They came directly from the main track that led from the gatehouse to the castle, rather than the path that Theodore had followed from the back of the kitchens. They fanned out as they approached, the policeman galumphing over the parched grass of the lawns and stumbling with cries of surprise into hidden boggy patches where no one expected there to be sudden dampness. Theodore kept his place almost screening off the entrance to the ice house with his own body and as the red-haired man approached, he called out, “Do not let the women come any closer!”
It was not Adelia that he was particularly concerned for, although of course if he could spare his wife an unsettling scene, he would. But the effect of the sight of a corpse on members of the lower orders such as Mrs Rush was bound to be greater, he thought. Then he wondered why that should be, as the so-called “lower orders” often dealt with far more nastiness on a day to day basis than any of their “betters.” He shrugged the inconsistency away. It was simply how it was and he accepted that.
“Good day!” the inspector boomed.
“Hardly. I say, Adelia, do keep everyone back, will you?”
Adelia stopped and that prompted Lady Agnes and Mrs Rush to also stop, with the household servants bunching up around them and chattering as they peered over one another’s shoulders to get a glimpse of what was happening. The lack of household direction was painfully obvious. Percy should have been here, taking charge, and in his stead Felicia ought to have been controlling the wayward staff. Adelia would no doubt step in soon. He turned his attention to the inspector.
“Let’s see what’s what, then,” the inspector was saying, peering past Theodore with the same salacious expression on his face that the maids and boys had worn.
“Steady on one moment, sir! You would not wish to disturb any potential evidence, would you?”
“Chap’s definitely dead, then?” The inspector was still trying to peek around Theodore who absolutely refused to move, though the proximity of the policeman to his personal space was making him decidedly uncomfortable. He had to force himself to stay put.
“He is definitely dead, yes. And the circumstances are suspicious.”
The inspector gave up as he could hardly push Theodore out of the way. He took a half step back and seemed to look at him for the first time. “And you are...?”
“Theodore Caxton, the Earl of Calaway. And you...”
“Inspector Wilbred. Pleased to meet you, blah blah and all that. Right, if you’ll step to the side...”
It wasn’t the lack of respect for his position that irked Theodore. He liked to consider himself an egalitarian sort of modern aristocrat, although Adelia seemed to think that he was not. She often cited his attitude to the lower orders as evidence for that, suggesting that even thinking of people as “higher” and “lower” was part of his problem. He didn’t see it himself. People had their positions in society and that was just how it was; but Theodore did believe that everyone ought to be treated with respect for themselves, not because of a title. It wasn’t the lack of forelock tugging that annoyed him but the dismissive “blah blah.”
“I am a trained medical doctor,” Theodore pointed out. “And I have a certain amount of experience in investigating crimes – successfully, I must add. Might I suggest that...”
But the inspector spoke over him. “You might not. I do need to see the body, sir. Thank you for alerting us but we will be taking over from here. I must ask you to step aside. You don’t look like the sort of man who would like to be arrested for obstructing the police.”
Theodore took a deep breath and spoke in a low, stern tone. “Of course. I understand. I merely thought you would appreciate a fellow professional’s insight but naturally you know your job better than anyone else. I am sorry to have inconvenienced you.” It was sarcasm, an unusual low for him, but the inspector was positively infuriating. Theodore let his words dangle for a second too long, then stepped to the side.
The inspector had barely noticed any of Theodore’s gibes, it seemed. He simply barged past, rubbing his hands together, shouting over his shoulder, “Come on then, lads, let’s get this fellow up and out of here! Terrance, bring up the drunk-wagon.”
“You’ll destroy the evidence!” Theodore cried in alarm as the two uniformed policeman blundered past.
No one cared. Now three men had crowded into the low-ceilinged ice house and Theodore could barely see what was going on. He heard grunts, laughter – yes, actual laughter! – and scuffling noises. Footsteps splashed in water, and one of the policeman backed out, his feet feeling slowly for the steps as he climbed up into the daylight again, with the dead man’s legs in his arms. Lady Agnes gasped and Adelia put her arm around her, pulling her away.
Oscar Brodie and many of the servants from the house pushed forwards, keen to get a look at the corpse. Theodore roared at them all, waving his hands at them, resenting that he was doing the work of the police when they were quite clearly unable to even assess a crime scene.
“Out of our way, sir,” said the policeman who was walking backwards, daring to nudge Theodore to one side as they carried Hartley Knight to the hand-cart. They slung him onto the wooden boards with less care than if he had been a drunkard scooped up out of the gutter. The second policeman did have the decency to draw a blanket up over the man’s face, although it was too short to cover him completely, and left his feet poking out of the other end.
“How did he die?” Theodore said, hurrying to put himself in front of the inspector as he emerged from the ice house, wiping his eyes and coughing.
“You tell me. I thought you were a doctor and an investigator?”
“Yes and
