Ashworth Hall (28 page)

Pitt watched Charlotte with a sudden admiration which was oddly painful. She was so competent, so strong. She did not seem to need support from anyone else. If she was frightened, she hid it. Her back was straight, her head high; her concern was all for Hennessey and Gracie.

He turned back to the business in hand. Tellman was at his elbow. He had been unaware of him until now.

Everyone else followed Jack to the morning room—except Eudora and Tellman, standing close to the study door. Eudora was staring at Pitt, her face white, smudged across the cheek with dust.

“Mr. Pitt, I’m so sorry,” she said gently. “What Mr. O’Day said was unforgivable. No one can defend us from each other. This is terrible, but it does look as if we have great goodness among us, as well as evil. Lorcan gave his life trying to defuse the bomb. Perhaps we have still the will to succeed, if you can find who … who it was who laid it there.” She stared at him fixedly. “Can … can you? I mean, is there anything? Can anyone tell from what is left?”

“Not from the study,” he replied. “Anyone in the house could have done that, but we shall question the servants and everyone else, and see who came this way, where everybody was. We may learn something.”

“But … but we could all have come across the hall,” she protested. “That doesn’t prove … I mean—” She stopped, her throat tight, her voice thin and high. “I mean …” She shook her head quickly and walked after the others, her dark skirts pale with dust.

Tellman sighed and stared into the study, hesitated a moment, then started to pick his way through the debris towards the desk and the body of Lorcan McGinley. He squatted down and peered at it thoughtfully, then at what was left of the desk.

“I think the dynamite was in the top drawer on the left, or the second,” Pitt said, following after him.

“That’s what it looks like,” Tellman agreed, chewing his lip. “Judging from the way all the splinters and debris are lying. It would all fall outward from the blast, I suppose. What a mess. Whoever put it here wanted to be sure an’ kill Mr. Radley, no mistake. I wouldn’t be a politician trying to sort this lot out.” He moved his attention from the desk to Lorcan’s body. “He must’ve been right in front of it, poor devil.”

Pitt stood with his hands in his pockets, brow furrowed. “It would have been on a wire of some sort, rather than a clock,” he said thoughtfully. “No one could be sure when Jack would come in here. It might simply have blown up with no one, or if it were on top of the desk, under papers and books, it might have been moved by a servant tidying up.”

“D’you think that lot would care?” Tellman said bitterly. “What’s one English servant more or less?”

“Possibly nothing,” Pitt agreed. “But it would achieve no purpose. It would be a risk and an outrage that would serve no end. No, it would have been designed specifically for Jack, put in one of the drawers no one else would open.”

He reached over and searched among the debris for the remains of the drawers. He found one and examined it without success, then a second. He turned it over very carefully, feeling it with his fingertips. There was one side, and a shard of the bottom left more or less attached. He examined the underneath. Across the bottom was a straight line of flat-topped furniture tacks. There was a broken piece of wire under one of them.

“I think we have found where the mechanism was,” Pitt said quietly. “Pinned under the drawer to detonate when the drawer was opened. It must have taken a few minutes to do this. Empty the drawer out, tack this across the bottom, and then replace it all.”

Tellman’s eyes widened and he stood up, his knees cracking as he straightened them. “It’s a great pity McGinley’s dead,” he said slowly. “He could answer some important questions.”

“He was a very brave man.” Pitt shook his head. “I would dearly like to know what he deduced, and we didn’t.”

“Damn fool should’ve told us,” Tellman said angrily. “That’s our job!” Then he colored very faintly. “Not that we’ve exactly done it well this time. I don’t know anything about dynamite. Do you?”

“No,” Pitt confessed. “I’ve never dealt with a murder by dynamite before. But somebody put it here and set it up to explode when the drawer was opened. We ought to be able to find out who that was. McGinley did.”

“Same person as killed Greville,” Tellman replied. “An’ we know that wasn’t McGinley, O’Day, or the valet Hennessey, but it could be just about anyone else.”

“Then we had better find out when the bomb was placed here. Obviously it was after the last time Jack used the drawer. Speak to the servants, housemaids, butler, footmen, anyone who came in here or was around the hall. See where everyone was all morning, who can substantiate it, who they saw and when, especially Finn Hennessey. I’ll go and speak to Mr. Radley, and then to the other guests. But before you do that, you had better have someone help you put poor McGinley in the icehouse.” He turned around. “You can carry him on the door. It’s only hanging by one hinge. Then we’d better see if anyone can at least tack a curtain over the doorway, something to keep the sight from distressing anyone still further. And board up the window too, in case of rain.”

