Cut to the Quick (13 page)

Julian was still peering at the spot on the coverlet. “The bloodstain we found on the sheet is in the same place as this stain.”

“That’s right,” said MacGregor. “I think after he stabbed her, the killer laid her down here, on her back. Maybe he wanted to see if she was dead, or he was deciding what to do with the body. At all events, her wound bled into the coverlet, and some blood soaked through to the sheet and made a stain there, too. She lay here face up for—oh, a minute or two, judging by the amount she bled. Then the killer moved hei up a little and slipped her under the bedclothes—God alone knows why.”

“Can we be sure all the blood is hers?” asked Julian. “The murderer might have been wounded, too.”

“You’ve got a point. There's no telling one person's blood from another's. But if they got into a fight, wouldn’t somebody have heard them?”

Julian shook his head. “In this room, at that time of day, they could probably have kicked up the devil of a row without being overheard. The fact is, if a person who knew this house set out to commit a murder here, there could hardly be a better place for it than my room. I was known to be out, your family, Sir Robert, lives principally in the new wing, and the servants were having dinner in the servants' hall. The window looks out on a quiet back courtyard, and it's so obscured by trees that the murderer would hardly have needed to draw the curtains to feel safe from observation. ” “You seem determined, Mr. Kestrel, to establish that someone in my employ committed this crime.”

“I'm not determined on anything, I promise you. I just find it —curious—that the murderer chose the ideal time and place for the crime.”

“Next door to this room are two vacant guest rooms. Assuming for the moment that the murderer knew this house, why didn't he kill the girl in one of those rooms? He would have had the same advantage of being in the quietest part of the house, without the risk of using a room that was occupied by a guest. True, you were out, but you might have returned at any time.”

“Those guest rooms are closer to the new wing,” said Julian, “and to the corridor where the Craddocks' rooms are. And my coming

home would still have been a danger, because I would have been close enough to overhear any disturbance that went on—'*

He stopped. A chill ran through him. There was, he thought, one other very good reason to commit the crime here rather than in a vacant guest room: the killer would be able to divert suspicion to Julian, or Dipper.

“If the murderer wanted to kill her in some secluded spot,*’ Sir Robert urged, “he wouldn’t have brought her to Bellegarde at all. He would have sought out some lonely part of the Chase, or an abandoned cottage, or some such place."

“You never know who might wander into a forest or an abandoned cottage. But a house like this has a well-defined routine. The more efficient the household—and yours seems very efficient, Sir Robert—the more confidently a criminal could predict when and where he would be likely to escape notice.*'

Sir Robert said quietly, “This is a nightmare.**

“Take a damper, Kestrel," MacGregor advised. “I'm not saying what you've said doesn't make sense, but this isn’t the time for it. Let me finish telling you what I’ve found out from examining the girl.**

She might have been as young as sixteen, he said, but twenty was probably nearer the mark. Small and slight though she looked, she was a woman and not a child. There were no distinctive marks or scars on her body that might help to identify her. As best he could tell, she was in good health. She was clean, well groomed, and unaccustomed to rough work. “Oh, and her feet are blistered. It looks as if she walked a dashed sight too far in those flimsy silk shoes she had on."

“And that's all you can tell about her?" said Sir Robert.

“From a medical examination, yes. But it shouldn't be too hard to hunt up someone who knows her. She can’t have sprung up out of nowhere—unless you believe in fairies, which I don't. Though if I did, that girl would just about fit my idea of one—so little and delicate she was. Never mind that. The point is, somebody must know her, or at least have seen her—if not at Bellegarde, then in Alderton or somewhere else in the neighbourhood. People here keep a close eye on each other’s comings and goings. A girl like that would have been noticed. The women would have been looking at her clothes, and the men—well, you can be sure they'd have noticed her!"

“I think she probably took some pains to keep from being noticed,” said Julian.

“What makes you say that?” MacGregor asked.

