Rachel nodded. Crowther leaned back in his chair with his fingers touching tips in front of his chest and continued, “From whom did he wish to keep matters secret then? Is Wicksteed more loyal to Hugh, due to their connection in the army, or has Lady Thornleigh gained influence with him? And what has Hugh to fear from either of them? What did our lady of the needle say, Mrs. Westerman?”
Harriet made a face. “There is some gossip in the Hall that Wicksteed has made himself useful to Lady Thornleigh, and whatever their previous relations, no one in the Hall thinks Wicksteed is a favorite of Hugh’s.”
“She must be very lonely in that big house,” Rachel murmured.
“And is,” Crowther leaned forward, “Lady Thornleigh feared in any way by Hugh?”
“He tolerates her presence with a bad grace and thinks nothing about her at all, I think,” Harriet answered. “At least, that was the feeling I had when we were friendly.” She paused and looked a little conscious. “But I have often thought there is something mysterious in his relationship with Claver Wicksteed. That man does seem to wield great power in the house, and I have always had the impression that he makes Hugh uneasy. I cannot think why Hugh put a man he seems to dislike so in such a position of power in his household.”
“So Wicksteed-a man, we assume, of relatively obscure origin, and whatever talents or graces he has, there is nothing in his previous life we know of to suggest why he is qualified to be the center of power in one of the richest houses in the county-and yet he is.” Crowther scratched his chin. “We must see what we can do to find a little more out about the man. If he has some secret hold over Hugh, it is unlikely he would want to see the rightful heir return to Thornleigh Hall. Wicksteed may well not have that same power over the heir, Alexander, if he is found and tempted back home.”
Harriet stared into her coffee cup as if searching for runes.
“That does make some sort of sense,” she agreed.
“But what is the nature of the power Wicksteed has over Hugh? Does it really exist? Might not Hugh simply think him a good manager, even if he is not personally fond?” Rachel said doubtfully.
Crowther looked at her seriously. “We must suspect everything, and believe nothing till we have proof of it.”
“That sounds like an immoral philosophy, Mr. Crowther.” Rachel smiled at him and he smiled back at her.
Harriet had begun to rap her fingers against the fabric of her sofa again.
“Mrs. Mortimer does not know of any hold Wicksteed has over Hugh, and if Belinda Mortimer does not know, I can guarantee you that no one else in the household can understand it either. And I think she has told me everything she knows.”
“I saw her nephew arriving at the stables looking very bright,” Rachel said.
Harriet grinned at her. “Well, I intend on spending your earnings from the skin salves on employing him, and getting him and James new boots.”
“If Hugh is innocent,” Rachel said with a sigh, “do you think perhaps Wicksteed might have killed Brook to stop Hugh finding out where Alexander is, Mr. Crowther?”
“Perhaps. It sounds to me as if what Wicksteed has, he has fought for. And it is generally acknowledged that when a man has had to strive for position or money, he is loath to give it up.”
Rachel looked sadly into the middle distance and twisted a corner of her dress with her right hand, before saying in a low voice, “Unlike Alexander, who just walked away from it all.”
Crowther felt the back of his neck prickle and his voice, when he spoke, seemed very far from him.
“What we grow up with in profusion, we are less likely to value, as a rule.”
Each of them stared quietly for a few moments at different parts of the foliage artfully woven into the commodore’s carpets. Harriet stirred first.
“You are full of epigrams today, Crowther. We should gather them all together in a book for the edification of the public.” He gave her a slight bow from his chair. “We must go and see Mr. Thornleigh,” she said, and added to her sister, “Not you, my love, just Crowther and I.”
“I doubt he will do anything other than damn us to hell, let alone tell us what, if any, hold Wicksteed has over him.”
“Then let him. But if he is innocent, we must try to help him.”
“And the nurse? Why was she murdered?” Rachel looked up at them. “I presume it was not by her own hand that she died.”
“She was murdered,” Crowther agreed heavily. “I have no doubt on that score.”
Harriet stood up and began to pace the salon between Crowther and her sister. Rachel followed her with her eyes, Crowther put his palms together as if in prayer and continued to stare at the floor and listen to the sisters speak.
“But what possible share could she have had in the business?” Harriet wondered aloud.
“Perhaps she did know the nature of Wicksteed’s hold on Hugh.” Rachel replied.
Harriet stopped in her pacing and turned back to her sister. “Perhaps that was what was contained in those letters-but how could she know what it was, on a much shorter acquaintance with the house, when Mrs. Mortimer, who has been there regularly since before Hugh and Alexander were born, does not!”
Crowther felt the air around him shift; a space, ready for a new thought, seemed to open up in the center of his mind. The shreds of some inspiration hung around him; if only he could knit them together in his brain … There was something there, longing to take form.
“When did Lord Thornleigh’s nurse arrive at the Hall?” he asked.
Harriet turned to him with a shrug. “She has been in the area longer than us.” She swung back toward her sister. “Didn’t she arrive, by accident almost, a month or two after Lord Thornleigh became ill?”
Rachel nodded. “Yes, she happened to be staging down to Brighton to stay with her sister, and heard about Lord Thornleigh on her way. She has had all sorts of experience with these illnesses in the past-acting as a nurse, you know-so she decided to walk over from Pulborough and offer her services. The household was very pleased to receive her.”
The two women looked toward Crowther with curiosity, aware of the tension in his narrow frame. Even as the thoughts bound together like rope in his mind, he was ashamed to realize he was drawing great satisfaction from their attentive eyes, and when he spoke again, it was not without the air of an actor claiming the stage.
“Of course. The mysterious letters from London. The timely arrival, then her murder. I have it!” He looked up from the floor, his eyes suddenly and almost unnaturally blue in his pale face. “Alexander sent her.”
3
Harriet ate her dinner quickly, and Crowther barely ate at all. As soon as the servants left the three to themselves, the revelation that Alexander might have sent Nurse Bray to Thornleigh was picked over again, and the women seemed ready to accept it as fact.
“We have no proof,” said Crowther wearily, and for the third time.
“There must be an inquest tomorrow,” Harriet replied a little crossly. “Perhaps Nurse Bray had friends at the Hall of whom we know nothing as yet. They may be able to inform us.”
“I hope for their sake, if they exist, they do not know Alexander’s address,” Rachel sighed. “Having it seems to be very dangerous.”
Crowther and Harriet looked at her, suddenly stilled.
“If I were you,” she continued, “before going to the Hall and demanding that Hugh tell us if he is in the power of his steward, I would see what you can get from Mr. Cartwright. He is the only one we know who met Carter Brook when he lived, after all. He was so miserable to be seen to know Brook, perhaps he did not say everything he knew of him.”