“Syd told me, on the way to the hospital,” Grayson answered. “Until that moment, I had no idea that such a tragedy had occurred. When I think of her poor mother coming here, asking for help, and being turned away ...” Grayson bowed his head. “No wonder Susannah felt unable to approach me directly. But we’ll discuss this matter later. Please, continue.”
Derek explained the way in which Susannah’s accident had triggered doubts in his own mind about the circumstances surrounding Lex’s death. He described the reasons he’d enlisted Emma’s aid, and the gradual evolution of their suspicions. “But none of it matters now, does it?” he asked. “If you were prepared to deal with the consequences of exposure, then none of you would’ve had a motive to harm Susannah. Her fall must have been an unhappy accident.”
“Unhappy, to be sure,” said the duke gravely, “but not, I fear, an accident. Tom?”
The red-haired chief constable nodded grimly. “Knew there was some funny business going on the minute I heard about her shoes. Kate told me they was all clean and shiny, like she’d just polished ’em up that morning.”
Emma could picture Susannah’s high-heeled shoe poking out from beneath the oilcloth; the broken heel had gleamed in the morning sun, but it hadn’t registered until now. “It had rained the night before,” she said slowly. “If she’d walked to the chapel garden in those shoes, they would have been muddy.”
“And they wasn’t even wet,” the chief constable declared. “But I didn’t hear about it until two days later. The evidence was gone by then, and the crime scene was contaminated, as they say, so I thought I’d just ask around, quiet-like, before reportin’ to my superiors. Asked Newland to give me a hand.” He stared down into his wineglass. “Between us, we’ve been able to account for everyone in the hall and the village. We’ve come up with a lead, but ...” His voice trailed off and he looked to the duke for support.
The duke cleared his throat, then ran a finger around the inside of his shirt collar. He favored Derek with a troubled, almost apologetic smile, then hunched forward and said, in a confidential murmur, “You see, old man, we know that Susannah was pestering you a great deal. As you observed earlier, it’s difficult to keep secrets in a place like this.”
Derek blinked in surprise. “Grayson, if you’re accusing me—”
“I’m not. Madama has confirmed that you were breakfasting with Bantry in the kitchen.” The duke wet his lips. “Fact is, old man, I’m accusing your son.”
“Peter?” Derek stared at the duke in astonishment.
The duke sighed regretfully. “Wanted to discuss this with you privately, but ... The truth of the matter is that Peter was seen going into the garden early that morning.”
“By whom?” Derek demanded.
“Bantry. He didn’t think anything of it until Tom and Newland had struck everyone else off the list. It was only then that he recalled Peter’s repeated expressions of concern about Susannah interfering with your work. Viewed in that light, the boy’s presence in the garden on that particular morning suggested the possibility ...” The duke averted his gaze. “I’m sure you understand what I’m getting at.”
“Yes,” Derek murmured, setting his wineglass on the tray. “Yes, I quite see.”
“No,” Emma broke in. “You don’t see at all. None of you do.” She reached for Derek’s hand and hoped that Peter would forgive her. “Peter did go into the garden that morning, but he didn’t spend any time there. He was in the chapel until the shouting started; then he slipped out through the back door and went around the outside to the cliff path. You can check with the Tregallis brothers. They saw him go out there.” She pulled Derek around to face her. “He didn’t want to get into trouble for hanging around the chapel. That’s why he told you he was—”
“Shouting?” Newland spoke from the doorway, then came to stand over Emma. “Did you say that the boy heard shouting?”
“Well ... yes,” Emma replied, unnerved by the man’s hawkish gaze. “That’s what he told me.”
“First I’ve heard of any shouting,” Newland growled. He surveyed the other faces in the room. “Any of you lot forget to tell me about shouting?”
As murmurs of denial sounded all around her, Emma tried to recall whether she or Nell had cried out upon finding Susannah. She was sure they hadn’t. She clearly remembered being impressed by Nell’s calmness and amazed by her own, but, before she could open her mouth to reply, she felt a tremor pass through Derek’s body.
“My God,” he murmured, half to himself. “If none of you were shouting, then Peter must have heard someone else.” His head snapped up. “I breakfasted alone that morning. Bantry only stopped by for a cup of coffee.” He grabbed Emma’s arm and pulled her to her feet. “Come on. We’ve got to get up to the nursery.”
As they darted into the darkened hallway, Emma’s mind raced. She refused to believe that Bantry would harm Peter, but he might have lashed out at Susannah. She remembered that first afternoon in the garden, when he’d spoken so harshly against anything that threatened to disrupt the peace of Penford Hall. He’d known where the grub hoe was and he had the strength to wield it. He’d cleaned the oilcloth, as well, and stowed it safely in his cupboard. And now it looked as though he’d tried to cast suspicion on Peter, the one person who might identify his voice and place him in the garden with Susannah at the crucial time.
Footsteps pounded behind them and flashlights glinted maniacally from the rippled panes of leaded glass that lined the long, arcaded corridor. The main staircase loomed ahead and Derek leapt for it, nearly colliding with Bantry, who was hastening downstairs.
Derek seized the old man’s shoulders, shouting, “Where’s my son? What have you done with my boy?” until Newland got to him and wrestled him away.
Bantry took a faltering step backward, then sat abruptly on the stairs, squinting dazedly as half a dozen flashlights focused on his nut-brown face. When he had elbowed his way to Bantry’s side, the duke bent down to ask calmly if Master Peter were still in the nursery.
The old man shook his head. “No, Your Grace,” he said earnestly. “I were just comin’ down to tell you. The boy’s gone. Don’t know how he slipped by me, but he’s not in his bed nor anywhere else up there.” He gripped Grayson’s arm urgently and jutted his grizzled chin toward the windows. “He’s taken his jacket and a torch, Your Grace. Lady Nell thinks he’s out there in that storm.”
Without a second thought, Emma headed down the stairs.
“Where are you going?” Derek cried.
“To the chapel,” she replied, over her shoulder. “Don’t you see? He’s gone to check the window.”
Derek shook off Newland’s hold and plunged down the stairs after Emma, while Grayson hung back, issuing rapid orders to his troops. The last thing Emma heard before reaching the entrance hall and turning for the dining room was Nanny Cole calling out to Kate to phone for Dr. Singh.
“Should’ve brought the flashlight,” Derek muttered as they groped their way through the darkened dining room.
“I don’t think it’d be much use out there,” Emma said. The wind buffeted the French doors, and rain gusted in sheets against the panes. “I won’t be much use, either,” she added, raising a hand to her glasses. “I won’t be able to see a thing.”
“We’ll be even, then,” Derek said wryly. He reached for the door handles and, when Emma nodded, he flung the doors wide.
Emma gasped as the cold rain hit her, and she was soaked to the skin before reaching the terrace steps. Tucking her chin to her chest, she fought her way across the lawn, blinded by the driving downpour and slipping on the sodden grass until they reached the relative sanctuary of the ruins, where the wind’s roar became a moaning chorus as it swirled and eddied through empty hearths and gaping doorways.