Page 91 of The Vanished Sister

“Yes. Away from the servants, the children, and all our obligations. So we could be alone.”

Mrs. Watson shuddered. How Justina would have dreaded her trips to this “love nest” in the wake of Warthorpe House.

“Does anyone else know of its existence?”

Everett Carstairs’s face became shuttered. “My solicitors. The charwomen they hired to clean this place and such.”

“You are sure about that?”

Everett Carstairs did not answer.

Miss Charlotte, who had been slowly perambulating the room, stopped and looked more closely at the display shelf that ran along one entire wall. Mostly the shelf held small watercolor images—Mrs. Watson gritted her teeth, remembering the old gent at the inn in Ludlow who painted watercolors. But incongruously there was a heavy-looking brass vase.

Mrs. Watson squinted. Could it be? Her grandfather had had a pair of vases that looked exactly like this one, with etched peacocks and flowers, gifts from a friend who had spent time on the Subcontinent. And she’d hated them because Justina had made her polish them every week and had never once been satisfied with her—admittedly subpar—work.

The police sergeants who had come with Inspector Treadles escorted Everett Carstairs out. When he was gone, Miss Charlotte pointed at the gap between the vase and the next watercolor and asked, “Inspector, was there another one of those vases?”

“Yes. We found it on the floor, with a dent on it.”

So the other one had been here, too. And to think, Justina had kept them all those years.

“Did you find any stray bullets?”

Inspector Treadles shook his head. “We looked for the bullet that could have caused the damage to the vase, but failed to find it.”

Mrs. Watson blinked. What did that mean? That Justina had not been shot point-blank, but had instead been killed by a stray bullet? One that had ricocheted off a brass vase?

“Do we know Mr. Broadfield’s whereabouts yesterday?” Miss Charlotte continued with her questions.

“I’ve sent cables to Shropshire to that purpose—and already received a response from the man himself. He said he’s been in Boxton ever since the funeral and could furnish multiple eyewitnesses.”

“And the younger Carstairses?”

“I was at the family residence yesterday afternoon. Charles Carstairs and Emaline Carstairs received me. But Rebecca Wellesley and Reginald Carstairs were out—and have yet to return, as far as I know.”

Mrs. Watson pinched the bridge of her nose. Those children—where had they gone? She remembered Rebecca’s distraught letter. She and Reggie—Reggie, especially, had been intent on finding Justina. Had they found her?

She covered her mouth. Dear God, what if the boy had somehow learned that Justina had been responsible for his mother’s death?

Was Justina still beautiful in death, her eyes wide, her mouth half-open in pain and shock? Yes, but uncannily, almost grotesquely so. Mrs. Watson wiped her tears. Everett Carstairs was still staring at his wife, looking thoroughly dazed. And then his expression changed and tears rolled down his face.

It felt like despair.

Because he’d been caught? Because his house of cards, after all these years, had finally crumbled?

“This is my fault,” he said. “If I hadn’t left for Noble House, she’d still be alive.”

Trying to extricate himself with every word, wasn’t he?

He was next taken to answer questions from Inspector Treadles and Miss Charlotte. Mrs. Watson had been allowed to view Justina’s body because she was one of Justina’s closest of kin. But Sherrinford Holmes did not need a chaperone, so Mrs. Watson could only wait in the corridor while the interrogation dragged on.

Lord Ingram found a chair for her and urged her to sit down. But she’d been in enough trains and chose to pace instead.

The door of the interview room did not open for an hour and a quarter. When it did, Everett Carstairs, who emerged ashen, was escorted down a different passage.

“Did you arrest him?” asked Mrs. Watson, barely able to keep her voice low.

Inspector Treadles shook his head. “I’m afraid we lack enough evidence. And frankly, ever since Lord Ingram was wrongly arrested, Scotland Yard has been very reluctant to make the same kind of mistake. But we are putting him up at guest quarters tonight and assigning enough manpower to keep an eye on him at all times.”