“Well, she must have had some irregular purpose in coming to Bellegarde. Otherwise, why would she have crept in on the quiet? Of course, I'm assuming she came here of her own free will—but she must have, surely. It boggles the mind to imagine how an unwilling or unconscious young lady could have been dragged into the house without anyone seeing or hearing a mortal thing. At all events, if she were up to some mischief—a robbery, say, or an assignation—she would take care to attract as little notice in the neighbourhood as possible. There's also the veil on her bonnet. Look how thick it is. Women don't wear veils like this for decoration, or even for ordinary modesty, but because they don't want even the barest outline of their faces to be seen.”

“She was very finely dressed, for a girl who didn't want to be noticed,” MacGregor pointed out.

“That’s true. Perhaps it wasn't that she didn't want to be noticed, but only that she didn't want to be recognized.”

“Recognized by whom?” said MacGregor.

“I have no idea. But she does seem to have had at least one enemy.”

In the drawing room, Sir Robert’s family and the Craddocks waited tensely for news of the investigation.

“I’ve been giving this a great deal of thought,” Lady Fontclair was saying. “I feel sure none of our servants had anything to do with that poor girl’s death. The murderer must have been a housebreaker, or possibly one of those Radicals who commit acts of violence to stir up unrest in the countryside. But I think a thief is much more likely. We’ve been very little troubled with anonymous threats or political discontent. I really think Robert is liked and respected in the village and on the estate.”

“And you are adored by everyone,” put in Hugh, who was seated on an ottoman at her feet.

“And you are a very silly boy.” She smiled at him, and her hand passed over his hair in a feather-light caress. “And you interrupt me when I’m trying to tell you all something very serious. Now, I think this man, whoever he is, must have broken into the house somehow and brought the girl with him. Some of these robbers do have female accomplices. I think they call them canaries.”

Colonel Fontclair laughed in spite of himself. “How do you know that?”

“I’ve read it in the newspapers. And I picked up a Newgate novel

once. I think it must have been Guy’s. You remember, Guy, you used to read them when you were a child.”

“And, just think, now I’m landed right in the middle of one.” Guy’s lips twisted into a smile. He was leaning back in his chair, his fingers curled round the stem of an empty glass. Hugh wondered if he was drunk, and decided he was not. True, his face was flushed, and his eyes were a bit too bright. But Guy tended to get uproarious when he was in his cups, and he was quiet and deliberate now— unusually so.

“If you ask me,” said Lady Tarleton, “Mr. Kestrel knows a good deal more about this crime than he’s admitting. The girl was found in his room. I shouldn’t be surprised if she were some— connexion— of his who followed him here from London.”

“You don’t mean to say you think Kestrel killed her?” Hugh said, shocked.

“Why not? We don’t know anything about him, except that he can dance and dress and make himself agreeable at parties. One never does know with these parvenus, what sort of people they really are.” “Now, really, Aunt, that’s not fair. Kestrel was out riding with me from half past three until six. We came in together, and I saw him go upstairs, alone. So I know he didn't bring the girl into the house.”

“And it was just after six when he came looking for Robert to tell him he’d found the girl’s body,” added Lady Fontclair. “That wouldn’t have left him much time to kill her.”

“He wouldn’t have needed much time!” retorted Lady Tarleton. “Half a minute would have been enough.”

“You don’t say so, Aunt!” said Guy. “How do you know?” “Don’t be nasty, Guy,” said his father wearily.

“Well, she sounded so positive about it. I just wondered how she knew. I thought maybe she’d been experimenting on her maids, like Cleopatra trying out different poisonous snakes on the slave girls.” “How dart you!” cried Lady Tarleton. “Geoffrey, your son is a monster! If anyone in this house is capable of murdering a woman in cold blood, it’s he!”

Guy’s eyes blazed, and he started up out of his chair.

“No, no, Catherine, how can you say so?” Lady Fontclair hurried

to Guy and gently but firmly held him back. “Your aunt was speaking hastily, in anger—which you provoked very deliberately, and it was most unkind of you. We’re all shocked and overwrought. You mustn’t make things worse. Catherine, won’t you sit down for a bit? You’ve been walking back and forth for nearly an hour, ever since Robert told us the news.”

“Thank you, but I’m not tired. Besides, why should you waste your ministrations on me, when the gentlemen appreciate them so?” “See here, Aunt—” Hugh began indignantly.

