Heirs and Graces (A Royal Spyness Mystery) (19 page)

“All right,” I said. “It’s just down this hallway.”

I took him out of the library and tried to remember which door they had opened to look into Cedric’s study. I was glad when I found the right one. The room was stuffy and smelled of cigarette smoke and old books. In its center was a large mahogany desk, and papers were untidily heaped on top of it. Among them I spotted rough designs for what looked like his amphitheater, and I remembered that a footman had been given the sack because he had touched the papers—the same footman who had stormed up to the front door when he discovered that Cedric was planning to tear down his parents’ cottage. A half-full coffee cup sat beside the blotter with a half-smoked cigarette resting on the ashtray.

“There’s a possibility he might have blotted the letter and left us a hint on the blotting paper as to what all this might be about,” the chief inspector said, peering down at the desk. But the blotting pad was pristine.

I pointed at the pen that lay beside the pad. “These latest fountain pens don’t really need blotting, do they?” I said.

“I’ll need time to go through all this stuff,” he said. “There may be lots of things you don’t know about him—you say he liked young men. Maybe he was being blackmailed and refused to pay up.”

“Do blackmailers usually kill the goose that lays the golden egg?” I asked.

He looked up at me. “You’re a sharp one, aren’t you? I thought all you young society ladies would be removed from the sordid side of life. Aren’t you raised in convents and finishing schools?”

“You’d be surprised what one learns in a finishing school, Chief Inspector,” I said, stifling a grin. “You ask my friend Belinda when you interview her.”

“He was lucky he got that letter to the post,” he said. “He must have used the last envelope. There’s plenty of notepaper here, but no more envelopes.”

“I expect he has more in one of the drawers,” I said.

The inspector pottered around a bit. “Offhand, I can’t see anything here that would have a bearing on his being stabbed on the grounds,” he said. “I’ll get my man to go through everything with a fine-tooth comb after we’ve interviewed everyone. I should be getting on with that, I suppose. Can’t expect people to sit around all day, can I?”

It was only when he told me I was free to go that I realized that neither of us had mentioned the knife in Cedric’s back. It was the most important aspect of the murder, and yet we had both chosen to ignore it or skirt around it. I was glad because I should have had to identify it as Jack’s.

Chapter 21

I heaved a sigh of relief as I watched the inspector return to the library, and I was released to go back to the others. The interview was at an end. I felt as if I’d been walking on eggshells all the time, terrified that something I said would be taken wrongly. Because when I examined it, there were so many things that could be misinterpreted at the moment—Jack’s arrival to claim his position as heir to the dukedom, Princess Charlotte’s séance, which spelled out “death,” Lady Irene’s row with her brother and his refusal to give her any money or let her use the family home in London and then Cedric’s stunning announcement the night before that he planned to adopt his valet, Marcel, and make him his heir. All incidents were in their own way incriminating. All were possible motives for someone in this house. And the inspector’s suggestion that the sisters might be “a bit dotty” and that insanity ran in families like theirs. They certainly were interestingly eccentric . . . And then the one salient detail that hadn’t come up yet, but would: that the knife in Cedric’s back belonged to Jack.

I started as a figure stepped out in front of me, pale and ghostlike in the gloom. It was Jack himself.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Where have you been?” I asked. “I’ve hardly seen you today.”

He shrugged. “I’ve just been wandering the halls, trying to come to terms with everything that’s happened.”

“I’m sure it must be a big shock to you.”

“My oath, yes. I mean, it was a pretty big shock when some bloke turns up at the sheep station and tells me that I’m connected to a posh family in England and then that I’m not only connected, I’m supposedly the heir. I mean, my mum told me that my dad came from some kind of gentry, but that he’d turned his nose up at all that sort of stuff and liked Australia better, where everyone is equal. I have to say I agree with him. This sort of thing, it’s all bloody rubbish, isn’t it?” He laughed and ran his fingers through his blonde hair. “Your Grace.” He shook his head in disbelief. “That’s what one of the servants called me: Your Grace. Can you imagine? Me! I don’t think I can take it, Georgie. It’s too ridiculous for words.”

“I expect most people in your position feel the same way,” I said. “My brother certainly didn’t want to be a duke, or to take over the running of the estate. And I’m sure nobody wants to be king. I know my cousin the Prince of Wales, doesn’t. He told me once he’d do anything to get out of it, and he hopes his father will live to ninety-nine. But our sort of people are brought up to do our duty.”

