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What could he say to put her at ease? And possibly learn more about people who might have hated or feared Ebony Graves enough to kill her?
‘It is a subject which arouses deep feelings,’ he answered. ‘But it doesn’t excuse violence.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Do you think someone might have killed her over that? But how could they break into the house? And why would they? The police said no one broke in –wouldn’t they take the opportunity to attack my mother in the street somewhere? When she was maybe alone, leaving a meeting or . . . or . . .’
‘Not someone she knew in other circumstances, and would let in herself, not fearing anything except perhaps an argument?’ he asked.
She hesitated. ‘Perhaps . . .’
‘Did your father have views on such things?’
‘You mean he let someone in who . . . or that that is why he killed her?’ She did not seem to have any difficulty framing the question. ‘He had a temper,’ she added. ‘Could it have been an accident?’
Should he lie? There would be no way back, and every instinct told him not to try deceiving her. She would resent it, and turn him into an enemy.
‘Her death might have been, but not the fire afterwards,’ he answered.
She winced, and the colour drained from her face. She hunched a little further down in her chair and hugged her arms around herself. ‘I really don’t know. I hate to think of my father doing that, but no one broke in. The police said so. It has to be someone she let in, or . . . one of us. That can only be my father.’ She glanced at Miss Purbright. ‘All the staff are good, and they are honest. The only men inside the house are Falthorne and Joe, the bootboy. He’s only fourteen, anyway.’
‘And your brother . . .’
Her head jerked up. ‘Arthur’s in a wheelchair! That’s ridiculous. He adored Mother, anyway. How dare you—’
‘I wasn’t suggesting he did such a thing,’ Daniel said. ‘Only that he might know something. People who are restricted in participation often notice more than other people.’
‘Oh.’ She crumpled up again. The pain was marked clearly in her face.
He realised that she had to be exhausted by the circumstances of her mother’s death, her father’s arrest, the trial, and now the hanging looming up in days, and a sick brother to look after, perhaps to comfort. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Graves,’ he said. ‘I pushed you too far. I’m trying to find any answer other than your father’s guilt.’
She looked at him. He was extremely aware of the burning blue of her eyes.
‘Why?’ she asked.
Did she believe he was guilty because of the weight of evidence against him? Or did she wish to? Did she know something further than the police had found?
‘We must not execute the wrong person.’ He avoided the word ‘hanged’. ‘If there is any doubt at all, we must find it.’
She was trembling a little. She rose to her feet, and after a quick glance at Miss Purbright, she walked stiffly to the door. ‘If you will come with me, I will take you to Arthur. I believe you want to speak with him, too. You do not need to come, thank you, Miss Purbright. I will be quite all right.’
‘Yes, Miss Sarah,’ the lady’s maid conceded.
Arthur Graves was a striking-looking young man. Had his health been normal, he would have been handsome. He had his mother’s good looks, with black hair and eyes almost as dark. His regular features were marred only by extreme pallor, and the marks of chronic pain. He was seated in a wheelchair, with a rug over his legs, even though the day was warm.
The room was interesting, although Daniel had little time to do more than notice it. It faced east, but had a skylight to the north that filled it with light. There was only just time to glimpse on the walls several almost impressionistic pictures of birds in flight. At a glance, Daniel knew what they were. In pen and ink, details in heads and many feathers, the rest was only a sweeping suggestion to the mind of speed and freedom, endless possibilities of movement.
Those that were painted had only a limited palette: blue and grey, denoting windy sky, shreds of cloud and, again, movement.
Sarah was introducing him to Arthur and he had paid less attention to her than was polite.
‘How do you do, sir?’ Daniel replied. ‘I’m sorry, my attention was taken by the beautiful room.’
Arthur smiled. ‘Yes, isn’t it? Mother and Sarah designed it for me.’
Daniel heard the slight tremor in his voice when he mentioned his mother. How much had they told him of the truth?
He felt Sarah’s presence almost at his elbow. She was going to be head of the household soon. In practical terms, she was already. Daniel knew, without any word from her, that she would defend her brother at any cost whatsoever. How had Russell Graves taken to his only son being an invalid? Was he angry, ashamed? Or willing to defend him even more than Sarah was? Somebody had paid for this beautiful room. Did Arthur ever go out, or was this his world?
Had Ebony and Graves quarrelled over cost? And what treatment he should receive, or was best for him? Perhaps they had not agreed. He did not wish to ask Sarah. The butler would know.
