“So you gave him these?”
“To keep safe. Away from prying eyes. Like yours. How dare you open—”
“Just a moment.” Alanbrooke laid his hand on Rockingham’s shoulder. “Now would be a good time to start talking,” he said to Shermont.
“I’m an agent of His Majesty. And I expect you, Major Alanbrooke, to arrest Captain Rockingham for dereliction of duty.”
“Hell you say,” Rockingham said. A rivulet of sweat ran down his temple. “We don’t believe your cock and bull—”
“The less you say, the better off you’ll be,” Alanbrooke said to the belligerent captain. “What happened here?” he asked Shermont.
“Lord Digby was fatally shot during a robbery attempt.”
Shermont could see Alanbrooke didn’t believe him either, but not for the same reasons as Rockingham.
The door opened, and the two lieutenants who had also heard the shot entered. Alanbrooke ordered them to take the captain into custody and to keep him under guard in his room until further notice. Rockingham protested until Alanbrooke silenced him by whispering something in his ear. The three men left.
The two remaining men looked up when the music came to a sudden halt. Shermont stood. “Huxley has made the announcement. I would appreciate it if you and any men you can round up could facilitate the rapid exit of the guests. Less time for gossiping. And send a footman for the constable.”
“What are you going to do with those dispatches?”
“Return them to the sender.”
“Are you going to tell me what really happened?”
“No.”
“I can guess. Digby is wearing traveling clothes. The hidden wall cabinet is standing open. The portmanteau he used during the play is packed with his clothes, jewelry cases, and I assume those dispatches were in there. Only one shot was fired. And a government agent is found standing over his body.”
While Alanbrooke talked, Shermont put the jewelry cases back in the secret cabinet, locked it, pocketed the key to give to Huxley later, and replaced the wainscoting. Although he was impressed by the other man’s observations, he kept his face impassive.
“I’d say you were tracking Digby for some reason,” Alanbrooke concluded. “He was probably selling information to Napoleon. You caught him trying to escape and shot him.”
“I didn’t shoot him.”
Alanbrooke nodded and headed toward the door. He stopped and turned at the sound of Shermont’s voice.
“If you ever decide to try a different career, contact Scovell. I’ll write you a recommendation.”
Alanbrooke raised an eyebrow. “I think not. I wear my country’s colors proudly. I’ve no respect for agents who skulk in dark corners buying and selling military information like loaves of bread.”
“Actually, I agree. What would you say about those tasked with catching those same agents?”
“I’ll have to think on that.”
“That’s all I ask. By the way, what did you say to Rockingham?”
Alanbrooke smiled. “He’s always had a fondness for rum, and I reminded him that I had half a bottle stashed in my room.” He turned on his heel and left.
“Just tell us,” Deirdre said, a bit of exasperation sneaking into her tone. “Whatever it is, we’ll …” Her voice faded as the music stopped mid-song on a discordant note. She cocked her head. “What is that?” She started to stand.
But Eleanor couldn’t let her leave to investigate. She quickly pulled a footstool to a position in front of the girls and took their hands between hers. “There’s been a terrible accident,” she said, her voice hoarse with emotion.
A scratching on the door preceded Twilla’s entrance with a large tray. Nothing else could be said while the servant was in the room. Eleanor hoped it would take the maid a long time to serve the tea, but Deirdre curtailed any fussing.
“Just leave the tray on the table,” she said. “That will be all.” As soon as Twilla left, Deirdre turned to Eleanor. “Just tell us.” This time her tone was gentler, but wary.
Mina added her other hand to the rest. “I’m scared.”
“I hate to be the one to tell you,” Eleanor started, but a knock on the door interrupted her. “Enter.” She hoped it was Huxley. She glanced over her shoulder. The poor man looked as if he’d aged a decade in the last hour.
Shermont wrapped the dispatches in one of Digby’s shirts, so he could carry them to his room with no one recognizing them for what they were. He hid the portmanteau under the desk where Huxley would find it when he sat there to go through Digby’s papers.
Carl entered from outside. “Patience wasn’t at the oak tree. They must have had a different prearranged meeting place for the escape, but no horses are missing from the stable.”
“She may have decided to make her own way, so she wouldn’t have to explain his absence. Check any stage stops within a two-mile radius. I don’t expect she got any farther than that without a horse.”
“There’s only one stop in a five-mile radius. The mail coach stops daily at nine o’clock in the morning. That’s it. I checked the inns, and they promised to let me know if anyone answering her description appears looking for a room.”
Shermont wrapped the pistol that had been fired in another shirt and moved Digby’s weapon to a spot a few inches from his hand. He used a penknife to scratch the outside of the lock on the tradesmen’s door.
“What are you doing?”
“The official story is that Digby was fatally shot during a robbery attempt. I’m helping the constable come to the desired conclusion.” He gave his valet the shirt-wrapped packages. “Please drop these off in my room.”
“What’s in the other one?”
“Diplomatic dispatches.”
Carl raised a questioning eyebrow.
“I’ll explain later. One of us will have to take them back to the Prince Regent tomorrow. Where are you going to search next?”
“I’m thinking she might be hiding on the estate, waiting for daylight to travel cross-country to the coast. I’m going to check the outbuildings and then the neighbors.”
“As long as you’re going upstairs, look in her room for clues first. Letters from friends might point to a possible escape route or hiding place.”
Carl nodded and started to exit by the door to the hall.
“You’ll have to use the tradesmen’s door again,” Shermont said. “Tuttle and Digby’s valet are guarding that door until the constable arrives. I recommended they allow an officer of the law to view the scene of the crime. They didn’t appear to agree, but couldn’t argue with me.”
“Who is guarding the other door?”
Shermont grinned. “I am.”
The session with the constable went as Shermont expected. The country lawman was more used to dealing with stolen pigs and taproom brawls than murder. Shermont’s title gave him an advantage. The obsequious constable accepted everything he said unchallenged. The investigation took only minutes, and the body was released to the servants for preparation to be laid out in the front parlor.
Shermont left, intending to go directly to his room. He passed servants stopping clocks and draping mirrors as he approached Eleanor’s door instead.
Chapter Fifteen
