The baroness, sitting very straight in her chair, faced her daughters. On the opposite side of the bed, neat and quiet, Sysabel sat resting against the end post, the open drapes like a small cloak around her shoulders. Across the chamber on the wide settle where Nicholas had sat the night before to say goodbye to his wife, now reclined the Lady Elizabeth, complaining of exhaustion and headache. The maid Hilda stood silently behind, gently rubbing the lady’s neck to ease strained muscles. Nurse Martha sat alone on the window seat, hands neat clasped, hiding her misgivings, the baroness’s maid Petronella standing quietly in the shadows beside her.
The baroness said, “My dear girl, you are a married woman, a lady in your own right and mistress of your own household. How do I advise you now?”
“I cannot believe that would ever stop you, Maman.”
“Very well,” said the baroness, “I shall tell you exactly what I think.”
Avice mumbled at her knees, “You think we’re stupid and have to stop.”
“I’m surprised to hear you consider yourself my judge and jury, Avice,” said the baroness, “yet as usual you fail me. Indeed, I have every intention of staying here for some time, and of becoming involved in this entirely interesting enterprise. I may not have mourned my husband quite as rigorously as I might have done had he not been discovered in the arms of a prostitute, but even such hypocrisy can hardly be said to merit his murder. Someone has had the unutterable temerity to slaughter the Baron Wrotham and leave me a widow. If the culprit is still cowering but living, I shall do my best to uncover him.”
Everybody stared at the baroness in considerable surprise. “So you’re not going to stop us?” asked Emeline in amazement.
“I intend helping you,” said her mother. “Now, is there quill and ink available, or must we organise in secret? I believe a written list, each of us adding a name or two perhaps, will survive better than simple whispers written on the back of my mind.”
The Lady Elizabeth, with a faint aroma of apple blossom, shook her head in silent disapproval. “Paper,” muttered Avice, “can be read by all and sundry. Minds can’t.”
“Then we must be a little more efficient than you anticipate, Avice,” her mother told her. “A skill I have in abundance, although you clearly do not. A simple list of names without further explanation is hardly a hanging matter. And it must be kept safe.”
“Everything for scribing is kept downstairs,” Emeline said, sitting forwards in a hurry. “In the little annexe off the hall. But his lordship is down there, and I would really rather not have to excuse myself to him again. He was such a trial last night and nearly as bad this morning.”
“Then we’ll leave the earl in peace with his bosom friend the wine jug,” said the baroness. She turned a little, then saying, “Martha, we are in need of paper, ink and pen. Emma will explain exactly where you might find these things, and you will fetch them and bring them back upstairs to us. If either his lordship the earl or Sir Adrian interrupts you, you will inform them that your mission is urgent and that you have been instructed to hurry.”
Having written, the baroness passed the paper to Emeline, the ink still wet and leaving its own thin trail of leakage. First she had written the anonymous boy, child of the whore who had been murdered at the baron’s side. Secondly the baroness wrote the name Edmund Harris, and Avice, who was now peering over her shoulder, squeaked, “Really, Maman, that’s ridiculous.”
Emeline waved the small page under her sister’s nose. “Why ridiculous? Edmund Harris is Papa’s silly secretary, isn’t he? Well of course he helped Papa with the negotiations for my dowry when I was still expected to marry Peter, so he met Peter then. He also used to accompany Papa when he went away anywhere. So if Papa went to Gloucester to see that dreadful woman, then Edmund Harris would have known all about that too. Who else could have known about both? But I admit I’m not sure how that makes him an obvious killer.”
“Not obvious – no.” The baroness shook her head. “But he’s an odd creature with very large eyes, and has often made me uncomfortable. Nor can I think of anyone else who could possibly have known where and when your wretched Papa visited Gloucester.”
Sysabel frowned. “Who cares about a secretary?”
“Murderers have large eyes?”
“I simply find this young man too clever for his own good, and too involved in matters that should not concern him,” said her mother. “He was always asking questions, and I mentioned his overzealous curiosity to James a few times. Although James approved him, I must say I never did. The creature has accompanied me on this trip, volunteering his services even though I had no need for a secretary and told him so, though brought him in order to keep an eye on him.” She turned suddenly to the far corner and the studiously patient Petronella. “I wondered,” she smiled, “whether a very clever young miss might be prepared to take an interest in this young man, and make friends with him.”
Petronella stepped forwards and blushed. “If your ladyships says so, then I shall do it of course. But to make friends with a murderer?”
“I don’t expect he’s anything of the sort,” said Emeline. “And Avice, you seem quite prepared to make friends with Papa’s secretaries. I have an idea you know Edmund Harris quite well. Perhaps you should get to know him better?”
Avice also blushed. “If you’re going to be horrid, Emma –”
Emeline interrupted. “So, now! Does anyone else have a suspicion, even a vague guess, and a name to add to our rather short list?”
“I have a name to add,” mumbled Avice, turning away. “But I can’t say it aloud.”
“Saying it silently,” her mother pointed out, “is unlikely to help. Or do you expect us to guess?”
“Names, names,” murmured Aunt Elizabeth. “Such tedious things.”
“I have a name,” said Sysabel, very quietly as if ashamed to admit it. “You see, Uncle Symond, the earl, has a younger brother. Nicholas seems to enjoy his company although Uncle Jerrid’s just silly and vulgar and resented the fact that Peter would inherit the title while he’d inherit nothing. Being a wastrel, rather like Nicholas himself,” here she smiled apologetically, and continued, “he probably sided with Nicholas against Peter.”
The Lady Elizabeth, who had appeared to be dozing, now opened one eye and looked sharply at her niece. But it was the baroness who objected. “Why in heaven’s name,” she said, “would such a man wish to kill my husband?”
Sysabel shook her head. “I cannot really answer that, my lady. But I have a small theory, if I might suggest it? I do not wish to speak out of place, but I expect it will be no surprise to Emma to hear that Nicholas was always most envious of Peter’s skills and position. No doubt Nicholas spoke of this to his Uncle Jerrid, saying he wished Peter would somehow disappear. Thinking to help his favourite nephew, who knows what might have happened? Then you see, on his way to Wrotham after his time sick in London, Nicholas may well have seen and followed the baron. He would have been curious, perhaps, to see him in the back streets of Gloucester, and then discovered him entertaining his mistress. Well, being loyal to Emma he might have felt – and he does have quite a temper as I am well aware myself –”
“Are you suggesting your Uncle Jerrid as the killer,” said Emeline suddenly going very white, “or are you actually suggesting my husband?”
Sysabel again shook her head. “I thought perhaps if Nicholas informed Uncle Jerrid, – and then, having committed murder already, killing Peter, you see, believed a second time could endanger his soul no further. Therefore, decided to do Nicholas another favour?”