The other ladies agreed. “We ladies went up the stairs first,” a Mrs. Humphries said. “I assume Miss Johnson was with us.”
Mrs. Collard was frowning. “I’m sure she was.” She looked around at the other ladies, inviting their confirmation. “Surely, she must have been?”
After an instant’s pause during which the other ladies plainly consulted their memories, Mrs. Hammond stated, “I, too, had thought Miss Johnson was with us, but I cannot say for certain that I saw her retire.”
The ladies looked at each other, waiting for someone to say they had seen Glynis, but no one spoke.
Then the oldest lady in the room, a Mrs. Fitzherbert, who Carradale had explained was a relative of Mandeville’s there to lend countenance, rapped the floor with the tip of her cane. “It’s simple enough to check.” She turned beady eyes on one of the ladies, a youthful widow by the name of Mrs. Cleary. “You, Rosamund Cleary, were sharing a room with Miss Johnson, were you not?”
“Yes…” Mrs. Cleary didn’t sound all that sure.
“Well, gel—did the chit reach the room last night or not?”
Mrs. Cleary, who, like many of the ladies, had been rather pale, blushed. She hesitated, then under the weight of the gazes of everyone there, admitted, “I…can’t say. I wasn’t in the room at that time…indeed, for some hours. All I know is that she wasn’t there when I got back, and her bed hadn’t been slept in.”
A ripple of murmurs and sly looks suggested all too clearly where Mrs. Cleary had been—dallying with one of the gentlemen.
Mrs. Fitzherbert snorted. “Well, that’s no help.”
The old lady’s snide tone sparked a flash of resistance in Mrs. Cleary. She straightened and, in a firmer voice, declared, “Be that as it may, I was on the terrace, at the rear corner, a little while later—just taking the air after everyone had retired upstairs.” She glanced swiftly around at all the faces, then looked down at her hands. “And I saw a gentleman come out of the shrubbery.”
Eyes grew round, then everyone glanced at their fellows.
An uncomfortable pause ensued.
Carradale broke it. “Which gentleman?”
Mrs. Cleary looked at him. “I don’t know. The moon had set, and there wasn’t enough light to see clearly—just enough to be sure that it was a gentleman I saw.” She glanced around again, this time openly assessing all the men, then looked back at Carradale. “I can’t even say that it was one of the gentlemen in this room. I didn’t see his face or anything else to identify him.”
“In which direction did he go?” Constance asked.
Mrs. Cleary blinked at her, then her gaze grew distant. After a second, she replied, “Toward the house.” She refocused on Constance. “He walked toward the front of the house, but I didn’t see if he went inside or not.”
By the expressions of studied blankness that flowed over most faces, it was plain what everyone believed the sighting meant. Constance wished she could look every way at once—to take in the reaction of each and every gentleman. She raked as many faces as she could. Did any look guilty? Or furtive or even conscious?
She noted that beside her, Carradale was also surveying the other men. He was, she realized—assuming the staff at the Hall and at his home could be counted on—the sole male present who could not have been the man Mrs. Cleary saw. Not unless he’d gone home and come back, but that would be easy to prove, and she doubted Carradale was the sort of man who would expect staff—both at the Hall and at his home—to lie for him in a matter of murder.
Regardless, given all she’d sensed and seen in the shrubbery as they’d stood over Glynis’s body, she truly did not believe him in any way involved. There’d been too much anger at the waste of Glynis’s life seething just beneath his surface.
After a too-prolonged silence, Monty Radleigh blinked owlishly. “I…say. That’s something of a turn-up.”
As if the simple words had somehow penetrated when the prior discussion had not, Percy Mandeville, host of the house party and owner of the house, slowly straightened in the chair in which, until then, he’d been slumped. His expression suggested sudden resolution.
Constance watched him, wondering…
Percy opened his mouth…then shut it. Three seconds later, after staring blindly straight ahead, he slumped back in the chair and covered his eyes with one hand.
His reaction sent a ripple of unease through the gathering. Hard on the heels of that, a palpable sense of panic started to swell, with every gentleman looking increasingly agitated, increasingly defensive.
