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  “Did you think you might hit him again if you saw him?” Fen asked, so wide-eyed and innocently curious that Preston was half way through his answer before Pat realised her meaning.

  “I should hope not. Talk about uncivilised. I’d have hopped on the milk train this morning and rid the Wittons of my presence if it hadn’t meant leaving Victoria in the lurch. But since I couldn’t do that, I felt I’d be best off avoiding the ghastly swine. Not to speak ill of the dead.”

  “Were you suggesting Preston might have wanted to avenge Maurice’s insults?” Victoria enquired.

  “Oh, I say,” Preston objected. “Hold your horses. I’d gladly have darkened his daylights for him, but there’s a difference between giving a man the thrashing he deserves and, well, what happened.”

  “There certainly is,” Pat said. “And you weren’t alone in your desire to give him a thrashing. My brother asked him to step outside, if you recall.”

  “But it’s Preston whose finger-marks are on the corpse’s throat,” Victoria said. “Which is something we’ll have to explain to the police.” Her face was tense.

  “That’s the problem,” Fen said. “An awful lot of us will have to explain very personal things when they arrive, because Mr. Haworth was an expert in digging up very personal things, wasn’t he? Digging them up, sniffing them out, and using them against one.”

  Victoria frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “He liked to make people unhappy. Everyone knows I’ve been engaged before but nobody else found it necessary to taunt me about it. He liked to make people do what he said, as with the Wittons, sitting there letting him speak monstrously because they were afraid of what he’d do if they crossed him. Or for profit. He made a good thing out of knowing people’s secrets, didn’t he?”

  Preston’s mouth dropped open. “Are you suggesting he was a blackmailer?”

  “Good heavens,” Victoria said. “Really? Although I can’t say I’m astonished. Are you sure?”

  Pat nodded. Preston made a face. “If he was blackmailing someone, I’ve every sympathy for the victim. It’s a foul thing.”

  “It is, but one can’t take the law into one’s own hands,” Victoria said. “Especially not if one attempts to cast suspicion on other people.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Fen said. “Do you think the killer used that particular weapon on purpose?”

  Victoria gave her a sardonic look. “It seems likely that someone wished to direct suspicion at me. That said, it was also an easily available weapon, and extremely sharp.”

  “Yes, the Earl told us the weapons on the walls are kept in good condition.”

  “Uncle James insists. I dare say we’re fortunate the killer didn’t use one of the broadswords in the hall.”

  Pat had an instant mental image of that, which she attempted to forget. Fen said, “That’s unusual, isn’t it? Who would have known that’s his practice?”

  Victoria opened her mouth, paused, then gave Fen a look sharp as the kirpan blade. “The family and me, I dare say.”

  “Mmm,” Fen said. “I don’t suppose you saw or heard anybody, between half past eleven and luncheon?”

  Both shook their heads. “We had the door shut,” Victoria said, sounding self-possessed as ever but her cheeks reddening a little. “We really didn’t want to encounter Haworth. Is that the period—”

  “It seems so. It would be an awful help if everyone could pin down their movements.”

  “Unfortunately, we can only speak for ourselves. I heard people walking by at various points but I’ve no idea who or when.”

  That was all of use the engaged couple had to say. Fen took Pat’s hand as they left the library and steered her gently up to her bedroom, which was mercifully free of Travers. She shut the door and said, “Come here.”

  Pat walked into her open arms, burying her face in Fen’s hair and inhaling her scent. Fen pushed up against her, warm and soft and desperately comforting. They held each other for a moment that Pat didn’t want to break and then Fen stepped away, sat on the bed, and patted the quilt next to her.

  “Sit down. We need to talk about it.”

  Pat sat. She didn’t know what to say; she didn’t want to speak.

  “I’m inclined to believe Victoria and Preston,” Fen said. “They had every reason to hide away together like that, and they sounded truthful. And they both seemed surprised about the blackmail, one could see that.”

  “Yes. I agree.”

  “So, unless they’re hiding some deep dark motive, I don’t see they had a reason to kill him, other than this idea of avenging insult,” Fen persisted. “They could just leave and not see him ever again.”