“So what’s your duty supposed to be?” he asked.

“To marry well,” I said. “There’s no other option open to me. I’m not trained for any kind of career or profession.”

“So you’ll marry who they tell you to, will you?”

I had to smile. “Actually, no. I already turned down a Romanian prince. Everyone was furious with me, but I couldn’t have married him.”

“You turned down being a princess?”

“Possibly a queen someday,” I agreed. “But he was awful, Jack. He was worse than awful. So I made up my mind that I’ll only marry for love.”

“So your lecture about doing your duty doesn’t apply to you?” He gave me a friendly grin.

I found myself observing him. Could someone who had just stabbed his uncle be so relaxed and easy with me? He’d insisted over and over that he didn’t want to be duke, or to have this lifestyle, and money didn’t seem important to him. But perhaps he was just a good actor.

“I’d better go and round up everyone,” I said. “The inspector is ready to talk to us in the library.”

“Stone the crows,” he said. “Does he have any ideas yet about who might have done it?”

“Give him a chance. He’s not a miracle worker. He’s only just taken a look at the crime scene, and I’m sure he won’t have the police surgeon’s report yet.”

“My money is on one of those strange, poncy blokes who hung around Cedric,” Jack said. “They were definitely emotional when he made that announcement about wanting to adopt his valet last night, weren’t they?”

I decided to speak up. “You might consider that you are probably the prime suspect, Jack.”

“Me?” He laughed. “Why would I want old Cedric out of the way?”

“To inherit the dukedom, of course. He got up early to write a letter then went to post it himself. There was no sign of a letter when I saw the body, so someone must have wanted to stop that letter from reaching its destination. And if the letter told his solicitor that he wanted to adopt his valet, thus cutting you out, well, then . . .”

I gave him a long, hard look. He laughed nervously. “That’s a load of old cobblers. I never wanted to be a bloody duke in the first place.”

“I know that,” I said. “But the police might see it differently. You’d better have a good alibi for early this morning.”

“Alibi?” He frowned. “I don’t have any kind of alibi. I got up early, went for a walk then it looked as if it was going to rain so I came in and they were just putting out breakfast. So I helped myself then I went up to see Sissy.”

“You seem to be spending a lot of time with your cousin,” I said.

He blushed. “Well, I feel sorry for her, stuck up there all alone. At her age, she should be going to parties and having nice dresses and things. And she’s a terrific teacher. She’s helping me with my reading and writing.”

“So where did your walk take you?” I went on. “Did you happen to see anyone?”

He looked sheepish. “I went to see the horses, as a matter of fact. I feel comfortable around horses, and they’ve told me I can ride any horse I like. Bluebird, isn’t it?—he’s a real cracker. Him and me get on like a house on fire.”

“What time was this?”

“Early. I know it was before breakfast. Probably about seven, seven thirty.”

“And did you see Cedric at all?”

He shook his head. “I told you, I don’t remember seeing anybody.”

“And when you came back into the house, did you see anyone then? Anyone who could vouch for your being indoors before Cedric was killed?”

He was looking at me strangely now, his eyes darting nervously. “Hey, you really do think they’ll try to pin it on me, don’t you?”

“Yes, I’m afraid I do.”

“Do you think they’ll gang up against me?”

“I don’t think they’ll gang up against you—least of all your grandmother, who seems thrilled to have John’s son here. But it may come to a process of elimination, and you will stand out as the most likely.”

“Bloody hell,” he said. “The way you’re talking, I’ve a good mind to bugger off back to Australia now.”

“That would be disastrous, Jack,” I said. “If you’re innocent, then nobody can prove you’re guilty. The one thing one can say about our justice system is that it’s fair. Come on, let’s go and get a cup of coffee before the grilling begins.”

Before we could go into the Long Gallery, Belinda appeared as if by magic at our side.

“So this is the famous Jack Altringham at last,” she said. “You’ve been so invisible that I began to believe you were a figment of Georgie’s imagination.” She held out her hand to him. “I’m Belinda, Georgie’s oldest and dearest friend. I came down on a mission of mercy, to bring the evening slipper she left behind in London and found the place in an utter uproar. And now that horrid inspector says I can’t leave because I’m a suspect like everyone else.”