“Never mind, my dear,” said Lady Fontclair.

“Robert shouldn’t keep us all in suspense like this!” Geoffrey burst out. “He must have found out more about this business by now. I’m going to have a word with him.” He started to rise.

“Oh, no, my dear, you mustn’t.” Lady Fontclair flew to him and coaxed him back into his chair. “It’s good of you to want to help, but Robert asked us not to leave the drawing room for now. You must stay here and help me look after everyone while he’s gone.” Hugh thought: He won’t help you, no one is helping you, you’re doing it all yourself, as always. He looked closely at her face—at her pale cheeks, and the faint lines crossing her brow and pinching the corners of her eyes. He got up and put an arm around her. “Come back and sit by me.”

Something happened that had never happened before. She actually leaned against him for support. It terrified and touched him to feel her slight weight resting against his chest. His mother—everyone’s bulwark, everyone’s comfort—was seeking strength from him. “Shall I light some candles, Aunt Cecily?” asked Isabelle.

They all murmured eager assent. Daylight had begun to fade without their noticing. The servants were still being questioned downstairs, and no one but Isabelle had thought to perform this simple task in their absence.

She found a tinder box and lit up a silver candelabrum, nursing each flame between her cupped hands until it burned steadily. Hugh watched her with a mixture of admiration and pity, thinking: She’ll never need to cling to anyone for support. She has nerves like iron. If she ever did need a shoulder to lean on, she probably couldn’t admit it.

He looked from her to Maud, who was sitting quietly by hei father. Her face was downcast, her brows painfully knit. He had never seen a girl whose good looks depended so much on her mood. She looked very plain just now, but it was a plainness that tugged at his heart more than any prettiness he had ever seen.

This is all wrong, he thought suddenly. I'm her bridegroom. At a time like this, when she’s frightened and distressed, she ought to be with me.

The realization swept him to her side. “Miss Craddock, I'm terribly sorry all this has happened."

“I'm sorry, too." But I'm glad you came to speak to me. I wish you would stay for a while and hold my hand and— Stop it! she ordered herself. You’ve promised to set him free. You can't start making claims on him, just because there's been a murder in the house, or because you’re upset and confused about Papa and Lady Tarleton.

She fumbled for something to say—anything to distract her from her own troubles. ‘You don't think anyone really suspects Mr. Kestrel, do you? I know he wouldn't be mixed up in a terrible crime like this."

So that’s why she's so worried, thought Hugh. “Pray don't be concerned, Miss Craddock. I’m sure no one seriously believes Kestrel had anything to do with the murder."

Now he's irritated and bored, she thought. He tries to be kind, but he really doesn't like me at all.

Guy asked, “What will happen if the murderer's not found right away?"

“The usual sorts of things, I suppose,” said Lady Fontclair. “The parish will advertise for information about the criminal, and rewards will be offered to anyone who helps bring him to justice."

“How big are the rewards likely to be?”

“Are you thinking of turning thief-taker, Guy?” asked his father.

Guy laughed shortly. “You never know. I'm always a few hundred pounds worse than nothing. I could probably use the money.”

Hugh said, “When the Brownlows' hayricks were burned last year, the parish offered a hundred guineas to anyone who came forward with information about it.”

“Well, you know, the farmers are always especially worried about arson,” said Lady Fontclair.

“I should think everyone would be even more worried about murder/* said Isabelle quietly.

“This parish hasn’t got the time or the skill to carry on a lengthy murder investigation,** said Craddock. “If this thing starts getting complicated, Sir Robert will have to send to London for help. And that means Bow Street.**

Maud wondered why there was suddenly so much tension in the room. The Bow Street Runners, she knew, were the best—almost the only professional—policemen in England. They were often venal, sometimes unscrupulous, but they must be very good at catching criminals, or their small, select force would not be so much in demand. Maud looked from one person to another and thought: They*re not afraid about the murder anymore. They*re worried about this terrible secret that everyone knows but me. They don’t want an investigation. They don*t want policemen asking questions. Some. thing might come out that has nothing to do with the murder— something they’ve been doing everything in their power to hide.