“You are entirely correct, of course,” I offered mildly, “and I must admire your forbearance. An attorney must be but too susceptible to an avid interest in such crimes; natural inclination would lead you to it, and your talents admirably suit you to the task. The temptation to indulge in theories and solutions must be nearly overwhelming — a temptation that Mr. Sothey, for example, could not be expected to feel.”
“No, indeed,” Mr. Brett vehemently declared, “Mr. Sothey's temptations must lie in an entirely different quarter. Neither reason nor propriety can be known to such a man.”
“You do not esteem a landscape designer?”
Mr. Brett turned upon me an eloquent eye. “It makes no matter what Sothey styles himself. A scoundrel with neither character nor feeling to recommend him may go by any name he chooses. I hope that I may never esteem a shameless poacher on the preserve of his betters, Miss Austen — a man who would take money for the expression of his merest opinion, and a few dabblings in watercolour! He should be run out of the country on a wood plank; and the sooner, the better, for all concerned.”
If Mr. Sothey caught a syllable of Mr. Brett's indignant words, he betrayed not a hint of it; Miss Louisa, I am certain, was too engaged in admiring his voice, to attend to any other in the room.
“What can Mr. Sothey have done, to merit such opprobrium?” I enquired.
“Only such as must make him the enemy of every respectable man in the Kingdom! That he has the impudence to show his face at this table, when the history of his connexion with that regrettable woman must be known to the entire country, surpasses belief! And yet, there he sits, in the most open coquetry with an innocent young lady, as tho' all the sins of lechery did not proclaim themselves in his countenance!”
I allowed his wrath to subside a little, and then ventured, “If you would allude to Mrs. Grey — I had understood that Mr. Sothey was engaged in the household in much the capacity that he is entertained here. As a landscape designer, and the intimate friend of Mr: Grey.”
Mr. Brett laughed abruptly — an unlovely sound. “That will be the tale he tells, no doubt. But I have seen the evidence of his cunning with my own eyes, and the memory of it is seared upon my brain. I would not call that fellow friend, for any amount of money in the world. He cannot apprehend the meaning of the word; friend must be as open to injury as enemy, to Mr. Sothey. He is not a man to be trusted.”
“If what you would imply is true,” I persisted, “I must wonder at Mr. Grey's permitting him the liberty of his household. Mr. Sothey only quitted The Larches this week, I believe.”
“As recently as the day of Mrs. Grey's death. I must think the coincidence quite telling.”
“You cannot mean—”
“—that he was somehow responsible?” Mr. Brett hesitated; but even the goad of jealousy, it seemed, was inadequate to a charge of murder. “I cannot know of what Mr. Sothey is capable. But I was privileged to witness his arrival here the day of the race-meeting — having ridden over to pay my respects to the ladies, unaware that the Finch-Hattons were as yet detained in Canterbury. The impression of haste and trouble Mr. Sothey then conveyed was unmistakable. He seemed in flight from the Devil himself, if you will pardon the expression; his hat gone, his appearance wild, with a great weal standing out on his neck; his baggage in disarray, and his manservant decidedly put out at the suddenness of the removal. 'Good God!' I cried, upon first perceiving them, 'have the French indeed made landfall in Kent? Has the alarm been sounded?'—for their appearance, Miss Austen, must give rise to every anxiety. Sothey attempted a laugh, but it came out queerly, and with entirely the opposite effect of ease he had intended. 'Merely a brush with a footpad, Mr. Brett,' he declared, 'who visited this injury upon me, before Frick bade him be off, with the persuasion of a pistol.' I saw the manservant, Frick, look swiftly at his master, as if to call him liar; and wondered at the tale. The two disappeared into the house as freely as tho' it were their own, and I turned my mount towards the Canterbury road. But later, when I learned of Mrs. Grey's death, and remembered Mr. Sothey's conduct in that house, I formed my own conclusion.”
“You believe that Mr. Grey turned him away from The Larches?” I hazarded. “But surely Mr. Grey was in London?”
“Of course it was not Grey!” Mr. Brett declared, all astonishment. “He was too indifferent to his wife's conduct, Miss Austen, to lose the services of so valuable a consultant as Mr. Sothey. No; I should imagine it was the lady herself who ran Sothey off, because of his infamy.”
This last put me entirely at sea. “You suspect Mr. Sothey of having wronged her?”
“But of course! That is what I have been telling you!” Mr. Brett abandoned the last of his buttered prawns and set down his cutlery. “I had arranged to call upon Mrs. Grey a few days before her death, on a matter of business—”
So even the probity of Mr. Brett was open to conjecture. Had the business been horse-trading? Or a pressing debt of honour, contracted under Mrs. Grey's hand?
“—and found the lady from home. I was surprised that she had forgot our engagement, but was told by the housekeeper that a courier had come of a sudden from France, and that Mrs. Grey could not avoid the necessity of riding out to Canterbury to meet him. I was about to leave my card in the entry and depart, when the sound of footfalls in the gravel of the stableyard alerted me. Perhaps Mrs. Grey had returned! I took the liberty of entering the little saloon—” he hesitated. “Do you know The Larches?”
“Not at all,” I admitted.
“There are three principal rooms on the ground floor — a drawing-room, a dining-parlour, and a little saloon that gives out on the stableyard. The latter was Mrs. Grey's favourite room, because of her fondness for the stables; she delighted in all the comings and goings of the yard, and might observe them as she conducted her correspondence.”
“I perceive that you were an intimate friend, Mr. Brett. You have my deepest sympathies/'
He looked surprised — seemed about to speak — and then thought better of what he had almost said. “I cannot admit to a liking for either of the Greys, Miss Austen. They were neither of them the sort to encourage intimacy. But Mrs. Grey could command a remarkable fascination — and the interest of her card-parties was undeniable, particularly for a man without family, like myself.”
“I see. And in the little saloon, Mr. Brett? Were you so fortunate as to find Mrs. Grey returned?”
“I was not,” he resumed. “Imagine my surprise, when I observed Mr. Sothey — whom everyone had acknowledged as her lover these several weeks — crossing the yard with a lady's gown hanging over his arm. He peered around at the stable door, as tho' conscious of my eyes upon him; but I fancy that the fall of light was unsuitable to the detection of my figure in the saloon window. He vanished within the stable; and something about his manner cautioned me to remain. I had no wish to call for my horse at that moment, and disturb Sothey about his business. I waited, accordingly, some moments— and when the door opened again, it revealed not Mr. Sothey—”
“But Mrs. Grey?”
“—a woman I had never seen before in my life,” Mr. Brett concluded grimly. “She was mounted sidesaddle, in the gown Mr. Sothey had brought her, and cantered out of the yard directly.”
“How very odd!” I said. “And you believe this woman to have been hiding within the stable, quite bereft of her clothes?”
“I can come to no other conclusion,” he replied.
“And you could make nothing of her countenance.”