Cobb pretended to scribble this down, as hehad done all along, then peered up, chewing his pencil. “What werethey talkin’ about?”
Hetty went beet-red, the blood draining downalarmingly into her tiny, vee-shaped chin. “I–I don’t eavesdropon other people’s conversations,” she stammered.
“But they definitely went to bed — separately?” Cobb felt himself begin to redden.
The scarlet chin rose up and jutted out. “Itold you, I heard two doors slam.”
“Okay, okay, you made yer point. So you’resayin’ that a little before ten o’clock, everybody down here wastucked in an’ sawin’ logs?”
Hetty paused while her pasty complexionreturned slowly, then said, “I did hear Tillie come out into thekitchen — to get a glass of water fer Mrs. Blodgett, I suppose. Ididn’t hear nothin’ after that.”
Cobb thanked her, and then asked her to seekout Austin Bragg and bring him to the pantry.
Austin Bragg, in the prime of his manhood and toohandsome for his own good, was not in the least intimidated by thecrudely uniformed constable sitting across from him in a pantrythat formed a portion of what he considered his home turf. He didnot wait for Cobb to begin.
“I suppose you think I did away with my bossbecause he dressed me down in front of the guests on Wednesday?” hesaid somewhere between a snarl and a taunt.
Cobb stared down at his notebook. “I gatheryou didn’t take to the new man?”
“How could I? Chilton was an English snob whotreated us all down here like we was dirt.”
“But yer master, Mr. Macaulay, wasn’t aboutto send him packin’, eh?”
Bragg glowered, a gesture that might havemade him appear menacingly attractive to the ladies but to anyoneelse it rendered him momentarily ugly — and repulsive. “The buggerwas efficient enough an’ knew his job. I’ll give him that much. Buthe wasn’t Alfred, was he?”
“I was gonna start off this talk Mr. Bragg,with a simple request to have you tell me what you did, what youseen an’ what you heard upstairs after supper. Could you do thatfer me? An’ I’ll try not to suppose too much.”
Bragg’s belligerence softened perceptibly,and he said in a more straightforward manner, “Prissy an’ me servedthe supper in the dining-room, tryin’ not to bump into the butlerwho never took his eyes off us an’ never once said anythin’complimentary about our work, even though we had to carry onwithout Phyllis’s help or Giles Harkness assistin’ the girls downhere.”
“Nothin’ unusual happened at supper?”
“Nothin’ that I saw. I was far too busy tonotice what any of the gentleman guests were doin’.”
“What did you do after supper?”
“I helped Prissy an’ Chilton tidy up thedining-room. I’d already stoked up the boiler in the bathroom, butI went into the master’s wing to see if old Struthers had managedthe fires in the rooms there. The fires have to be damped downproperly an’ bricks set out to warm fer Prissy, who gets the bedsready. Can’t have gentlemen gettin’ cold bottoms now, can we?”
Cobb ignored the invitation to slag hisbetters. “Did anybody use the big bathtub?”
Bragg thought about that. “I was pretty busy,but I did see the older Frenchman with the baggy eyes go in thereabout nine o’clock. He took care of himself.”
“Anybody else?”
“Somebody was splashin’ around in there a fewminutes after he left, but I don’t know who.”
“Did you see Mrs. Macaulay’s medicine bottleon the shelf in there at any time last night?”
“I know where she keeps it. We all do. Istoked the fire in the stove in there before supper, but I couldn’ttell you if it was on the shelf or not. Is that what killedChilton? We heard it was somethin’ in the wine he drank.”
“You don’t know of any loud-an’-numbbein’ used down here by any chance?”
Bragg stiffened. “’Course not. Mr. Macaulayis strict about drugs of any kind. If we need medicines, he has thedoctor supply them, an’ he pays. He’s a good man. We all feelterrible that he’s got mixed up with the likes of GravesChilton.”
“Do you keep wine in yer room?”
“What the hell are you drivin’ at? We don’tneed to keep wine or anythin’ else in our rooms. Mr. Macaulay givesus enough fer our meals, from his own cellar. You think justbecause it was a servant that got killed that the culprit’s got tobe one of his own kind, don’t you? Well, I didn’t kill him, an’neither did anybody else down here. Why don’t you poke yer whiskeynose about upstairs an’ leave us alone!”
Cobb made as if to write this remarkablestatement down in his notebook. Then he glanced up and tried tolook stern. “Where were you at midnight last night?”
Bragg, who was already quite agitated, beganto shake with anger. “Damn you, Cobb! I was in bed, and I stayed inbed all night!”
“You come down here about a quarter to ten,with Miss Finch, from yer duties upstairs an’ the two of you wentstraight to yer rooms?”
“Where else would we go? Into the parlour forbrandy an’ cigars?”
“Can you prove you didn’t sneak out after allwas quiet an’ go skulkin’ about upstairs, where you might’ve seen alight in the butler’s office?”
Bragg looked as if he were about to lungeacross the table and throttle his interrogator, but caught himselfjust in time. Instead, he sat back, and let his entire body relax,as a satisfied smirk lit up his face. “If you must know, constable,I was not in my own room or my own bed.” He paused to let thesalacious implications of this manly revelation sink in, and waitedfor Cobb to respond. He was now enjoying himself.
Cobb had little choice but to ask, “Whoseroom were you in, Mr. Bragg?”
“I shared a warm bed with Priscilla Finch.All night. An’ we didn’t do a lot of sleepin’.”
Cobb kept eye contact as he replied, “Talkin’philosophy, I take it?”
Bragg snorted. “We were doin’ things thelikes of you only dream about.”
“Enough so’s she’ll remember you bein’there?”
“If you got any more accusations to make,make ‘em now, Cobb. I got work to do.” Without seeking Cobb’sassent, he got up, kicked the chair aside, and ambled out. As hereached the stairs, he began to whistle.
Cobb was so hot under the collar he thoughtit might ignite and incinerate his tie. He had put early money onAustin Bragg at short odds, but if the pompous braggart really hadan airtight alibi, then all bets were off. For the moment, though,he had only Bragg’s word about whose bed he had shared.
When Hetty Janes poked her head in a fewmoments later, he asked her to fetch Priscilla Finch.
Although Prissy had managed to stifle her tears, theaftermath of prolonged weeping had left her pretty face devastated.Even her dazzling flaxen curls had gone limp. If she and Bragg hadtangled and tingled all night, Cobb thought, the discovery ofChilton’s body had dampened down those delights pretty quickly.That is, if they had been delights.
Cobb tried to get her to stop nibbling at theknuckles on her right hand and teetering on the edge of the chairacross from him — by taking her gently through her routine actionsat supper and afterwards. To no avail. Her answers were brief andguarded. Something was going on here, beyond her understandableupset of the early morning, he thought.
He persevered. “You turn down the gentlemen’sbeds at night an’ tidy them up the next mornin’?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you happen to notice any bottles ofliquor or wine among the gentlemen’s effects whilst carryin’ outthese chores?”
Prissy went chalk-white. “I did not! I’m nota snoop! Mr. Macaulay wouldn’t like that, would he?”
“’Course he wouldn’t. I didn’t mean to sayyou was a snoop, but one of the gents could’ve left his bottle ofcomfort, like, on his night-table.”
“Well, I didn’t see none.”
“Fine. That’s very helpful, Prissy. An’that’s all I’m doin’ here — beggin’ yer help.” He flashed her theCobb grin.