  “Yes.”

  “So it probably wasn’t them. And it wasn’t us. And Jack was with Lady Anna—assuming she supports his story, of course. We still need to know about the Earl and Countess.”

  “Yes.”

  Fen took a deep breath. “And your brother was lying.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Pat knew it as well as Fen did. She still hated hearing the words aloud. She wanted to clap her hands over her ears and blot them out.

  “Now, one mustn’t overreact,” Fen went on.

  “Why not?” Pat demanded. “Jimmy admitted they didn’t stay together and Bill talked over him to tell him what to say! When Jimmy went past us, Haworth was on his heels. Jack says he thought Haworth was meeting someone, and everyone else except the old couple is accounted for. And Jimmy hated him like poison.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “You didn’t hear him. He was barely rational on the subject. Which is understandable because Haworth destroyed your and Jimmy’s engagement, he’s ruining the family and sending the Earl to gaol, you only need look at Lady Anna, and he might have known about Jimmy and Bill.­ Jimmy wanted him dead. He said as much.”

  “He did?”

  “Speaking wildly, of course, but he was at the end of his tether.”

  “And you think he snapped.”

  “I don’t want to think it,” Pat said. “I hate thinking it. But Bill gave Jimmy an alibi, even though he must have known how dreadfully unconvincing it sounded. He wouldn’t have lied like that if he didn’t have to. He’s not a fool.”

  Fen’s arms came round her waist. Pat leaned against her, needing all the comfort she could get. “But you know, darling, it might not be as bad as it looks. Suppose Haworth was threatening Jimmy and they had a row that morning. It would look dreadfully suspicious to admit it, even if he left the man alive and well.”

  “Not as suspicious as Bill telling obvious lies to protect him,” Pat said. “Not to mention that if Jimmy had said, yes I saw Haworth, we’d have a better idea of the time of death. There’s only one person who wants to sow confusion in this situation, and it’s the guilty party.”

  “But it was Mr. Merton who lied,” Fen said, very gently. “Not Jimmy.”

  The drumbeat of fear was echoing through Pat, making it hard to think. Of course Bill wasn’t a murderer. She would never believe that. Except that if Haworth had been blackmailing them, he and Jimmy could have faced two years in gaol, hard labour, shame and disgrace and the besmirching of two ancient family names. What would Bill do to protect himself and Jimmy from that? What would she have done to save her brother, if it had been down to her? What might she do for Fen?

  She put her face in her hands. Fen’s arm tightened. “Darling, stop. You’re thinking terrible things and you oughtn’t.”

  “Why not? Everyone else has an alibi!”

  “No, they don’t,” Fen said. “We don’t know about the staff yet, or the Earl and Countess. And I don’t want to impugn my former in-laws to be, but they had as much motive as anyone could possibly require.”

  “I don’t know if they’d have the strength,” Pat said, but she recalled the Earl out on his lands. Elderly, yes, but a hale and hearty countryman all the same.

  “I’d find the strength if it were my children he threatened,” Fen said. �
�And if it wasn’t them, well, it might be a servant, or someone else might be lying. It might be that famous passing tramp. You’re thinking about Jimmy and your brother because things always seem more likely when we don’t want them to be true, and the more we fear it, the more inevitable it seems. Don’t you find?”

  Pat took a deep breath. “Yes.”

  “So don’t panic. I’m sure your brother won’t lie to the police.”

  “But he’s already lied to us, and suppose Jack tells the police about that? If I’ve made everything worse—”

  “If he and Jimmy get their stories straight before the police arrive, it would be a jolly good thing,” Fen said, with breathtaking disregard for the rule of law. “And I’ll tell you something else, too. It’s nonsense to say Haworth ended my engagement. You did that.”

  “I?” Pat said, appalled.

  Fen’s arm tightened. “Of course you did. Not in an underhand way, I don’t mean that. You were bending over backwards to be fair to him. But really, if you go around teaching me to shoot and taking me seriously and listening to me and having such wonderful eyes—”

  “I don’t have wonderful eyes.”

