That was a lie, of course.But if anyone came to kill me, I’d rather not put Constance in the line of fire.Whoever was doing this wasn’t concerned about collateral damage, or Alfie would still be with us, and there was no reason to risk Constance by putting her in bed next to me.
And at any rate, I was more concerned about who the murderer was, and what would happen to him, than I was about being murdered.
She squeezed my arm.“Are you certain?”
“Positive,” I said steadily, and stopped outside her door.“Here we are.Do you want me to come in while you check the room?”
She shook her head.“No one was there when I fetched my sponge bag earlier.And someone has been in the corridor every second since.I’m sure it’s empty.”
“Wait here, then,” I said, “until I get to my door, and then we’ll go in and lock our doors at the same time.”
She nodded, and I wandered down the hallway to the next door.“Be sure to put something under the door handle before you go to sleep,” I told her.
“You, too,” Constance said, holding her door open.“On three?”
We counted to three and then we both stepped across our respective thresholds and turned the keys in the locks.I took mine over to the nightstand and put it next to the water carafe.That done, I grabbed the chair from the escritoire and wedged it under the handle.
After that I did go over the rest of the room for anything that shouldn’t be there, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.My clothes were where they should be, and my toiletries ditto, and nothing had been added that I could see, other than the replenished water in the carafe.After all that, I changed into my favorite pair of blue satin pyjamas and crawled onto the bed with a pen and a notepad.Perhaps if I wrote things down, it would be easier for me to figure them out.
Chronologically, then:
Uncle Herbert had bedded his brother’s wife twenty-four years ago.From what my uncle had told me in July, Aunt Roz was aware of what had happened.That either meant that she’d known all along, and it had been agreed upon between them that Uncle Herbert would do this to help Aunt Charlotte, or everyone had become aware of the situation in April of this year.
But no, Uncle Herbert and Aunt Charlotte, at least, must have known all along.They could both count, and must have known when Crispin arrived—early, according to Doctor Meadows, may he rest in peace—whose child he was likely to be.The same went for Morrison, I assumed.
Aunt Roz might have found out in April, although it was just as likely that she had already known.It depended on whether her husband and/or her sister-in-law had talked to her about it, before or after the fact, twenty-four years ago.For Uncle Herbert’s sake, I hoped it had been him, and that he’d breached the subject before he did anything, although at this point the issue seemed to have been resolved either way.
Crispin had certainly learned the news in April, probably while eavesdropping.I remembered an instance during dinner that weekend, when he had given Uncle Herbert a wholly unexpected and surprisingly nasty glare across the supper table.I had wondered at the time what it had been about, but if Crispin had just learned that Uncle Herbert was his biological father, and that he himself was not the legitimate heir to the dukedom, that would explain the animosity.
By that point, Duke Henry had been dead, although we didn’t yet know that he had been murdered, and Grimsby would be shot later that night.Crispin had had motive and opportunity to kill them both.In fact, back then I had been convinced that he had done just that.Until two days later, anyway, when Aunt Charlotte had committed suicide and left a note confessing to the crimes.
Crispin had seemed sincerely distraught about his mother’s death, both then and earlier this evening, so he probably hadn’t killed her.He likely hadn’t even known that she had been planning to kill herself.He would have stopped her had he known, I assumed.It must have been her own decision, one she had taken without consulting anyone else, and without letting her son know that she knew—or thought she knew—that he was a murderer.
No wonder he had been distraught that morning.Not only had he lost his mother, but she had killed herself to protect him.
That was if any of this had happened, of course, and I didn’t know that it had.I knew that Duke Henry, Grimsby, and Aunt Charlotte were all dead, but up until this weekend, I hadn’t considered (again) that Crispin might have had anything to do with it.Aunt Charlotte had confessed, and I had believed that she’d been responsible.
But if she hadn’t been, if Crispin had killed Duke Henry and Grimsby, then he could be responsible for every murder since then, too.Hughes in July—he had been there at Beckwith Place the weekend Tom had motored her and little Bess to Bristol—Morrison three nights ago, and Alfie and Doctor Meadows today.
But he wasn’t the only person who had been at Sutherland Hall in April, and at Beckwith Place in July, and back here in Little Sutherland this weekend.
I could take Christopher and myself out of contention, I thought.Christopher hadn’t known that Crispin was his brother until July, and I had only found out today.Neither of us had killed anyone.
Francis had been present for all three occasions, but I wasn’t sure, even now, if he knew about Crispin.He hadn’t been listening under the study window in July, nor had he been eavesdropping in April, as far as I knew.And even if he did know, he had no reason to want to protect that knowledge.If Crispin was found to be Uncle Herbert’s youngest son instead of Uncle Harold’s legitimate heir, that would only benefit Francis.
He was out, then, along with myself and Christopher, and of course Constance, who hadn’t been here in April and who had no motive to kill anyone, except perhaps Morrison.
Aunt Roz and Uncle Herbert had motored through the village earlier.They had left Sutherland Hall before either murder had been discovered, but they would have had time, I thought, to commit them.Alfie before they left the Hall, and Doctor Meadows on their way through Little Sutherland.There was that oil slick out back of the infirmary that Tom had harped on earlier.It needn’t be from the Bentley, of course, but it had come from some motorcar or other, and we had several of those available.
Tom or Constable Daniels would have thought to inspect the motorcars for oil leaks, surely.I wished I had done that when we’d been out in the garage earlier, but of course I hadn’t known about the oil slick at that point.Tom had only brought it up this evening.And it was too late to go out there now.
Or was it?I peered at the window.It didn’t seem to be raining anymore, although it was dark and uninviting outside, while I was comfortably curled up here, warm and dry and safe.
A hummed snatch of song from next door made me consider that I could get dressed and fetch Constance, and the two of us could go to the carriage house together.It would still be dark and wet and perhaps scary, but we’d have each other’s company.But that might put Constance in danger, and if anything happened to her, Francis would surely have my head.
That wasn’t worth the risk.And I couldn’t even leave myself while someone was awake and could hear me.
I had better get back to the list of suspects, then.
