“To cut someone’s throat from behind, in the night? Yes, that is cowardice-or desperation. You never believed this was an affair of honor, I think.”
“I did not, but I have been thinking further as you sliced up his shins. The murder was done swiftly, quietly. There is no sign to suggest this was done in the heat of the moment, in a fight or argument.”
“Though words may have been exchanged and the murderer returned.”
“Perhaps. In either case the murder was done, and the note taken … the note-but not the ring. It was not hard to find and it suggests a connection to the family at Thornleigh Hall. If the murder was done with an aim to secrecy, as the wound indicates, why not take the ring and conceal the body, at least to some degree?”
Crowther walked to the ewer and found himself briefly confused about how to wash his hands without getting matter on the water jug. Harriet came over and lifted it to pour over his wrists. He worked the blood free from his short nails, then took up a fresh cloth and began to dry his fingers, looking up into the shadowed roof space above them. Harriet moved away to cover the body again.
“Perhaps the murderer was disturbed,” he said to the empty air above him.
“Someone, other than the murderer, arrived to keep the appointment? That would be interesting,” Harriet mused, then continued with a sigh, “I wish we knew more about this man, Crowther. Neither rich nor poor, tall nor short. He is a blank.”
“As you say, Mrs. Westerman. But the clothes tell us something. It is they that convince me this man is not Alexander Thornleigh-”
“The Honorable Alexander Thornleigh-Viscount Hardew to give him his proper title. One should address an earl’s son properly, even in absentia.”
“I stand corrected,” he said, then continued, “As I was saying, the contrast between cloak and waistcoat convinces me more than the soundness of his leg bones or even his brother’s word. This is a man who would spend a large amount of money on a waistcoat, but not his traveling cloak. That speaks of one who wishes to pretend in company that he has more money than his cloak tells us he has, yet Mr. Thornleigh, from what you tell me, has abandoned for fifteen years great rank and fortune.”
Harriet looked at Crowther for a long time, considering, then threw up her hands.
“For a man so unwilling to look his fellow creatures in the eye, you are a subtle student of psychology,” she declared, and he bowed.
There was a gentle knock at the door, and Dido put her face around the opening. Seeing the body covered, her expression became less fearful and she came far enough into the room to drop a curtsy to them.
“Excuse me, ma’am. The squire has returned from the village and Cook is ready to serve dinner.”
“We shall come in at once.” The maid let the door drop behind her. Harriet turned back to Crowther with a half-smile.
“Well, it seems we have had all the private dealings with this poor wretch that we may expect. I suppose we’d better make matters known to the proper authorities.” As she turned toward the door, Crowther held his ground and cleared his throat.
“I have made an examination of the body, ma’am. That is all the true expertise I can offer in this case. I must ask you then, why have you made me an ally in this puzzle solving of yours?”
She looked at him. “Because I think you are by nature a clear-headed man, and you are an outsider, sir, who cares little for the politics of society in this place. That makes you very important to me. I am trusting you to keep us honest. You have already been very rude to me on several occasions, so I am more and more convinced of my need of you. There are very few independently minded, unencumbered and intelligent men in this neighborhood, particularly when my husband is at sea, so perhaps my hand was forced.”
“And would your husband approve of your actions in this matter, madam?”
She looked at the floor. “Probably not. He is more of a politician than I am, and he is rich enough already.” Crowther frowned, and she continued, “But it will be six weeks before he can hear of this, and another six before any scolding he has for me will be able to reach Caveley. He can clear the decks of any embarrassment I cause when he returns. He has done so in the past. Does that concern you?”
“No. Though perhaps it should concern you.”
She smiled at him mildly, then turned and without further comment began to walk toward the door.
7
“Father,” Susan called, running back into the shop from the family parlor. She came to a sudden stop in the doorway, seeing Alexander by the shop window peering out into the street, and remembering a little too late that now she was nine she was supposed to have stopped dashing about the house like a street urchin. He turned when he heard her, and although he was frowning she thought it was not so much at her as at his own thoughts.
“Is everything well, Papa? Would you like to eat? Jane and I have made a pie!” She became serious. “Are you still fretting about your ring? I am sorry we could not find it.”
He smiled at her. “No. I have decided not to miss it and the pie sounds wonderful.” He glanced out into the square again. “I think all is well. Lord George Gordon has roused up a mob. They think giving Catholics the right to own their own property is an offense against every English Protestant and wish to stop the bill allowing it from being passed. Fools. Mr. Graves just came by to tell me that Parliament itself is under siege, but the mob should not worry us here. Does Jonathan miss the ring? I think he thought more of it than you or I.”
Some half-memory stirred in the back of Susan’s mind. The ring appeared before her, the picture on it, and something Jonathan had told her when he came back from play some days before. He had said something about a waistcoat.
Susan had just opened her mouth to tell her father this when her brother swung into the room.
“No popery! No popery!” he shouted, waving his handkerchief in the air and dashing across to their father. Alexander swung him up into his arms.
“No need to ask if you have been out at play, sir. But watch your words, young man. They cause hurt to your friends and do you no honor.” Jonathan looked a little confused and was about to question when his father shushed him. The serving girl had appeared behind them, looking anxious.
“Sir, they say the crowds are coming back from Westminster, and looking black.”
Jonathan opened his mouth to shout again-then, catching his father’s eye, shut it.
“You are worried about your people, Jane?” Alexander looked with a friendly concern at the girl.
“A little, sir. They say the crowd is heading for the fancy houses, but our religion is known, and there’s only my mother there. I’m afraid she’ll be nervous, sir.”
“Well, you must go to her. And give her our best wishes.”
Jane had begun to untie her apron as soon as the first words were out of his mouth, and spoke again in a rush.
“Thank you, sir! I’ll be back as soon as it’s quiet. Miss Susan and I have made a pie that will do for dinner, and there is cheese in the crock, and bread for supper.”
“We will manage. Go and see to your family, and come back again when you can.”
Susan looked about her unhappily. She had never seen Jane look so nervous before, and she did not like the tone of her father’s voice. Jane disappeared out into the kitchen and away, and Alexander crossed over and put a hand on his daughter’s shoulder.
“Don’t fret, little woman. Just silly people making a lot of noise and trouble for their entertainment. We’re safe enough. Now let’s go and try this remarkable pie of yours.”
Crowther and Harriet were walking up to the French windows that gave onto the main lawn, when they heard a sharp slap and a child’s cry of surprise. Crowther looked to Harriet, who hurried over the last few steps to the house. He followed. As they stepped into the room, Crowther saw Rachel, her cheeks flushed, holding a boy of about five by the arm and vigorously shaking him. There was already a red mark rising on the little boy’s cheek and he was clutching a paintbrush in his free hand. Rachel’s voice, as she spoke, was quavering and hot.