  “Of course you do. So kind and hazel.” Fen’s unquestionably wonderful eyes were locked on Pat’s with undoubted sincerity. “I know we’ve only known each other three days—although another way to put it is that we’ve known each other for the length of this house party, which has been going on forever. But the fact is, when I compared the way you talk to me, and listen to me, and kiss me, with the way Jimmy or any other fiancé ever did any of those things, there’s no comparison. None at all. And I couldn’t possibly have married Jimmy once I realised that.” She looked up into Pat’s face with a soft smile that made Pat’s insides twist. “I am absolutely sure that whatever happens, you’ll be able to cope with it, and help the people you love. But everyone is allowed to wobble, so I’m here to remind you just how wonderful you are and give you a shoulder if you need one. We’re going to do our best, together, and your best is All-England Ladies’ Champion. All right?”

  “But I’m not wonderful at all,” Pat said. “I’m truly not. I’m desperately ordinary.”

  “You’re the least ordinary person I’ve ever met. I’m ordinary, apart from being rich—”

  “Nonsense. Absolute rubbish. You’re—” Pat groped for a word. “Outstanding. You’re beautiful and kind and—champagne, everything about you is champagne. Bubbling and delicious and special.”

  Fen’s eyes sparkled like any glass of Veuve Cliquot. “Perhaps we’re both special. In fact, we’re both so special that we deserve someone equally special who appreciates us.” She took Pat’s hand. “You oughtn’t be sitting around being a companion to an old lady, or a housekeeper to your sister-in-law, or ever feeling unwanted, which is the stupidest thing of all because I want you. I know you can’t think about what next until this is all cleared up for your brother, but I’m sure it will be cleared up if we put our backs into it, and of course, I shan’t leave you until then. I don’t suppose I can stay at Rodington Court, under the circumstances, but I dare say the village has an inn, which will be a novelty. We’ll manage, is what I’m trying to say. Won’t we?”

  Pat took a deep breath. “Yes. Thank you.”

  “And after that, when Mr. Merton is quite safe, you’re going to come to King’s Norton and teach me to shoot and do absolutely nothing with me for weeks. Which includes sweet nothings.” She cocked her head as if wheedling, but her eyes brimmed with light. “You will, won’t you?”

  “Of course I will.”

  “Then that’s something to hold on to.” Fen squeezed her fingers. “Don’t worry too much. We’ve plenty of questions still to ask.”

  “But goodness knows how long till the police arrive.”

  “True,” Fen said regretfully. “I suppose we had to summon the police.”

  “As opposed to what?”

  “Oh, you know. Dropping the body into a marsh, or a mine-shaft.”

  “Fen!”

  “Well, it’s not as though anyone would care if he went away forever. We couldn’t really do that, I know,” she added at Pat’s look. “I was just thinking it was a pity. It’s surely a good sign that Jimmy sent for the police, isn’t it?”

  “It would look awfully strange if he didn’t.”

  “I suppose.” Fen sagged slightly. “I don’t want him to have done it either, you know. I hate thinking he was driven to it. This whole thing is so poisonous, isn’t it? Haworth ruined everything he touched, like an opposite Midas, making everything foul and slimy instead of gold. I do wish we knew who he was blackmailing.”

  “Jimmy, surely.”

  Fen frowned. “Yes, but he was bleeding the Wittons dry via Lord Witton anyway. I’m sure he’d have enjoyed having Jimmy under his thumb for his personal satisfaction, but was there any more money to be had?”

  “I see what you mean. That’s a very good point.” Pat made herself say it: “Bill is the other obvious candidate.”

  “But don’t you think you’d have recognised his voice, even if you couldn’t hear the words? One does, doesn’t one, with a family member?”

  Pat felt hope leap, and made herself consider the matter dispassionately. “That’s possible, actually. Maybe. But we’ve been over the others. Unless it was a servant after all, but would one really demand money from a footman?”

  “I really don’t know. The horrid man had an ace of some kind up his sleeve about someone, but—”

  There was a sharp knock at the door. Fen removed her arm from Pat’s waist and called “Come in.”

  Travers swished in and shut the door. “I hope it’s convenient, miss?”

