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“So, how do you propose we figure out if Mrs. Hatchet or Mr. Wattlesbrook was done in?”
“You are morbid. I never knew. Well, the eyes of Pembrook Park belong to Neville the butler.”
Charlotte gave Eddie a scheming smile and headed back to the house. Mr. Mallery’s gaze followed her, and she almost regretted her quick departure, but Colonel Andrews was going to be so impressed when she solved his mystery!
She found Neville in the dining room, setting the grand table for dinner. She peered through the inch of open door, observing how carefully he placed the utensils, measuring the distance between each fork. As carefully as if he were building a bomb.
“Excuse me,” she said as she entered.
“Oh! Is something the matter with Mrs. Wattlesbrook?” he asked.
“No, um, not that I’m aware of. She didn’t send me. I just wanted to ask you something.”
He straightened up, his hands held behind his back as he waited for her to speak. His whole attention seemed directed toward her, but a slight fidget made her wonder if he wasn’t dying to get back to his table. Maybe he lived for a neat place setting, she considered. Maybe if she gave tidy tableware a fair shot, her life would be complete.
“I understand Mrs. Hatchet has left Pembrook Park?” Charlotte hesitated before speaking on, but reminded herself that lying wasn’t really lying here. “I lent her my handkerchief one day, and I never got it back. She probably didn’t realize it was my grandmother’s and has sentimental value. Do you know if she took all her things with her?”
“I believe so, madam.”
“Oh.” Charlotte fiddled with a fork at the nearest place setting before catching herself. Neville sniffed almost imperceptibly. He’d have to remeasure that one now.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to mess up your work.”
“You may do as you please, madam.”
“Well, I might just check her room, in case she left it for me.”
“I will send Mary to look for you.”
“Don’t bother. I can go. Um, where was she staying?” she asked innocently.
“Just west of Miss Gardenside’s chamber,” he said with some reluctance.
“Thanks. And thanks for making my stay so nice here. It’s a really beautiful house, and you all keep it up so well.”
“It is my pleasure to do so,” said Neville, sounding as if he meant it.
She paused before the doorway and asked, as if it were no more than an afterthought, “Do you expect Mr. Wattlesbrook to come back?”
Now Neville’s cool exterior cracked. The slightest emotion dominated his face, just as any action above a slow walk made his skinny frame look like a crazed marionette.
He composed himself, but not before Charlotte understood Neville’s opinion of the man Wattlesbrook.
“I never expect him to return, Mrs. Cordial,” he said. “Yet he always does.”
Well. “Did you see him leave?” asked Charlotte.
“I did not.”
“So you don’t know what time he left yesterday or if he stayed the night?”
“I do not believe he stayed the night. When Mr. Wattlesbrook is in the house, he generally makes himself known.”
Neville’s voice was becoming strained. He was going to bottle up. Charlotte decided to apply some well-timed truth.
“I was just wondering because … well, he makes me uncomfortable.”
This Neville could easily believe. “Mrs. Wattlesbrook would want to know of any discomfort you have during your stay, madam.”
