Knox’s face was pinched with grief. “Mr. Narraway, sir, perhaps if you would take Mr. Quixwood into the study.” He indicated the direction with his hand. “I’ll ask the butler to bring brandy for both of you.”
“Of course.” Narraway guided Quixwood to the door Knox had indicated.
The room would have been pleasant and comfortable at any other time. The season being early summer, there was no fire lit in the large hearth, and the curtains were open onto the garden. The lamps were already lit. Possibly Knox and his men had searched the house.
Quixwood sank into one of the large leather-covered armchairs, burying his face in his hands.
Almost immediately a footman appeared with a silver tray holding a decanter of brandy and two balloon glasses. Narraway thanked him. He poured one and gave it to Quixwood, who took it and swallowed a mouthful with a wince, as if it had burned his throat.
Narraway did not take one himself. He looked at Quixwood, who was almost collapsed in the chair.
“Would you like me to ask this man Knox what happened, as far as they can tell?” he offered.
“Would you?” Quixwood asked with a flash of gratitude. “I … I don’t think I can bear it. I mean … to look at her … like that.”
“Of course.” Narraway went to the door. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Is there anyone you would like me to telephone? Family? A friend?”
“No,” Quixwood answered numbly. “Not yet. I have no immediate family and Catherine …” He took a shaky breath. “Catherine’s sister lives in India. I’ll have to write to her.”
Narraway nodded and went out into the hallway, closing the door softly behind him.
Knox was standing beyond the body, closer to the outside doors. He turned as Narraway’s movement caught his eye.
“Sir?” he said politely. “I think, if you don’t mind, it would be better if you could keep Mr. Quixwood in there, with the door closed, for the next half hour or so. The police surgeon is on his way.” He glanced at the body, which was now entirely covered by the sheet. “Mr. Quixwood shouldn’t have to see that, you understand?”
“Do you have any idea what happened yet?” Narraway asked.
“Not really,” Knox replied, his politeness distancing Narraway as a friend of the victim’s husband, not someone who could be of any use, apart from comforting the widower.
“I might be able to help,” Narraway said simply. “I’m Lord Narraway, by the way. Until very recently I was head of Special Branch. I am not unacquainted with violence or, regrettably, with murder.”
Knox blinked. “I’m sorry, my lord. I didn’t mean to-”
Narraway brushed it aside. He was still not used to his title. “I might be of some assistance. Did she disturb a burglar? Who was it that found her? Where were the rest of the servants that they heard nothing? Isn’t it rather early in the night for someone to break in? Rather risky?”
“I’m afraid it isn’t that simple, my lord,” Knox said unhappily. “I’m waiting on Dr. Brinsley. It’s taking awhile because I had to send someone for him. Didn’t want just anyone for this.”
Narraway felt a twinge of anxiety, like a cold hand on his flesh.
“Because of Mr. Quixwood’s position?” he asked, knowing as he said it that it was not so.
“No, sir,” Knox replied, taking a step back toward the body. After placing himself to block any possible view from the study doorway, he lifted the sheet right off.
Catherine Quixwood lay on her front, but half curled over, one arm flung wide, the other underneath her. She was wearing a light summer skirt of flowered silk and a muslin blouse, or what remained of it. It had been ripped open at the front, exposing what could be seen of her bosom. There were deep gouges in her flesh, as if someone had dragged their fingernails across the skin, bruising and tearing it. Blood had seeped out of the scratch marks. Her skirt was so badly torn and raised up around her hips that its original shape was impossible to tell. Her naked thighs were bruised, and from the blood and other fluids it was painfully obvious that she had been raped as well as beaten.
“God Almighty!” Narraway breathed. He looked up at Knox and saw the pity in his face, perhaps more undisguised than it should have been.
“I need Dr. Brinsley to tell me what actually killed her, sir. I’ve got to handle this one exactly right, but as discreetly as possible, for the poor lady’s sake.” He looked again toward the study door. “And for his too, of course.”
“Cover her up again,” Narraway requested quietly, feeling a little sick. “Yes … as discreetly as possible, please.”
CHAPTER 2
“You’re part of Special Branch, sir?” Knox asked, reassuring himself.
“Not now,” Narraway replied. “I have no standing anymore, but that means no obligations either. If I can help, and at the same time keep this as quiet as possible, I would like to. Have you any idea at all how it happened?”
“Not yet, sir,” Knox said unhappily. “We haven’t found any signs of a break-in, but we’re still looking. Funny thing is, none o’ the servants say they opened the door to anyone. Least, not the butler or the footman. Haven’t spoken to all the maids yet, but can’t see a maid opening the door at that time o’ night.”
“If a maid had let this man in, surely she would have been attacked also?” Narraway observed. “Or at least be aware of something going on? Could Mrs. Quixwood have …” He stopped, realizing the idea was ugly and unwarranted.
Knox was looking at him curiously. “You mean, was the man expected?” He said what Narraway had been thinking. “Someone Mrs. Quixwood knew?”
Narraway shook his head. “But who would do this sort of thing to a woman he knows? It’s bestial!”
Knox’s face tightened, the lines of misery deepening around his mouth. “Rape isn’t always by strangers, sir. God knows what happened here. But I swear in His name, I mean to find out. If you can help, then I’ll accept it gladly, long as you keep quiet about it. Can’t do with every amateur who fancies himself a detective thinking he can move in on police business. But you’re hardly that.” He sighed. “We’ll have to tell Mr. Quixwood what happened, but he doesn’t need to see her. Better not to, if he’ll be advised. Don’t want that to be the way he remembers her.” He passed his hand over his brow, pushing his hair back. “If it were my wife, or one o’ my daughters, I don’t know how I’d stay sane.”
Narraway nodded. He wasn’t going to get it out of his mind easily.
They were interrupted by the arrival of Brinsley, the police surgeon. He was at first glance an ordinary- looking man, with drooping shoulders and a tired face, which was not surprising after midnight on what had probably become a long day for him even before this.
“Sorry,” he apologized to Knox. “Out on another call. Man dead in an alley. Appears to be natural causes, but you can’t tell till you look.” He turned toward the sheet on the floor. “What’ve we got here?” Without waiting for an answer, he bent down and with surprising gentleness pulled the covering away. He winced and his face filled with sadness. He said something, but it was under his breath and Narraway did not catch it.
In case Quixwood should come out into the hall, possibly wondering what was happening, or to look for him, Narraway excused himself and went back into the study, closing the door behind him.
Quixwood was sitting in the big armchair exactly as he had been before. Aware of movement, he looked up as Narraway entered. He started to speak, and then stopped.
Narraway sat down opposite him. “Knox seems like a decent and competent man,” he said.
“But … does that mean you won’t help …” Quixwood left the half-spoken request hanging in the air.
“Yes, of course I will,” Narraway answered, surprised by his own vehemence. The face of the woman lying on the floor only a few yards from them had moved him more than he expected. There was something desperately vulnerable about her.
“Thank you,” Quixwood said quietly.
Narraway wanted to talk to him, distract his attention from what was going on out in the hallway, and above all make absolutely certain Quixwood did not go there while the surgeon was working. His examination of the body would be intimate and intrusive; it would have to be. The violation would be so terribly obvious that seeing it would
