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“After you.” Joe waved toward the stairs. He knew she was reluctant. “Go on. He is dead. He can’t hurt you now.”
“It is macabre,” she whispered.
“Death is,” Marcus replied flatly.
There wasn’t much Marguerite could say to that. The men’s disaffection did little to erase her own doubts and fears but at least it gave her the strength to climb the stairs and lead them to her father’s bedchamber.
“He hasn’t been back I take it?” Joe asked of her once at the door.
Marguerite shook her head. “I had hoped-”
Joe nodded.
“What’s your father’s name?” Marcus asked.
“Eustace Smisby,” she whispered.
Joe’s brows furrowed. “Now, where have I heard that name before?”
“He is a clock maker,” Marguerite explained.
“From Smisby and Wreake,” Marcus replied with a knowing nod.
Marguerite nodded.
“They make fine quality timepieces,” Joe murmured, impressed in spite of himself.
“Mr Wreake died last year, I am afraid, but my father still makes clocks,” she whispered.
Strangely, in spite of the worries surrounding her, talking about such mundane matters brought a sense of normality to the situation that was disconcerting. At any other time, she would have offered to show them a few of her father’s time pieces. Now, she couldn’t bear to move anywhere in the house she didn’t have to go. It was odd because she had once felt comfortable here. Now she wanted to be as far away from the place as it was possible to get.
“I am not going in there,” she protested with a fervent shake of her head.
Aware of Ben blocking the top of the stairs, Joe opened the door to the bed chamber cautiously. His first glance of the room revealed nothing untoward. He frowned and ventured further, and then saw the cause of her anxiety.
His epithet was loud when he saw who it was.
“Damn it all to hell,” he blistered.
“What is it?” Marcus asked, following him into the room.
Joe waved a hand toward the dead man to indicate that Marcus should take a closer look.
“Are you sure you don’t know him?” Joe called to Marguerite as he stepped forward to take a good look at the cadaver’s face.
“No, I don’t know him,” she replied nervously, keeping her gaze trained on the ground at her feet.
“Are you sure? It is an odd place for a stranger to be,” Joe replied.
“Ma’am, I know you have had a fright but you need to stay close to us. We haven’t searched the rest of the house yet. It isn’t going to be safe until we can clear it,” Ben murmured when Marguerite looked ready to run down the stairs.
Joe peered around the door and saw the distress on her face. Stepping into the hallway, he nodded for Ben to go and take a look at who they had found and turned to the woman before him.
Gently, he touched her chin. “Do you recognise him? I want you to be honest with me, Marguerite.”
“I-I don’t-no,” she whispered. “Honestly.”
Joe looked deeply into her eyes and knew instinctively that she was telling him the truth.
