the old woman Kyteler, her body, the form of Alan Trevellyn under the snow, the tracks in the snow leading from the Trevellyn house back to the Greencliff house, and the footprints that he had followed down south towards the moors. Snatches of the comments he had heard with Baldwin struck him and now they seemed to build a tight framework around the killer, with threads as strong as hempen rope around a neck.
He leaned forward and gazed at the boy with an intensity that Harold Greencliff could almost feel. He turned to face the bailiff slowly and nervously.
“Harold, I think I can prove that the killer was not who you thought it was. If I can show it most certainly was not Mrs. Trevellyn who killed either of these two people, would you tell us the truth?”
There was a cynical question in the lifting of the boy’s eyebrow as he stared at the bailiff, but then, as Simon suddenly gave a wolfish smile, he thought he could discern a slight puckering of Greencliff’s brow as if in confusion.
“What are you talking about?” asked Baldwin. They had both gone outside and were standing at his front door where the youth in the hall could not hear them.
“We can clear up two suspects in one session. Send a boy to ask Mrs. Trevellyn to get over here for an early lunch tomorrow. Make sure there is no mention of us having Greencliff here. I think we should keep that quiet for now. Then we’ll need to go out for a ride, I think.”
“Simon, you can be exceedingly unpleasant on occasion, especially when you are smug. Tell me what is going on!”
But the bailiff refused. He ignored entreaties and threats alike, and merely smiled to himself as Baldwin tried to prise the truth from him. “You have heard and seen the same as me, Baldwin. I think I may have seen something you haven’t, that’s all. I won’t tell you what until I’ve had a chance to see whether I’m right or not,” he said and changed the subject.
By the time Margaret came out to see what they were doing, they had stopped talking, and Simon was gazing out over the scenery towards the moors with apparent calm contemplation, while behind him the knight was meditatively kicking at the ground with a face like thunder.
“Are you two all right?” she asked anxiously. She had never seen them like this before. When they glanced at her, she could see that they were both deep in thought.
Although her husband’s thoughts appeared more pleasing to him than Baldwin’s. Simon gave her a quick grin, while the knight appeared preoccupied and apparently hardly noticed her.
“What is it?” she asked, not sure whether to laugh or show sympathy, they both looked so absorbed.
In the end it was Simon who answered. Speaking slowly, as if still considering his words carefully, he said, “I think I may have discovered who could not have killed either of the two victims. I think we are almost in a position to arrest the real murderer‘’
“And…?”
“And I’ll tell you both tomorrow when I’m sure!”
The next morning was clear and calm. The sky was filled with enormous clouds that floated past slowly and majestically like massive ships under a low but steady breeze, and the sun occasionally burst out from between them to give a wintry glow to the land.
It only served to heighten Simon’s expectancy as he walked slowly at the front of the house, trailing aimlessly along the track that led back to the road, then turning off to wander on the snow that still lay over the grass at the side. Every now and again his eyes floated to the lane itself, as if they were being pulled there against his will, as he searched for any sign of approaching horses, and Angelina Trevellyn. Baldwin had been like a boar with a spear in his side all night. Tetchy and fractious, he had snarled even at his servant when Edgar apparently failed, in the knight’s opinion, to meet his usually high standards of service. It had little effect on Edgar, who simply smiled, and even threw a knowing glance at Simon, to his faint surprise. It looked as if the man was acknowledging the bailiffs presence, and giving Simon his approval. When the bailiff gave him a slight nod, the servant’s mouth twitched, as if he was trying to show a degree of sympathy for the guests in the strained atmosphere.
Smiling again at the memory of Baldwin’s petulant expression when he had refused again to answer the knight’s questions, he slowly ambled over to a tree trunk that lay not far from the woods. Wiping away the excess snow, he sat down.
He was still there when Margaret came out, followed by Agatha Kyteler’s dog, who jumped up at the bailiff with every indication of delight, then, after managing twice to slobber on his face and making him turn away in disgust, began to walk around with his body bent like a strung bow, wagging his tail and panting.
Margaret watched the dog’s antics with a small smile. The previous evening had been miserable. She hated dissension, and her husband and their friend had both been so edgy: though for very different reasons, that much was obvious.
It was curious that Simon wanted to keep the matter to himself. That was not like him, especially if he knew, as he must, that the affair was causing Baldwin real discomfort. And the fact that it was distressing the knight was plain to see. Usually Simon would leap at a chance to calm a friend, but with these murders he seemed almost to be taking a perverse pleasure in keeping his friend in suspense, and the ploy, if it was a ploy, was working. Strolling thoughtfully, she went to her husband’s side and sat on the trunk with him, and he glanced up at her as he patted the now quickly calming dog.
“Hello, my love,” he said, smiling at her. She did not return his welcome, but sat quietly with her hands in her lap. “What is it? Are you all right?”
“Yes, Simon. I’m fine, but I’m worried about you.”
“Me? Why?”
She looked up into his smiling grey eyes, searching them for a sign as she spoke. “What you’re doing is so cruel. Can’t you see what it’s doing to Baldwin? The poor man’s in a torment. He has no idea what you’re thinking of doing today or why! You’re making him mad – why?”
“I’m sorry, Margaret, I didn’t mean to worry you. It’s nothing that you need fear,” he said, but then his eyes drifted to the view again. “It’s just that I’m not sure myself how it’s going to go today. I’m fairly certain that Harold Greencliff is innocent, and I think we’ll show that today, but the trouble is, what will the result be for Angelina Trevellyn? I think maybe she did have something to do with it, and if so, it’s quite likely that today I’ll have to hurt Baldwin’s feelings. And I don’t want to.”
“What makes you think young Greencliff didn’t do it?” she asked matter-of-factly after a moment.
Glancing at her, he smiled. It was typical of his wife to get straight to the main issue without being sidetracked. He considered, but before he could speak there came the tinny jingling of harnesses from the lane before the house. “Come inside, and you’ll hear all about it any moment now,” he said and, rising, gave her his hand. Looking briefly down to the road, he confirmed it was Angelina Trevellyn before he turned and led the way to the house.
Baldwin appeared at the door as they approached, peering past them to the people on horseback. Watching him, Simon saw the concentration, the intensity of his stare. He felt his belly chum at the thought that the woman might be involved. Oh, God, he prayed, please let it be someone else. I couldn’t face Baldwin if I made it clear it was her!
Chapter Twenty-four
When Angelina Trevellyn and her manservant arrived at the door, they were met by the stern-featured Edgar, who took her horse and pointed her to the front door. She curtly passed him the reins and entered. In the screens, she found herself glancing up and around, assessing the property. It was clearly not as good as her own place, neither as new nor as spacious, but it was warm and appeared to be comfortable. She could see rooms off to her left, but before she could investigate, a taciturn, dark-faced glowering man came out from the furthest and indicated the door near her that led into the hall itself.
She haughtily looked him up and down briefly, and when her gaze returned to his eyes she was angered to
