“Hush, dear,” said Mrs. Corneille. “You did absolutely the right thing. You’ve been terribly brave.” She sat back and looked at me. She said, “Who could’ve done that?”
“The knife?” I said. “I don’t know.”
“But it’s horrid.”
I nodded.
“Someone meant to kill her?” she asked me.
“Sounds like it.”
“But that’s insane,” said Mrs. Corneille. “Why? Why would anyone want to harm Jane?”
I looked at the young woman. “Miss Turner? You have any ideas?”
She widened her eyes and arched her eyebrows, surprised at the question itself, or maybe at my asking it. Then she smiled another small smile that was both tentative and ironic. “Well,” she said, “Mrs. Allardyce wasn’t altogether pleased with the way I packed the luggage.”
I grinned. A real surprise, Miss Turner.
“Anyone else?” I asked her. “Anyone angry with you?”
“No.” She shook her head. “No, no one.” But for an instant her eyes widened again. Then she narrowed them, shook her head once more. “No.”
“What?” I said. “You remembered something.”
“It’s ridiculous.”
“What?”
She inhaled again. “It’s nothing, really. Sir David… This morning…” She turned to Mrs. Corneille. For the first time in a while, she seemed unsure of herself. She didn’t like doing this. “Before all of you motored into the village.” She turned back to me. “This morning, Sir David made… well, a kind of advance, I suppose. And I rejected it. And he did seem upset at the time. But I can’t believe that he was upset enough to harm me.”
I nodded. “Sir David.”
“But really, Mr. Beaumont,” she said. “I shouldn’t want you to think that it was anything more than it was. He made an advance, I rejected it, and that was the end of it.” But she frowned then, as if she weren’t so sure.
“And you were out there on the lawn,” I said. “This afternoon, with the rest of us. When the shot was fired.”
Mrs. Corneille said, “You can’t be thinking that the shot was meant for Jane?”
“The knife was,” I said.
“But-” She stopped herself. She pressed her lips tightly together and she reached for her cigarette case and the box of matches.
I said, “And Sir David wasn’t out there this afternoon.”
She sat back, holding the case and the matches in both hands. “Mr. Beaumont,” she said. “If David killed every woman who rejected his advances, the streets of London would be piled high with female bodies. ”
She opened the cigarette case. She shook her head. “It’s all just too absurd.” Suddenly she looked up at me. “What of the knife? Wouldn’t it be possible to learn who owned it?”
“It probably came from the collection in the Great Hall,” I said. “Like all the other weapons floating around here.”
Mrs. Corneille put a cigarette in her mouth, struck a match, held it up. The flame flared, the tip glowed. With the fingers of her left hand, she took the cigarette from her lips. She blew the match out with a streamer of smoke and she dropped it into the ashtray.
“You know,” she said, “there is something we all seem to be forgetting.”
“What?” I asked.
“The Earl,” she said. “The Earl of Axminster.” She pronounced the name as though it were heavily salted. “And those things.” She nodded to the table. “And the wig Jane found. She must be right about him.” Suddenly she frowned. “You don’t suppose that Alice and Robert know?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“No,” she said firmly. She shook her head, inhaled on the cigarette. “They couldn’t possibly.” It seemed to me that I wasn’t the one she was trying to convince.
We talked for a while. We made some decisions. For one thing, we decided that Miss Turner would stay in Mrs. Corneille’s suite for the rest of the night.
Maybe half an hour later, I left. It was nearly two in the morning. I had an appointment with Sir David in another five hours.
Out in the hallway, I thought for a minute about slipping into Miss Turner’s room and taking a quick look around. I decided against it. No matter how soundly Mrs. Allardyce slept, I didn’t want to take a chance on her waking up while I was creeping through there. I wasn’t sure that either one of us would survive.
I could take a look in the morning. Before the boxing match.
After all the excitement today-the rifle shot, the Earl s death, the seance, Lord Bob’s performance, the rendezvous with Mrs. Corneille, Miss Turner’s story-I was exhausted. I was yawning when I opened the door to my room and turned on the overhead light.
Cecily Fitzwilliam sat on my bed, her back propped against the headboard, her legs stretched out and crossed along the covers. She was wearing the white silk robe she’d worn last night. Her arms were folded beneath her breasts and she was trying to scowl. The scowl wasn’t working very well because she was also blinking against the brightness of the light. “Where have you been?” she said.
“I’m glad you’re here, Cecily,” I said, as cheerfully as I could. “I need-”
“It’s nearly dawn.”
“I need to talk to you. Something’s come ”
“Where were you?” She was pouting now. She pouted better than she scowled.
“Outside. I went for a walk. Listen, Cecily, it’s about your grandfather.”
She threw her arms down along the bed. “Isn’t it terrible?” she said. “He was ancient, of course, but no one expected him to go and die on us.”
“That’s what I want to talk about,” I said. I hooked my hand around the back of the writing chair, swung it out, turned it around and straddled it. Keeping the wooden back between me and Cecily.
“And why on earth would he commit suicide?” she said. “He did, you know. Mother told me. Because he was so ancient, do you think?” She was speaking more quickly than she usually did, and her face was more animated. Her eyes were shiny. I wondered if she’d been playing around with her father’s brandy.
I said, “That’s one of the things-”
“Mother’s heartbroken,” she said, “and Daddy’s… oh, well, you’ve seen Daddy, of course. At the seance.” She rolled her eyes. “God, everyone’s seen Daddy. It was mortifying, utterly. I’ve never been so humiliated in my entire life. That’s not at all like him, you know. He’s very proper. For a Bolshevist, I mean. He’s an absolute stickler, really. He always dresses beautifully, and he’s always on time for every single one of his appointments. Mother says he’s in shock now.”
“Probably. Listen-”
She was pouting again. “But they’re all so wrapped up in themselves that no one’s bothered to ask me how I feel. Not even Mother. I’m miserable, too, you know. I loved him just as much as everyone else did. Even if he was ancient and strange sometimes.”
“Strange how?” When you’re swept away by a river, you go with the flow.
She waved a hand. “The way old people get. Forgetful. Mumbling to himself.” She made a face. “And drooling all over himself sometimes, too, which was a bit sick-making, really.” She raised her chin. “But I loved him regardless. He was my grandfather, after all. And he wasn’t always like that. Sometimes he was perfectly normal.”
“You spend much time with him?”
“Of course I did,” she said. “I mean, I wasn’t up there every waking hour of every single day. That would’ve been completely impossible. I’ve masses of chores and things to do, you can t imagine, and most days there simply wasn’t time. But I saw him in the afternoons, sometimes. As often as I could. Quite often, actually.”
“What did you-”