Jack took her hand and shook it. “That’s too bad,” he said. “I’m sure they’ll rule you out very quickly. Hell, you weren’t even here when poor old Cedric was killed, were you?”

“Absolutely not. Probably passing through Lewisham or one of those ghastly London suburbs—row after row of identical dirty brick.” She sighed. “God, how I hate cities. I’m a country girl, born and bred.”

“Are you? Then I know how you feel. I was in Sydney for a couple of days and that was enough for me. Too many people.”

“I’m stuck in London at the moment,” she said. “Even worse; like living in a sardine tin.”

“Why are you stuck there?”

“Trying to earn a living, darling. It’s not easy in these days of depression. Especially when you’re like Georgie and me—not trained for anything sensible except curtsying without falling over and knowing which fork to use at the dinner table.”

Jack grinned. “Yes, Georgie’s been trying to drum that into my head. Load of cod’s wallop, if you ask me.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Belinda said. “So unnecessary and so outmoded, isn’t it? I mean, fish would taste just the same if one cut it with a meat knife.”

“Too right,” Jack said. “Look, Georgie and I were about to grab some coffee before we have to face the inspector again. Want to come along?”

“Why not?” Belinda said, as if the idea had never occurred to her. She slipped her arm through Jack’s, and they went on ahead of me. I had been watching this little interchange with admiration, wishing that I’d actually taken lessons in seduction from Belinda rather than learning all the useless skills of finishing school.

“I studied fashion design with Chanel,” I heard her saying. “And now I’m trying to get my own clothing line off the ground, but it’s all rather depressing, since my father cut me off, having now turned twenty-one.”

I almost laughed out loud. The way she phrased this had been the truth, I suppose. She had indeed turned twenty-one—only it had been three years ago. I decided not to join the group around the coffeepot, but felt it was my duty to see how Mr. Smedley was faring all alone in the morning room. I had found him an absolutely wet and spineless specimen, but I would not like to find myself a virtual prisoner in a stately home where a murder had taken place.

When I crossed the hall and opened the morning room door, Mr. Smedley jumped to his feet and stood there like a startled rabbit, ready to run. I noticed that his coffee was only half drunk and the plate of biscuits beside him untouched. What’s more, he had been reading
The Lady
, which showed how distracted he must have been feeling.

“It’s only me,” I said. “I came to see how you were.”

“How long am I to be kept here, Lady Georgiana?” he demanded. “This is an outrage. Apart from an exchange of correspondence with the late duke, I have no connection to this family at all. It’s not as if I actually knew the man, so surely they could just take my statement and let me go.”

“I don’t see why not,” I said. “I’ll go and talk to the inspector if you like, to see if he’ll interview you first, before he gets to the rest of us.”

“Would you?” I saw relief flush over his face. “I’d be most grateful. It feels as if I’ve been shut away in here forever. And now that I won’t be getting the contract to design the theater here—” He paused and looked up at me. “I presume the new duke will not wish to carry on with the plans?”

“I think it highly unlikely,” I said.

“I feared as much. Then the sooner I am back in my office on Queen Anne Street, the better.”

“Look, why don’t you come with me and we’ll find the inspector. I can vouch that you were with me the whole time when we found the body,” I said.

“That’s frightfully decent of you, my lady,” he said. “Much appreciated.”

He followed me like an obedient dog to the door, and we set off down the hall. No sooner were we heading in the direction of the library then we heard the clatter of running feet behind us and Nicholas and Katherine came sprinting past.

“Grandmama says the inspector wants to speak to us, one by one in the library,” Nick shouted as he ran past. “He’s going to grill us all and perhaps someone will break down and confess. Isn’t it thrilling?”

“We thought we’d go along and see if we can be first,” Kat added. “Get it over with, you know.”

Mr. Smedley had gone rather green around the gills again. “In which case I think I had better retreat to the morning room until the police have dealt with the family,” he said. “It would be most inappropriate if I intruded on such a difficult and embarrassing business.” He attempted to turn and flee.

“If you want to escape from here in a hurry, then I suggest you get in first,” I said, and marshaled him down the hall after the running twins.

He gets rattled rather easily, I thought, but then it crossed my mind that we really knew nothing about Mr. Smedley. He had shown up on the doorstep and introduced himself as the architect come to meet with the duke. What if he wasn’t what he seemed? Who could say how long he had been out on the grounds before he came to the front door, or what he might have got up to there?