The Truth about Love

Barnaby met Gerrard’s eyes, then turned to Lord Tregonning. “With your permission, sir, I’d like to interview the staff before Sir Godfrey arrives.”

Lord Tregonning met his gaze, then nodded. His jaw setting, he looked at Jacqueline. “Whatever permission you need, consider it given.” He moved to sit beside Jacqueline, awkwardly taking her hand and patting it. “My dear, do you think we might go up and sit with Millicent? When she wakes, I think she’d like us to be there.”

To Gerrard’s relief, Jacqueline focused on her father, then nodded. They both rose. He escorted them to Millicent’s room, saw them settled, then returned to Barnaby, still standing in the drawing room, a determined frown on his face.

Barnaby glanced up as he shut the door. “We are not going to allow this incident to be obscured by people trying to protect others.”

“My thoughts precisely. What do you suggest?”

“That we take charge. That we gather all the facts, then present them to Sir Godfrey so there’s no chance of him sidestepping logic.”

Gerrard nodded. “What’s first?”

Barnaby raised a brow at him. “Establishing when Millicent went outside, and if we can, why, and then making sure we can, if need be, prove Jacqueline was elsewhere between that time and dawn.”

Gerrard held his friend’s gaze, then said, “She was with me.”

Barnaby grinned. “I know. I met her leaving your room this morning-I heard the door and thought it was you, so I came out…but it was her. And she must have been seen by others. So-when did she arrive?”

“About half past eleven.”

“Good-so we have that fixed. Now let’s see what that maid can tell us.”

Shocked, but now growing angry on her mistress’s behalf, Gemma was very ready to tell them all she knew. “She always fussed over getting ready for bed-creams, potions, and I had to put her hair in curling rags every night. It was after midnight that I left her room, and she wasn’t in bed even then. She was restless-old ladies often are, you know. They don’t settle easy, so they often walk about. If it was clear, she’d go down to the terrace-since we’ve been back here anyways-I’ve seen her walking there in the moonlight.”

Gemma was very clear on all the details; she could list the various duties she performed every night for Millicent.

“It’s obvious Millicent couldn’t have left her room under an hour after she retired,” Barnaby concluded, “and at eleven, she was going up the stairs with the rest of us.”

Next they spoke with Treadle; expression bland, he confirmed that he and two maids had seen Jacqueline on her way to her room at close to seven o’clock that morning. He added, staring at the wall, that Jacqueline’s maid could also confirm that Jacqueline’s bed hadn’t been slept in.

When Treadle departed, Barnaby glanced at Gerrard. “I didn’t think to ask, but you are intending to marry her, aren’t you?”

Gerrard stared at him as if he’d grown two heads. “Of course!” Then he waved. “No, no, I understand why you asked. Yes, I’ve asked her to marry me, but she wanted to put off any formal acceptance until after this matter was resolved, and she was free of suspicion and the murderer caught.”

Barnaby nodded. “Entirely understandable. Now, let’s take another look at those marks on the terrace.”

They were hunkered down, studying the streaks where they ended by the balustrade, when Treadle escorted Sir Godfrey out.

The man looked thoroughly shaken. “What’s this? Millicent pushed over the edge, too?” His color was high; he was almost gabbling. “Well, I-”

Rising, Barnaby held up a hand. “No, wait. Just listen to what we can prove so far.” Concisely, Barnaby outlined Millicent’s movements from the time she went upstairs until she was walking on the terrace. “Then, for some reason, she went down the steps and into the Garden of Night. How far in we don’t know, but at least as far as the archway. That’s where she got mud on her slippers.

“But then”-dramatically Barnaby pointed to the streaks-“some man grabbed her, and while keeping her from screaming, dragged her back up the steps, and flung her-not pushed, but flung her-down into the Garden of Night. There was a branch beneath her when we found her; the doctor confirmed it had broken off beneath her and saved her from death. If you go into the garden and look up, you can see where the branch broke off-it’s plain as daylight Millicent wasn’t pushed, but flung. By some man.”

Sir Godfrey had paled, but he’d followed all Barnaby had said. “Man?” he asked.

“Indubitably,” Barnaby replied. “No woman could possibly have done it.”

At Gerrard’s suggestion, they retired to Lord Tregonning’s study and poured Sir Godfrey a brandy. He’d been deeply shocked, but now rallied.

Gerrard, watching him, picked his moment. “Sir Godfrey, you’re a man of the world-I know we can rely on your discretion. Miss Tregonning and I intend to wed once this affair is settled. Consequently, she was with me throughout the night, from before Millicent’s maid left her in her room, until seven o’clock this morning. Quite aside from my word on the matter, there are a number of staff who can verify that.”

Sir Godfrey blinked at him, then waved his hand. “Complete discretion, I assure you. Anyway…” His tone hardened, his grip tightened on the brandy glass and he drained it. “This wasn’t Jacqueline, but some man-some bounder, some blackguard who’s been leading us a merry dance through murder after murder, and laughing up his sleeve because we’ve been afraid it was Jacqueline. That’s not going to happen this time-this time, we’re going to catch the devil.”

“Indeed!” Barnaby sat forward. “We need to investigate what could possibly have drawn Millicent down into the garden. Her maid is certain she normally only strolled on the terrace, and it had rained.”

“Millicent isn’t all that fond of the gardens, y’know.” Sir Godfrey nodded. “She must have heard or seen something.”

Barnaby suddenly straightened; his gaze grew distant. “Ring for Treadle.”

Gerrard did; when the butler appeared, Barnaby put one question.

“Indeed, sir,” Treadle said. “Lady Tregonning often strolled on the terrace of a night. She had trouble sleeping.”

“Just like the elder Miss Tregonning?”

Treadle bowed. “Their habits were well-known belowstairs, sir-and, of course, I always know when the terrace door has been opened after I’ve locked up.”

Barnaby eyed him. “You don’t, by any chance, recall if the door had been opened on the night before Lady Tregonning died?”

“I do recall, as it happens, sir. I distinctly remember thinking, when she appeared so haggard at the breakfast table the next morning-the morning of the day she died-that the poor lady must have walked all night. She certainly hadn’t slept, and the terrace door had been opened.”

Barnaby thanked Treadle, who bowed and withdrew.

Sir Godfrey looked at Barnaby, horrified comprehension dawning. “You think Miribelle heard something, too?”

Lips set, Barnaby nodded. “I think she heard or saw something, but went back into the house… Whatever it was, she knew what it meant, but she thought whoever was involved-the murderer, let’s say-hadn’t seen her.”

“But he had,” Gerrard said.

“Possibly. Whoever it was knew he’d been seen by someone at least-later that day, probably because of something Miribelle said or did, perhaps simply because she looked so uncommonly haggard, he guessed it was she.” Barnaby sat back. “So he killed her.”

“Which means,” Gerrard said, “that whatever Miribelle and presumably now Millicent saw or heard was dangerous, very dangerous, to the murderer.”

Barnaby nodded. “So dangerous he killed without the slightest compunction to prevent them telling…”

“Why didn’t Miribelle tell anyone, then?” Sir Godfrey asked. “If she knew what she’d seen enough to be so upset by it, why didn’t she say?”

After a moment, Barnaby admitted, “I don’t know. There’ll be a reason, but until we know what it was they both saw, we won’t be able to guess it.”

“Regardless,” Gerrard persisted, “everything hinges on what they saw. That’s the critical thing. What could it