“Mess, isn’t it …” Tellman said, puckering his brow. He disapproved of wealth, but he hated to see beauty spoiled.

Gracie had heard the blast, as had almost everyone else in the house. At first she thought of some domestic accident, but only for a moment. Then her better sense told her something was very seriously wrong. She put the jug of water in her hand on the marble-topped table bench in the stillroom, where she was helping Gwen prepare a remedy for freckles, there being no mending to do.

“What’s that?” Gwen said nervously. “That wasn’t trays or pans dropped.”

“I dunno, but I’m goin’ ter see,” Gracie replied without hesitation. She almost ran out of the stillroom door past the coal room and the room where the footmen cleaned the knives and along the passageway towards the baize door.

Tellman came out of the boot room, his face pale, his eyes wide and bright. He ran after her and caught her just short of the baize door, taking her by the arm.

“Stop, Gracie! You don’t know what it is.”

She was swung around by the strength of his hold.

“I know it didn’t oughter be,” she said breathlessly. “It’s summink bad. Is it a gun?”

“Guns don’t make that noise,” he argued, still gripping her arm. “That’s more like dynamite. You wait here. I’ll go through and see what’s happened.”

“I in’t waitin’ ’ere! Mr. Pitt could be ’urt!”

“There’s nothing you can do if he is,” he said briskly. “Just wait here. I’ll tell you—”

She wrenched herself away and flung the baize door open. Immediately she saw the dust and the shattered door of the study. Her heart lurched so violently she thought she would suffocate. Then she saw Pitt standing up and the relief was almost too much. Dizziness overwhelmed her. She was going to faint like some silly little housemaid if she wasn’t careful. She had to hold on to the side table for a moment.

There was another crash and she nearly jumped out of her skin. It was only a looking glass falling and breaking. There was a horrible smell, and dust everywhere, clouds of it. It would take weeks to get rid of all this.

People were coming from every direction. Thank heaven there was Mr. Radley. Mrs. Radley was flying at Mr. Pitt, shouting at him. Understandable, perhaps, but she still didn’t ought to do it.

Tellman was standing close behind her. “You all right?” he demanded.

“Yes, course I’m all right!” she assured him with an effort. Pitt was safe, and Charlotte was coming across the hall, white-faced but unhurt. “Thank you,” she added.

“There’s nothing you can do here,” he went on. “There’ll be a lot of tidying up to do later, but for now we need to know what happened, and we don’t want anything moved.”

“I know that!” she said hotly. Of course she knew it. Did he think she was stupid?

Someone spoke McGinley’s name.

Doyle’s valet was standing next to the stairs.

There was a smell of burning. Someone was calling for water.

Suddenly Gracie saw Finn half sitting on the floor, a footman supporting him and Charlotte close by. Her stomach lurched. She slipped past Miss Moynihan and Miss Baring and went over to Charlotte.

“Wot ’appened?” she asked as loudly as she dared. “Is ’e … all right?” She was looking at Finn.

“Yes, he’s all right,” Charlotte whispered back. “Mr. McGinley went into the study and somehow triggered off a bomb made of dynamite.”

“Is ’e dead?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. He must have been right by the blast.”

Gracie caught her breath and nearly choked from the dust in the air.

“That’s terrible! Them Irish is mad! ’Oo’s this goin’ ter ’elp?”

“No one,” Charlotte said softly. “Hennessey says Mr. McGinley knew it was there and was trying to make it safe, but it must have been so finely balanced it went off anyway.”

“Poor soul.” Gracie was wrenched by sadness for him. “Per’aps ’e were so brave ’cos o’ Mrs. McGinley bein’ off wi’ Mr. Moynihan, like? Maybe ’e were ’urt so bad—” She stopped. She should not have said that. It was not her place.

“ ’E were very brave,” she added. She looked at Charlotte, then at Finn.

Charlotte gave her a little nudge.

Gracie went over and knelt down beside Finn. He seemed stunned, still only partially sensible of where he was. His face and clothes were filthy from the dust and smoke, and beneath the soot he was ashen skinned.

