She wrote the name very faintly, as if that could make it better.
Also on the list were Lady Agnes, and The Countess who was too frail to be a plausible suspect. Again, each served as the alibi for the other except that Lady Agnes had already said that The Countess had been asleep while she had read the Bible to her and there was no one to vouch for her own whereabouts. She seemed to say it as a challenge – Find me guilty then, if you dare.
And finally there was Lady Katharine and her son Oscar Brodie, living their curiously quiet life out in the gatehouse, both with their own oddities and both claiming to be the alibi for one another.
“None of these alibis are worth a thing,” Adelia said. “Anyone might say anything to protect a family member.”
“I agree.” Theodore took a pencil and underlined Lady Agnes and Oscar Brodie. “I would look into these two first – what do you think?”
“Oscar Brodie, yes, because he is strange and lost and hides in the grounds, watching everything. He must know something. But Lady Agnes? Honestly, I don’t think she is a killer, but it is true she is also hiding something, some secret.”
He tapped Lady Katharine’s name. “And her?”
“Goodness, she is even more unlikely than Lady Agnes.”
“Yet she is here on the list.” He underlined her with a series of dots. His hand hovered over Felicia and the maid.
“No, not Felicia, never her. I only wrote her down because ... I had to.”
“The maid, then?”
“She is a timid girl of fourteen who can barely lift a bucket of water. If you can imagine a situation in which she has done what you think she has done, then yes. But I am struggling to picture it.”
Theodore put the pencil down, leaving Felicia’s name alone. “Very well. Let us uncover the secrets that Lady Agnes and Oscar Brodie are hiding, and I will examine further how I think the death happened, and by bringing these things together, perhaps we can uncover the culprit.”
Adelia groaned in frustration. “If only we knew why he was killed, we should be so much closer to who did it! There must have been something in the ice house.”
“Perhaps. I shall be there today, looking into everything.”
“Please be careful. I do not trust the gas that you speak of. Leave the door open and be on your guard.”
“As long as I don’t go splashing muriatic acid around, I will be fine.” He smiled, but he wasn’t making a joke. He stood up, bent to kiss her on the cheek, and left her alone to waste a little more time before she had to dress and call upon Mrs Carstairs that afternoon.
ADELIA ARRIVED AT MRS Carstairs’ house on the dot of three o’clock, which would have been considered unfashionable in London, but this was clearly not the case in Plymouth. Already present was a young woman dressed in pale, gauzy silks that seemed to shift colours as she moved, and she was halfway through a sandwich and talking loudly to Mrs Carstairs, peppering each sentence with “My Algernon says...” and “My Algernon believes...” From her expensive clothes and youthful looks, Adelia pegged her immediately as a love-struck newlywed, and that made Adelia smile. She could still remember those feelings.
Mrs Carstairs drew Adelia into the conversation with ease, introducing her to Mrs Algernon Pettigrew-Lyons, and within a few minutes Adelia knew all about Algernon’s commission in the navy, Algernon’s favourite brand of cigar, Algernon’s thoughts on Prime Minister Gladstone, and why Algernon preferred anchovies, in spite of – you know – the breath.
Adelia was happy to listen. The young bride was nervous, underneath her chatter; nervous about her new status in the world, nervous about what was expected of her now, and also so clearly in love with her husband that it simply didn’t occur to her to ask anyone else about their lives. Adelia nibbled on a little finger food and luckily Mrs Pettigrew-Lyons left after a crammed five minutes. As soon as she left, Mrs Carstairs laughed.
“She’s on a circuit today; she is quite determined to visit everyone in town.”
“She ought to pace her sandwich-eating, then, or she’ll be dyspeptic by half past four. I wonder what Algernon would think of that. Ah! And who is this coming in now...?”
“Captain Everard! Did I not promise you, Adelia?” Mrs Carstairs rose up and brought the officer into the room, smiling broadly. He bowed low to Adelia as Mrs Carstairs introduced her. He settled into a chair alongside them both.
“Lady Calaway, what a pleasure. But what, I must ask, has been promised in my name?”
“Only yourself, dear Cornelius. Only your good self.”
“But for what nefarious ends?” he asked, laughing.
Adelia liked him. He had a gentle way of speaking, and a relaxed air when he sat, without sprawling his long legs all over the place like some men tended to do. He kept himself close and contained, which she guessed was from his long years spent aboard ships in cramped quarters. He was tanned and weather-beaten, with lines around his eyes and grey running in wide bands through his thick hair. And he noticed Adelia’s appraisal of him.
“I am being sized up, am I not?” he said to her. Mrs Carstairs headed away to greet another pair of guests.
“I must confess that you are,” she replied, hoping that he would
