She was smiling as they approached the manor house, her mood quite the opposite of the fearful wariness with which she had last come here. This time, they did not walk up to the front door, but skirted around the side of the house to the kitchen garden.
Here, maids were making the most of the wintry sunshine and hanging out washing. A footman was leaning against one of the clothes poles, idly watching and flirting, though he sprang to attention quickly enough when Constance and Solomon strolled past his line of vision. The maids dropped curtseys.
The footman strode toward the visitors. “Sir, madam, may I show you to the front door.” It wasn’t really a question, but Solomon chose to answer it.
“Actually, no, thank you. You may be the very man we are looking for.”
“Me?” The footman was little more than a boy and looked distinctly alarmed.
“You don’t need to worry,” Constance reassured him. “You’ve done nothing wrong. As you probably know, we are trying to solve an upsetting puzzle for Miss Mortimer.”
“I heard it was Mrs. Chadwick’s—er…puzzle,” the footman replied with more than a hint of insolence.
“Then it seems you don’t know quite everything about your betters,” Solomon observed. “Oblige me by looking at this envelope, addressed to your mistress. And yes, she did give it to us to investigate. Do you remember it?”
The footman peered at it, rubbing his knuckles against his cheek. His uncertainty might have been due to memory, or to concern over what his employer truly expected of him.
“Yes, I do,” he said at last. “It was on the hall table about a month back—maybe more. It was at the top of the post pile I took up to her.”
“Why do you remember that one in particular?” Solomon asked. “Doesn’t Miss Mortimer receive many letters?”
“Yes, she does, but not with writing like that. Even the letters from children aren’t all in capital letters.”
“I see. Is it your normal duty to take the post up to Miss Mortimer?”
“Yes, unless Miss Jenson or someone has taken it up in passing. Since I was on my way up, I did it.”
“Can you remember the time of day?” Constance asked.
“Teatime. Well, after tea, since she had callers.”
“Can you remember who those callers were?”
“I didn’t look. Mr. Larkin and Betty the parlor maid showed them in. I just hung the coats up and carried the tea tray.”
“Hmm. So they were all front-door callers,” Constance said, wondering how to ask if Mavis Cartwright ever visited the back door.
“Of course.”
Solomon said, “Did anything else unusual happen that day? Around that time?”
The lad began to shake his head, then stopped suddenly, his eyes widening. “Actually, yes, the vicar was sent for! So he must have been among the guests.” He grinned, pleased with his feat of memory and deduction.
“Who sent for the vicar?” Solomon asked.
“Old Mrs. Flowers. She was dying again.”
“Again?” Constance asked, startled by the similarity with David’s story of the murder at the Crown and Anchor.
“She thinks she’s dying regularly and sends for the vicar. Give him his due, he always goes to her, and she’s never died yet.”
“How did he receive this summons? Did some family member come to the manor house?”
“No, there was a note to the vicarage. Alice Cartwright, the vicar’s maid, brought it.”
Alice…“By the back door?” Constance asked, her heart beating suddenly fast.
He scratched his head. “No idea. I was stationed outside the drawing room door when Betty brought the note in.”