Then Edward Mandeville offered, “Perhaps the gentleman was out taking the air, too.”
The panic deflated like a pricked balloon. Relieved murmurs of “No doubt” and “That’s it” abounded, and the fraught moment dissolved as everyone looked at their fellows, waiting for a gentleman to admit he’d been outside and must have been the man Mrs. Cleary had seen…
No one spoke.
Unease returned, creeping like an oppressive fog over the company. Once again, neighbor glanced sidelong at neighbor, at this man, then that, wondering…
Eventually, Edward Mandeville, still on his feet before the hearth, shifted and said, “I believe we’ve done all we can. Now, we must wait for Sir Godfrey to arrive, consider all the facts we can place before him, and decide on his verdict.” Edward glanced at Percy, who hadn’t stirred; his hand still concealed his face. “Perhaps,” Edward went on, “in the circumstances, we should spend the intervening hours in quiet pursuits.”
Edward looked around the gathering, but no one argued. He straightened and nodded. “I’ll have Carnaby inform everyone when Sir Godfrey arrives.”
Several seconds passed, then the ladies exchanged glances and rose. The rustling of their skirts filled the otherwise silent room as they filed out of the door, followed by the gentlemen—no doubt to find some quiet nook and gossip about Glynis and speculate…
Constance hauled her mind from that tack. She couldn’t do anything about Glynis’s reputation, not until they found the murderer and learned why he’d killed her.
After a moment’s thought, Constance glanced at Carradale, who hadn’t yet risen.
He’d apparently been waiting to catch her eye. With a tip of his head, he indicated the door. “Shall we?”
She rose, and he came to his feet. It wasn’t often that she met a man tall enough—with a personality robust enough—to make her feel…not the largest person in the room. Carradale accomplished the feat without trying.
As they fell in at the rear of the stream of guests, she murmured, “Can we believe Mrs. Cleary? Or is it possible she invented the tale of the man leaving the shrubbery to pay back the old lady—or perhaps to divert attention from her own activities?”
Looking down as they walked, Carradale didn’t immediately reply, but as they neared the door, he met her eyes. “I think we must believe her. Aside from all else, she’s never been the sort to invent tales, much less purely to make herself important. I’ve never heard of her courting that sort of attention.”
She arched her brows. After a moment’s thought, she said, “In that case, she was brave to speak out.”
“Indeed.” Carradale followed her into the front hall. “Especially as it seems she might well have glimpsed Glynis’s murderer.”
In the front hall, the guests were sorting themselves into groups—some for the library, others for a walk in the rose garden, still others to sit quietly in the morning room or to convene about the billiard table.
Constance saw no benefit in joining any of the groups. She paused just outside the drawing room door, debating what to do next.
Alaric studied the surprising Miss Whittaker’s expression, then gently touched her arm. When she looked at him, he gestured to the front door. “After all that, I need some fresh air. Would you care to join me?”
She regarded him for a second, then nodded. “Fresh air sounds like an excellent idea.”
Alaric wasn’t sure why her ready acqu
iescence so pleased him, but there were several questions he wanted to put to her. He nodded to the footman stationed by the door. He opened it; as Alaric followed Miss Whittaker through, he informed the footman, “We’ll be on the front terrace if anyone has need of us.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“You can close the door.”
“Indeed, my lord.”
Miss Whittaker heard and glanced back, but she made no demur. She looked around, then walked to the right, to where a semicircular outcrop at the front corner of the terrace offered a stone bench, also semicircular, running beneath the balustrade. It was the perfect spot to sit and share information; no one could overhear, and they would see anyone approaching.
She sat with a sibilant rustle of petticoats. Alaric claimed a seat opposite so they could easily see each other’s faces.
He held her gaze for a second, then said, “If we are to catch your cousin’s killer, it might be helpful for us to share what we know.”
She arched her brows. Her unspoken question What did he have to offer? hung in the air between them.
