But Mr Lomax says that his son did not leave the spinney that morning. If what he told me holds true, then a stranger must have been responsible. It is certainly the only explanation which has been put forward by anyone in this house – and no one from the village has yet been so impertinent as to connect the Belsfield family with the crime.
Sir Edgar’s offered reward has already produced some fruit and there have, I understand, been a great many reports of a company of gypsies who were encamped in the vicinity a week ago, and a young sailor boy who was seen loitering near the village. However, the gypsies, we now understand, were more than ten miles away on the Bristol road when the murder occurred. And, as for the sailor boy, well, I rather think that Miss Clara-at-the-Crown can account for him.
Then there are the servants here in the house. Mrs Harris, I should say, rather favours the under-butler for a murderer. It seems she is an advocate not only of divination but also the science of physiognomy, and she assures us all that the under-butler has the chin and the eyebrows of a villain. But, for my own part, I cannot conceive how a servant – no matter what the appearance of his chin and eyebrows – could carry a shotgun about the grounds unchallenged, even if he was able to obtain one.
And I cannot escape from the possibility that Mr Montague returned home unseen – or else seen only by Mrs Holmes, who has been bribed into silence. I cannot help but think that the gatekeeper and her child have a remarkably prosperous look…
In short, I am so surrounded by unanswered questions that I do not know where to turn next. There is only one thing I am quite determined upon and that is pouring away that terrible medicine of Lady Montague’s. No doubt she will soon procure a replacement, but at least I will share no guilt in the business.
The next morning, having sent her letter to the post and disposed of the patent medicine, Dido set out with her cough mixture in search of Jack, the footman. Another chat with one of the servants might prove useful and she could, she thought, at least discover whether the colonel had indeed sought him out to complain about the logs.
However, on the stairs she met Lady Montague, who upon seeing the medicine bottle in her hand said, ‘Ah, Miss Kent, I believe you may have been given a package for me yesterday – by mistake – by the apothecary.’
‘Oh!’ Dido started guiltily, then decided that a bold attack might serve her best. ‘Yes, My Lady, I was.’ She looked directly into the clear green eyes. ‘But I am afraid I got the package mixed up with my own and opened it by mistake.’ Fear stirred deep in the eyes but the beautiful face remained impassive. ‘I found that my mistake was not the only one,’ continued Dido smoothly. ‘Instead of your physic, the apothecary – or his boy – had sent some patent rubbish.’
‘Indeed? How provoking!’
‘Naturally, I poured the stuff away.’
‘Naturally.’
‘I did not want anyone to see it and be shocked.’
‘No, of course not.’
‘If anyone found out about it I thought it might be an embarrassment to Your Ladyship.’
Her ladyship merely nodded and turned to continue on her way up the stairs. Dido moved very slightly into her way. ‘I could not help wondering, though,’ she said boldly, ‘how such a mistake came to be made.’
The hard green eyes swept over her in chilling contempt. ‘I really have no idea, Miss Kent. I cannot be expected to explain a tradesman’s blunder.’ And the lady brushed past her up the stairs.
That, thought Dido, certainly put me down. And perhaps I deserved it, she admitted after a few moments. She found she could not resent her ladyship’s sharpness; in fact, she rather preferred it to the usual insipidity.
She continued thoughtfully on her way and found Jack stacking logs onto the roaring fire in the hall. Another footman – a rather older fellow with a knowing face – was leaning upon the mantel and talking urgently. ‘You had better do it,’ he was saying.
Jack bent over the fire and pushed another log into place; his reply was half lost in the crackle of flames, but Dido thought she caught the word ‘wrong’.
The older boy laughed. ‘What’s so wrong about it? And the colonel will pay you well; they say he always does. I tell you, Jack, if it was me…’
Unfortunately, he looked round then and saw Dido standing at the foot of the stairs. He stood up smartly, pulled his livery jacket straight and hurried off towards the offices.
Jack also straightened himself and gratefully accepted the medicine. Unlike her ladyship he was willing, indeed anxious, to talk. ‘There was something, miss, I wanted to ask you, if you don’t mind,’ he began as soon as he had finished thanking her.
He was a slight young man with a pale complexion and very thick black hair, and had such a sickly air as made her wonder how he was able to discharge his duties. At present he seemed very worried. His speech was punctuated by a great many brief, nervous smiles that displayed white, almost too perfect teeth.
‘No, I do not mind. What was it you wished to ask me, Jack?’
‘Well, I hoped, miss,’ he said, dusting fragments of bark and moss off his hands and cuffs, ‘I hoped you could tell me what to do about…something.’
‘I shall certainly do my best to advise you. Does it perhaps concern Colonel Walborough? I believe I heard your companion mention his name just now.’
‘Oh no, miss!’ he said quickly. ‘It is nothing to do with the colonel. It’s about…’ A look of panic crossed his face as he wondered how he should refer to a murdered corpse in the presence of a lady. ‘Well, it’s about what Mr Downe found in the shrubbery. They say… I mean Mr Carter – that’s the butler – he’s saying if you know anything about that business you’ve got to speak up. And if you don’t you might lose your place.’
‘Mr Carter is quite right, Jack. If you know anything, you must speak out.’
‘But you see, miss, I don’t know who I’m supposed to speak to.’
‘If you told Mr Carter, perhaps?’
‘But that don’t seem right, miss. You see, its something…’ He wiped his hand nervously across his mouth and looked about him. ‘It’s something about one of the gentlemen, miss.’
‘I see. Then perhaps you had better speak directly to Sir Edgar. That might be more discreet.’
‘If that’s what you think is right, miss,’ he said, but his face had gone paler than ever at the suggestion.
‘Are you are afraid of speaking to him?’
‘Well, miss…’ the boy began. But just then there was the sound of heavy footsteps upon the stair. She turned and saw Colonel Walborough descending in his slow, flat-footed gait.
‘Thank you again for the cough stuff, miss,’ said Jack hurriedly and, before she could stop him, he was gone.
The colonel reached the foot of the stairs and, leaning heavily upon the newel post, looked about the hall suspiciously.
‘Good morning, Miss…er… Were you talking to young Jack just now?’
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘Did you succeed yesterday in getting your log basket replenished?’