“I’m ever so sorry,” she said softly. She put her hand out and slid it over his, and he gripped it gratefully. “Yer gotta be brave, like ’e were,” she went on. “ ’E were a real ’ero.”

He stared at her, his eyes wide, almost hollow with shock and hurt.

“I don’t understand it!” he said desperately. “It shouldn’t have happened! He knew dynamite! He should …” He shook his head as if to clear it. “He should have been able to … to make it all right.”

“D’yer know ’oo put it there?” she asked.

“What?”

“D’yer know ’oo put the dynamite there?” she repeated.

“No. No, of course I don’t,” he replied. “Or I’d have said, wouldn’t I?”

“ ’Ow’d poor Mr. McGinley know it were there?”

He turned away. “I don’t know.”

Instantly she was ashamed. She should not be asking him all these questions when he was shocked and bruised and grieved. She should be trying to comfort him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “ ’cos you don’t understand it. I don’t s’pose nobody does, ’ceptin’ ’im wot put it there, an’ maybe not even ’im neither. Yer’d better come away and sit down for a while, quiet like. Mr. Dilkes won’t mind if yer ’ave a drop o’ ’is brady. Gawd knows, yer need it. Everybody needs time an’ a spot o’ ’elp ter get an ’old o’ themselves.”

He looked back at her. “You’re very sweet, Gracie.” He swallowed, took a very deep, shaky breath, and swallowed again. “I just don’t know how it could have happened!”

“Mr. Pitt’ll find out,” she answered him, trying to convince herself as well. “Come back ter Mrs. Hunnaker’s room an’ sit down. There’ll be lots o’ things ter do soon enough.”

“Yes …” he agreed. “Yes, of course.” And he allowed her to help him to his feet and, after thanking the footman, to lead him out of the dusty hall back through the green baize door and to Mrs. Hunnaker’s sitting room, where there was nobody to give or deny them entrance. She made him sit down, and then in the absence of the butler to grant her brandy, went to the cooking cupboard and helped herself to a stiff glass of sherry and took it back. Let Mrs. Williams quarrel about that later. She sat opposite him, watching him carefully, trying to comfort him, aching for his confusion and his loss.

By the time Tellman came to ask both of them where they had been all morning, and what they had seen, Finn was almost himself again.

Tellman stood just inside the doorway, his body angular, his shoulders stiff. He looked thoroughly disapproving as he stared at Gracie, sitting perched on the housekeeper’s second-best chair, and Finn, slumped in the best.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hennessey,” he said grimly. “I don’t like having to ask you when you just lost someone you’re close to, but we got to know what happened. Someone put that dynamite there. Probably the same person as killed Mr. Greville.”

“Of course …” Finn agreed, looking up at him. “I don’t know who it was.”

“Maybe not outright, or you’d have said.” Tellman was holding a pencil and paper in his hands, ready to write down what was said. “But you may ’ave seen more than you realize. What did you do from seven o’clock this morning?”

“Why seven?”

“Just answer, Mr. Hennessey.” Tellman’s temper was shorter than he was willing to have known. There was a muscle flicking on his temple and his lips were white. Gracie realized with sudden surprise what a weight of responsibility Tellman had and how worried he must be. He knew exactly how far he and Pitt were from finding a solution, what a failure this whole task had been so far, and how it was getting no better even as the minutes passed. She should be helping him. After all, he was Pitt’s assistant. That was her real duty. She certainly should not be allowing his manner to put her off.

“You want to know who done that to Mr. McGinley, don’t yer?” she said urgently to Finn. “Any of us may ’ave seen summink.” She turned back to Tellman.

“I din’t come down till long after seven. First off, o’ course, I got up and dressed meself, then I made sure the mistress’s dressin’ room fire were lit an’ burnin’ proper. Then I fetched ’ot water for ’er ter wash in. I asked ’er if she wanted a cup o’ tea, but she didn’t. Then I got a cup o’ tea for Mr. Pitt, seein’ ’is valet were neglectful.” She gave him a meaningful look. He glared back at her but refrained from saying anything, although she could see his response in his eyes.

“And …” he prompted.

“An’ I ’elped ’er ter dress an’ do ’er ’air ….”

“How long did that take?” he asked with what she was sure was an edge of sarcasm.

“I don’ sit an’ watch the clock, Mr. Tellman. But since I were doin’ the work fer two,* longer than most.”

“You never helped the superintendent to dress?” he said with final incredulity.