Despite all, he almost smiled; she was prickly, ready to be defensive, yet he sensed she would do whatever she had to to avenge her cousin. “I know a great deal about Percy and Mandeville Hall and also quite a lot about each of the guests. You, in turn, know about your cousin. If we pool our knowledge, we’re liable to get further faster.”
After a second of regarding him assessingly, she inclined her head. “If you’re willing, then yes. I agree.”
He inclined his head in return and leapt in. “First, was this event the sort of party your cousin normally attended?”
“No. Obviously. That’s why, as soon as she heard of Glynis’s plans to attend, her mother came and begged me to come south and fetch Glynis home.”
“Home being where?”
“Kilburn. North of Derby.” She pinned him with her green gaze. “Glynis was normally a biddable girl, but she could be stubborn. Her mother, my grandfather’s cousin Pamela, isn’t strong, yet she was set on giving Glynis her Season. They spent the earlier months of the year in London, in a rented house. Toward the end of the Season, as the weather warmed, Pamela fell ill and had to return to the country—the air of the capital didn’t agree with her. Glynis begged to remain for a little while longer—until the lease on the house expired—and as Mrs. Macomber was willing to continue in her role of paid chaperon, Pamela agreed. However, Pamela expected Glynis to return home last week. Instead, Glynis sent a letter saying she’d been invited to Mr. Mandeville’s house party and had accepted, and that she would return home after the house party ended.” She paused, then added, “From what little I gleaned from Mrs. Macomber before we found Glynis’s body, she hadn’t been convinced it was appropriate for Glynis to attend, but Glynis overrode her objections.”
She sighed. “Sadly, I can imagine that all too readily. As I said, Glynis could be stubborn. The family can’t hold Mrs. Macomber to blame for Glynis being here. She was hired to be Glynis’s chaperon at social events, not her keeper.”
Alaric nodded. A leased house in town and a paid chaperon who knew suitable hostesses wasn’t an unusual arrangement for county gentry wanting to puff off their daughters in London society. But… “That begs the question of why Glynis was here—more specifically, what prompted her to accept Percy’s invitation.” He paused, then in the interests of the sharing he’d been the one to suggest they indulge in, went on, “I know Percy quite well, and I was surprised to discover not only your cousin but also Miss Weldon, another unmarried young lady, and her chaperon present at this event. In the past…suffice it to say that this wasn’t the sort of house party unmarried young ladies would be expected to attend.”
Miss Whittaker’s expression hardened. “So Glynis—and this Miss Weldon—weren’t Mandeville’s usual sort of guests?”
“No.” He couldn’t fathom why Percy had invited either young lady. Alaric met Miss Whittaker’s fine green eyes. “If you like, I’ll undertake to ask Percy why he invited your cousin.”
“Please do. I would like to know his reasons myself—and so would her poor mother and Grandpapa.”
Alaric frowned. “Glynis’s father?”
“Died two years ago, or I assure you he would have been here himself.”
Her tone suggested that the Whittaker clan took care of their own—and judging by her presence and what Alaric had seen so far of her character, in no uncertain terms. He allowed faint puzzlement to creep into his expression. “If you don’t mind me asking, why was it you—a relatively young lady and unmarried yourself—who Glynis’s mother approached?”
“Because I’m not that young, and since the death of my parents nine years past, I’ve been acting as, in effect, my grandfather’s agent. He’s the head of the wider family, but is now chair-bound. When Pamela learned her daughter wasn’t coming home as expected and, instead, had come to this house party, I was, naturally, the one she appealed to—and therefore, the one who came.”
She paused, then added, “I arrived in the village last night and put up at the inn. This morning, I reached here as the company were rising from the breakfast table. I spoke with Mr. Mandeville and several others—your cousin Monty among them—in the front hall. Mr. Mandeville sent a footman to fetch Glynis, but she couldn’t be found. Once we all realized she wasn’t anywhere inside the house, Mr. Mandeville organized a search of the grounds. Monty kindly volunteered to be my guide, and as you saw when we found you, Mrs. Macomber, who, unsurprisingly, had been thrown into a panic, trailed behind us.”
