Page 60 of The Vanished Sister

“He was correct, your brother,” he added. “I should have listened to him.”

As he said this last, his expression softened and Mrs. Watson sensed a great vulnerability. No wonder his mother had asked incessantly after his matrimonial prospects. Some men could carve out a life apart from the domestic sphere; young Broadfield would not be happy anywhere unless he was happy at home.

Mrs. Hawthorn brought in tea and poured for everyone. She cast a worried glance in Mr. Broadfield’s direction before she withdrew.

Inspector Treadles stirred his cup. “Mr. Broadfield, we have some questions for you.”

“Please, go ahead,” said their quarry. “But I’m not sure what more I can tell you other than what I’d already told Inspector MacDonald.”

“But my colleague did not inquire into your own itinerary around the time of Mrs. Whitehill’s unfortunate demise, did he?”

Mr. Broadfield, just settling himself into a chair, stiffened.

“Did you lodge at the Red Schooner in Combe Martin from August sixth to August ninth, under the name of Whitby?”

“Who told you that?”

At his admission, Miss Charlotte, as promised, reached for a celebratory biscuit. Mrs. Watson winced.

“We came by our knowledge,” said Inspector Treadles to their suspect, “via good old-fashioned detective work.”

In the snippet of conversation Lord Ingram had overheard in High Burrow between Reginald and Emaline Carstairs, Birmingham had been brought up, Birmingham where Emaline Carstairs had met her future husband—and where Mr. Broadfield had resided since he returned from his grand tour.

Emaline Carstairs had mentioned a rival for her affections. In his letters to his mother, Mr. Broadfield had once been optimistic and actively engaged in the search for a wife; but a little less than two years ago, roughly when Emaline Carstairs would have fallen in love with Reginald Carstairs, Mr. Broadfield began to lament that all the good ones had been taken.

Mere wisps of connection out of which Miss Charlotte had been able to build an elegant new theory.

“Now please answer my question,” continued Inspector Treadles. “And remember that we have means to verify your answers.”

All the color drained from Mr. Broadfield’s face; the shadows under his eyes became as prominent as banners. “I visited Combe Martin during that time,” he said eventually.

“Why Combe Martin?”

Mr. Broadfield shrugged. “It’s summer. Everybody is at the seaside.”

“Why the alias then?”

The beleaguered young man chewed the inside of his cheek. He grabbed a cup of tea, only to shove it back onto the table, the tea sloshing onto the saucer with the abrupt motion. “Is using an alias against the law?”

“It may not be, but it makes questions from the law difficult to answer later on,” said Inspector Treadles conversationally. “Were you trying to keep your trip a secret from your mother?”

“No. I mean, I wouldn’t have told her about it in any case, but I had no idea she would have been anywhere on the Devon coast.”

“Then, was it to keep your presence hidden from Emaline Carstairs’s husband and in-laws?”

Mr. Broadfield turned the color of a tomato. “I refuse to drag a lady’s name into this conversation.”

“I do not need to mention any lady’s name, if that will make you uncomfortable. Mr. Broadfield, did you set foot in High Burrow during the time you were in Combe Martin?”

The pair of legs Mrs. Albright claimed to have seen enter the library via its window. The man Mrs. Stanmore Newell saw walking away from the manor in the predawn hours, an admission she’d made not to the police but while chitchatting with Miss Olivia.

Had Mr. Broadfield been the one who made the illicit visit late that night? Mrs. Watson was usually always in favor of a pair of lovers. Here she only wanted to wince again.

Tiny beads of perspiration appeared on the tip of Mr. Broadfield’s nose. “That is also none of the law’s business.”

Silence.

“Mr. Broadfield,” said Miss Charlotte softly, “I am moved by your staunch sense of honor, as well as your consideration for young Mrs. Carstairs. Would you mind letting us know how you and she met—surely there is nothing disagreeable or disreputable in that?”