chapter 39
Laura awoke feeling sore all over. Looking at the emptiness beside her, she wished she could close her eyes and go back to sleep. How completely her life had changed in the course of one night.
James’s words had pierced her. She suspected he was lying—whether to her or to himself, she wasn’t sure—but it had cut deeply to hear him say he didn’t love her. Worse, he didn’t want to care for her. He wanted to be far away from her.
She was tempted to avoid breakfast, but she knew she had to face the aftermath of last night’s events. Besides, she was mundanely hungry—clearly she hadn’t the makings of a tragic heroine.
Breakfast was as bad as she feared it would be. Adelaide, unsurprisingly, was sullen and quiet. Tessa, red-eyed, kept dabbing her handkerchief to her eyes while Netherly tried to console her with poetic words. Archie seized the chance to hold forth on James’s unfairness, Claude’s slyness, and the unlikelihood that anyone had tried to kill Laura.
Walter finally slammed the butt of his knife down on the table. “Stop! Good Gad, Salstone, can’t you keep your mouth shut?”
The uncharacteristic outburst so startled Archie that he lapsed into silence. Adelaide gave a sob and jumped up from the table and ran from the room. Patricia followed her, presumably to provide comfort. After that the others began to leave, as well.
Laura started to rise, too, but Walter said, “No, Laura, please stay. I’d like to talk to you, if I may.”
“Of course.”
Walter moved over to sit beside her. “I am so sorry about . . . everything.”
“Thank you.”
“Please don’t take it amiss, but I cannot believe that Claude tried to kill you.”
Laura gave him a soft smile. “That’s only natural; he’s your brother. I’m not sure myself. I hate to think that James’s brother would try to kill either of us, but he is the one who would profit most by our deaths. And he was upstairs when it happened.”
“But there were other people who weren’t in the ballroom, including me. The party was breaking up.” He sighed. “I do wish James hadn’t taken off with Claude like that. It’s not like him to be so impulsive.”
“I’m not sure James was thinking clearly last night.”
“No, of course not. He was distraught about you. The thing is, I don’t believe Claude did it, which means whoever did it is still here. And James is gone! I don’t know what to do. You’re in danger, and God knows how much help I’d be.”
“James left Dem here.”
“Yes, I saw him in the hallway. But Dem couldn’t have protected you from those other ‘accidents.’ ”
“Neither could James,” Laura pointed out.
“That’s why we must find the culprit before he tries again. Even worse now, if he succeeds, it’ll mean two deaths, because James will blame Claude.”
“You really think James would do that?”
“I imagine so,” Walter said matter-of-factly. “He’s rather fierce, you know, about the people he loves.” He gave her a half-sad smile. “I tell myself that’s why he gets angry with me for getting into trouble.”
Laura wasn’t sure she qualified as one of the people James loved right now, but she said only, “I’m sure he loves you. James just . . . isn’t very good at showing it.”
“He asked me about my manuscripts the other day,” Walter said shyly. “He said he would read one of them.” His grin broadened. “And he told me I didn’t have to go back to school if I didn’t want to. I nearly fainted.”
“You see? He cares about you. All of you. I think that’s why he hasn’t done anything before now about Claude; he couldn’t bring himself to accuse Claude, no matter how logical it was.”
“Claude wouldn’t kill him. He certainly wouldn’t do it in cold blood. And to do it in such a way, seeing James die by inches. No. Claude can be hard. He resents James and he’s often bitter, but he’s not cruel.”
“Then who could it be? That’s the sticking point. Who else would benefit from James dying? I have no trouble accepting that Mr. Salstone is that cruel, and he might be wicked enough to murder just to gain a laxer trustee than James for Patricia’s funds. But why would he try to kill me? It would gain him nothing, and it seems a large risk to take merely because he dislikes me.”
“It was a risk certainly. Someone could have seen him going in or out.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, no one did.”
“Perhaps they really were accidents.”
“It seems unlikely that urn would have fallen by itself. And we know someone plotted James’s death.” His face took on a determined expression. “I must investigate it. I can’t let James and Claude be at odds. Even if it turns out it was Claude, I have to know.”
“I’ll help you.” Laura stood up. “Where shall we start?”
They went first to the balcony, which lay off a little-used sitting room near the nursery wing. At the sound of their footsteps, Robbie popped out of one of the rooms farther down the corridor. “Hullo!”
“Hullo, Robbie,” Walter greeted him cheerfully. “Learning anything yet?”
“No,” Robbie returned proudly as he trotted down the hall toward them. “Will you take me down to the castle this afternoon? Miss Barstow says I cannot go alone, and Papa’s gone to London with Uncle James. I heard Uncle James and Papa had a mill last night. Did they?” He lifted his fists and launched into a pantomime of punching.
“Who told you that?” Walter asked.
“Nobody. I heard Mr. Netherly talking.”
“You hear entirely too much,” Walter responded. “Hasn’t anyone told you not to go listening at doors?”
The boy laughed, showing his gap-toothed grin. “Then I wouldn’t learn anything!”
The governess rushed down the hall after Robbie, looking harried. “Robbie!” She bobbed a curtsey to Walter and Laura. “Beg your pardon, sir. Ma’am.”
She hauled the boy back to his studies, scolding him in a low voice. Walter, watching them go, said, “He’s not a bad little chap, whatever Patsy says. He just gets bored.”