Alaric had fixed on her earlier revelations and what they suggested of both her character and the way her family saw her. “You didn’t travel from Kilburn alone?”
The look she threw him was the equivalent of telling him not to be silly. “Of course not. My maid and my groom are with me.”
Mildly, he said, “You might want to send for them, along with your luggage. I know Percy—or rather his housekeeper, Mrs. Carnaby—will find you a room.”
Her haughtiness dissolved as she thought. “I’ll wait to hear what the magistrate says.” She cast him a sharp glance. “I gather he doesn’t meet with your approval.”
He lightly shrugged. “Sir Godfrey Stonewall is a pompous ass who thinks far too much of himself and his appointment. However, I haven’t crossed paths with him for several years—it’s possible he’s acquired wisdom in the intervening time.”
She studied him—his face, his eyes—for several seconds, then humphed. “Obviously, we’ll see.”
He realized he’d somehow got trapped in the shifting hues within her green eyes. Inwardly frowning, he hauled his mind back to business and refocused his wayward senses. “As to Glynis being here, she must have had a reason. What was it, and did that reason, or the simple fact of her being here, precipitate her murder?”
Constance couldn’t fault Carradale’s reasoning but… “I have no answer as to her reason for accepting Mr. Mandeville’s invitation.” She paused, thinking of Glynis, of the girl Constance had known. Staring unseeing at the balustrade, she mused, “I wouldn’t have said Glynis was flighty, but rather that she was intent on enjoying life. In a wholly innocent way.” She refocused on Carradale—and told herself she didn’t need to pay so much attention to the dark beauty of his face. “You said you’d attended the earlier days of the house party. How did Glynis appear to you? Did you observe anything strange? Did you glean any hint as to why she was here or, at any time, sense that she was afraid of anyone?”
His gaze turned inward, and he remained still as—she assumed—he thought back over the past days. Eventually, he said, “If I had to give my opinion of her mood, I would have said she was happy. Sunnily so and pleased with her world.” His hazel eyes refocused on Constance, his gaze direct and rather piercing—eagle-like in its predatory quality, although in that regard, rake though he assuredly was, she sensed no threat from him. He went on, “She was bright and breezy, yet I saw no evidence that she was aimin
g her smiles at any particular man, if that’s crossed your mind.”
Constance softly snorted. “Of course it’s crossed my mind. I know Glynis well enough to guess that her primary interest in attending this house party would almost certainly have had something to do with a gentleman and the prospect of a potential betrothal. It’s difficult to imagine her pushing to accept Mr. Mandeville’s invitation if not at the behest of—or in pursuit of—some gentleman.”
“Perhaps not, but I saw no indication of any particular man being her target—and over the years, I’ve developed a reasonable facility for gauging such things, especially at events like this.”
She hadn’t needed the reminder of the sort of man she was dealing with, yet he’d made the comment in a matter-of-fact manner. Given his confidence in his expertise… “When you walked with her on the terrace last night, what did you talk of?”
His brows rose in thought, then he replied, “It was largely the usual small talk. Nothing that stands out or that was in any way revealing.” His eyes held hers for a moment, then he went on, “There was one thing—which might owe less to reality than to me reading too much into her behavior. However, for what it’s worth, from the way she engaged with me on the terrace, I assumed she was intent on appearing to flirt with me.”
While she could readily imagine Glynis doing so, Constance picked up his emphasis. “Appearing?”
He nodded. “She…went through the motions, as it were. No one else was on the terrace to see her performance at close range—only me.” He shrugged. “And I admit I found it entertaining. Amusing and a touch intriguing, because I had to wonder if she was intent on using me as a façade to screen the true reason she was here—meaning which gentleman she actually had her eye on.”
She hesitated, then said, “Can you be sure she wasn’t trying to make another gentleman jealous?”
“Had that been her purpose, she would have done better to have clung to my arm in the drawing room, where the entire company would have seen. As it was, they could glimpse us through the windows, but the bulk of her performance—if eliciting jealousy was her aim—would have been wasted. Instead, it was her idea to claim my arm for a stroll in the evening air, and she didn’t seem intent on us being on display.”