  “Yes, of course,” Fen said. “Have you got something?”

  Pat wanted to shout aloud with frustration. She’d thought of something, had a sudden moment of intuition or memory or realisation that had wisped away again at the interruption. She resisted the temptation to ask the other two women to be quiet and let her think: it would not be politic to offend Fen’s henchwoman.

  “I don’t know about something,” Travers was saying. “Mostly nothings, which might mean something. Nobody saw anyone going into the East Wing, and nobody rang for attendance there. Mr. Keynes and Miss Singh took tea in the library at eleven and Mary took it away at quarter to. The Earl was in his study with Mr. Yoxall until half past eleven, when Mr. Yoxall left him. The Earl rang the bell at twelve and sent for the Countess. Mary carried that message to her in her room, and she went downstairs. Nobody saw them after that.”

  “So the Earl and the Countess were both seen at twelve, but not before or afterwards,” Fen said. “The Countess was in her room, wasn’t she? Alone?”

  “That’s right, miss.”

  “And the Earl was in his study alone. That means either of them could have moved around without seeing anyone else except for Jack going upstairs at half past, and Mary with the tea things at quarter to.”

  “Ugh,” Pat said. “I’m not sure I want to ask them probing questions, you know. It would seem so dreadfully ill-mannered.”

  “Murder is ill-mannered,” Fen said. “Gosh, that sounded rather good, didn’t it? Like an axiom in an etiquette book.”

  “What sort of etiquette book—”

  Fen flapped a hand at her. “Anything else, Travers? What about Lady Anna?”

  “Lady Anna was in her room with her maid all morning, from breakfast onwards, going through her wardrobe. She dismissed the girl at twenty past eleven. After that she remained in her room until the gong.” Travers gave a meaningful sniff.

  “We’ve heard about that,” Fen said.

  “I dare say, miss. I didn’t find anyone who could swear to Mr. Bouvier-Lynes, Mr. Yoxall, or Mr. Merton until ten minutes to one, when Lady Anna rang for her maid to put her hair straight. Mr. Bouvier-Lynes was leaving her room as the girl arrived.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “And the other thing I didn’t find is that any of the gentleme
n had sent shirt cuffs for washing. Only Mr. Yoxall and Mr. Keynes have gentlemen’s gentlemen with them. Mr. Keynes’ man says all his linen is accounted for. Mr. Yoxall’s man wasn’t receptive. Took offence, he did. What I will say, miss, is that it wouldn’t be hard to hide a pair of bloodstained cuffs in this great barn of a house if I may be so bold, but they’d be less easy to destroy. Nobody had a fire lit in their bedroom yesterday, nor anywhere in the house except the kitchen.”

  “So there may be a pair of bloodstained cuffs hidden somewhere,” Pat said. “I suppose the police will look. Or perhaps it wasn’t a messy job.”

  “Would that make a difference?” Fen asked, then answered herself: “I suppose it would remove the question of the killer having to wash his hands, as Jack said. Hmph. If you find out anything more about bloodstained things, let us know, Travers. Excellent. Now, could it have been anyone in the servants’ hall?”

  Travers raised both brows in reproof. “Miss Fen!”

  “Well, they have lives and secrets too. Suppose Haworth was blackmailing the butler? And I expect it would be easier for a servant to get around without the guests noticing than vice versa.”

  “You may think servants spend all day as idle as you, but I can assure you, we are not,” Travers said crushingly. “Nobody had the time to sneak off, steal a knife, murder a man, clean up, and get back to work, not with lunch for ten to put on the table and this house understaffed as it is, so that all the visiting staff have to pitch in. I’m sure as I can be that everybody’s accounted for between eleven and one. Mary, the parlour-maid, was the only one running around when she went out to collect the tea things for Miss Singh, and then to fetch the Countess later, but she was straight back in no time: I saw her come and go myself.”

  “All right, then.” Fen hopped off the bed. “Thank you, Travers, you’re a wonder and that was awfully useful. We’ll go down to join the others now and see if we can get anywhere.” She nudged Pat. “And you need to have a talk with your brother.”