As they continued down the hall, a man trotted up from the back staircase and emerged into the hallway. He paused, looking startled, when he saw the two of them, but he recovered quickly. “ ‘Ah, what light through yonder window breaks . . .’ ” He swept an elegant bow toward Laura. “Lady de Vere. What a pleasure to see you.”
“Netherly,” Walter replied sourly, and turned away, steering Laura into the sitting room across the hallway. “Jumped-up poseur,” he muttered under his breath. “I don’t know how Mother puts up with him.”
“What’s Mr. Netherly doing up here?” Laura wondered.
“Dropping in to flirt with Miss Barstow, I’d guess. You heard Robbie repeating something he said.”
“He’s flirting with the governess? What about his mad passion for your mother?”
Walter snorted. “Mad passion for foisting himself on society, I’d say. Miss Barstow’s not the only female he pursues. He’s always sneaking about, bothering the maids. I even heard Adelaide dressing him down about it the other day. Insult to Mother, but of course, nobody wants to hurt her by telling her about it.”
He turned around, surveying the bland room where they stood. “We’re right over the ballroom. Balcony’s out those French doors.” He pointed. “Easy enough to nip up here if one used those back stairs Netherly just came up. Of course, the culprit would risk being seen by the servants.”
“The servants were busy running back and forth to the ballroom. I doubt they would have paid any attention to the stairs.”
“He could get back to the ballroom quickly afterward, too. People might not even notice he’d been gone.”
Laura nodded. “Which makes one wonder why Claude would still be hanging about upstairs if he was the culprit.”
“Very true.”
Walter opened the double-paned doors and they stepped outside. The balcony was built on the roof of the terrace. Slightly more narrow than the terrace below, it made a perfect spot to drop something onto anyone standing at the balustrade beneath it. There were four square stone posts, and all but one held round stone urns filled with red geraniums.
Walter pushed tentatively at one, but it didn’t even budge until he put his shoulder into it. “You’d have to push it hard. Bound to be intentional.”
They left the balcony, deep in thought. Finally Laura said, “But how did they manage to wreck the carriage? It was done on the spur of the moment. No one knew I was going for a ride, including me, until that morning.”
“They had two or three hours. Plenty of time to sabotage the brake slipper. It wouldn’t take much—just damage the chain so it comes off under stress.”
“Wouldn’t someone notice a member of the household sneaking about in the carriage house?”
Walter shrugged. “No one would think anything about it if he was dressed for riding. Just nip into the carriage house when no one is looking.”
Laura’s mind went back to that afternoon. She’d seen Claude outside the stables. Were she and Walter merely fooling themselves about Claude?
“Tougher to make the horses bolt at just the right moment,” Walter mused. “But he knew you would take the road past the castle. He could hide in the shrubbery beside the road beforehand. No, in the garden somewhere. Parts of it aren’t far from the lane, and he’d be concealed by the trees and bushes. When he saw the coachman set the brake and start down the hill, he just had to startle the horses.”
“How? There weren’t any loud noises. The driver thought one of the animals was stung by a bee. That’s a bit difficult to arrange.”
“Let’s look around the gardens.”
Taking the back stairs, they went out to the gardens, going in the opposite direction from the waterfall steps. More shrouded in trees, it did not offer the splendid view of the other path, but at last Laura caught a glimpse of the road.
Walter gestured in front of them, saying, “There’s a clearer spot ahead.” He stopped before a tree trailing vines and lifted the strands to let Laura pass under them. “It wasn’t this overgrown when I was young.”
“Oh!” Laura stepped into a small shaded glade, bordered on three sides by shrubs and a large flat rock. On the fourth side lay the road and castle. Sunlight filtered through the leaves of the trees, casting dappled shadows on the mossy ground. “How charming.”
It offered a narrow view between the tree and a large rhododendron bush, but she could see the road quite clearly. It was astonishingly close.
“Yes, it’s lovely. I used to like to sit here and daydream.” Walter sat down on the flat rock, and Laura joined him. “I haven’t been here in years.”
“Someone has.” Laura pointed to something on the ground beneath one of the bushes. “A cork from a bottle of wine.”
“The moss looks trampled, too.” Walter wandered around the perimeter. “Look!” He squatted down and came up holding a folded square of wool. “A blanket. Someone’s made themselves comfortable here.”
“So the murderer sat here waiting for the victoria,” Laura mused. “If only we could figure out how he got the horses to bolt.” She glanced up at Walter. “How would you do it?”
“What? Me?”
“Yes. If you were writing this in a book, how would you have your character engineer it?”
“Oh. Well . . .” Looking pleased, he sat down again. “Something simple, but effective. Not a gun because there was no noise. A peashooter wouldn’t carry far enough.” After a long moment, his face brightened. “Young Robbie’s slingshot!”
“You’re right!” Laura straightened. “If you were a good enough shot, it would be perfect. No noise. It stings the horse as if he’s bitten, and he bolts. But wouldn’t you be easily seen?”
“Not if you’re wearing dark clothing and standing a bit back from the edge. It’s well shaded, dark to anyone out in the sunlight. And who would be looking up here when they have that view spread out in front of them?”
“It’s uncertain. Several things could make it fail—as it did.”
“But nothing lost if it didn’t succeed,” Walter pointed out. “Small chance of being caught.”
Laura sighed. “The problem is . . . the slingshot belongs to Claude’s son. This doesn’t clear Claude at all.”