know this officer, Constable, and I’ll thank you to escort him out of my presence before I make a formal complaint to the Chief Constable. He dined here on Saturday last, and I can assure you he wouldn’t have done so if I consorted with murderers, dangerous or otherwise.”
I thought we’d carried it off. I thought we had between us put the fear of God into the constables and rattled Jonathan Graham.
Jonathan had looked from Melinda to me as she spoke of the Chief Constable, and there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.
I said, into the silence, “Constable, if you wish to search the house, of course you may. Lieutenant Graham has been misled, maliciously at a guess-”
Just at that moment, Peregrine Graham came unwittingly down the stairs and turned toward the sitting room.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
AT THE SOUND of footsteps, Jonathan Graham whirled, stepped back into the passage, and stared into the face of the half brother he hadn’t seen since they were both children.
There was still a chance.
“May I present Lieutenant Philips?” I said quickly. “He’s an officer in my father’s regiment-he escorted me to Kent-”
But Jonathan saw something in his brother’s face that triggered a memory. A profound recognition on both sides that was our undoing.
“That’s him!” Jonathan exclaimed, “I told you he was here-”
Peregrine spun on his heel and ran for the stairs. The two constables lumbered after him, shouting for him to stop.
I caught Jonathan Graham’s sleeve and prevented him from following.
“Which of you killed Lily Mercer? Do you know? Tell me.”
He stared at me as if I’d struck him across the face.
“If it wasn’t Arthur-and Arthur couldn’t have killed Ted Booker-then it must be you. Or Timothy. You were the last person to see Ted Booker alive-”
“You are as mad as Peregrine is.”
“‘Tell Jonathan that I lied. I did it for Mother’s sake. But it has to be set right,” I quoted. “What had to be set right? What had Arthur lied about, for his mother’s sake? Had he lied about who had possession of Ambrose Graham’s pocketknife at the time Lily Mercer was killed? Did Arthur know and cover it up for your sake or for Timothy’s? And what about those other deaths-Inspector Gadd, the rector, the doctor. All the people who had acquiesced to sending Peregrine to the asylum. Which one of you decided to right that balance, rather than confess to the truth? Or was it done just to see that no one ever changed his mind about Peregrine’s guilt?”