“But you think Oscar did?” Theodore said.
Somewhere, a door slammed closed. Adelia jumped. “Yes,” she hissed. “He did.”
Fifteen
A day of sleeping had not seemed to help Felicia at all. She came down to dinner that night looking pale and wan. Theodore watched her carefully. He had performed all the physical checks that he was able to within the bounds of decorum and he knew she ate nothing different to the rest of the house. He thought that she should, perhaps, walk in the open air every afternoon but apart from that, he felt quite helpless to truly help her. As far as he could tell, the illness originated in her mind, and it was not his speciality at all. He had spent the rest of the day in Percy’s study, looking at his vast collection of books, hoping to stumble across something about diseases of the mind, but he found nothing useful.
He also mulled over Adelia’s suggestion that it was Brodie who had killed Hartley Knight, and he found no reason to reject the possibility. Of all the suspects, he seemed most likely because he was young, strong, male, and also a little strange. Adelia had also told him a little more about the young man’s history and it made it more likely they would find a motive there. The lapis lazuli – real or fake – didn’t matter. The key was the ice house, and whatever else might have been in it. Theodore decided to accept Adelia’s reasoning, and they had both agreed to watch Brodie very carefully. He was sure to give himself away soon, they thought.
Felicia seemed to have developed a nervous tremor. She dropped her cutlery more than once, and ended up retiring early, before the dessert course arrived. No one remarked upon it. Percy forced himself to maintain pleasant conversation and Lady Agnes followed suit. Even The Countess kept her thoughts to herself, which was a blessing. Theodore and Adelia did not linger long in the drawing room that night.
On Saturday, the mood seemed sombre. The following day marked one week since the death of Knight. Theodore didn’t want to linger around the castle. He checked on Felicia, who was sleeping, her face sheened with a light sweat, and then he headed into Plymouth. He wanted to find a library where he could investigate nervous disorders. He was able to arrange a brief lunch with Commissioner Rhodes, who pointed him in the direction of a medical man at his club, and made the necessary introductions for him.
Rhodes also warned Theodore that Wilbred was “sniffing around.”
“He’s got wind of our friendship,” Rhodes said. “He seems to have taken umbrage at something, I don’t know. I told him the case was closed but he seems to think you’re looking into it anyway.”
“Well, I am. You agreed that I could.”
“Yes, yes, but it was not supposed to be known. The problem is that you are known, what?”
Theodore’s head spun.
Rhodes went on. “You’re known as a detective and he doesn’t like it. As long as you are at Tavy Castle, he’s suspicious.”
“It’s the home of my daughter!”
“Well, I suppose you can’t help that.”
“No, I can’t.” Theodore felt frustrated. “What do you suggest I do, then?”
Rhodes shrugged. “Hurry up, one way or another, you know?”
“I see. Very well. Thank you.”
“Come along, buck up, man. It’s only a bit of fun, isn’t it?”
“What, murder?”
“Oh, that, yes. No, I meant your investigation. Keeps you busy. I haven’t a clue what I’ll do when I retire, ha!”
“I can’t imagine your life will be much different to what it is now,” Theodore muttered. “Big dinners and drinking, surely?”
Rhodes laughed but Theodore hadn’t really been joking.
THE THINGS THAT THEODORE learned about current theories of madness and insanity depressed him very much. Medical science seemed to hint that female minds and bodies were particularly susceptible to all manner of maladies and offered him very little comfort. He spent Saturday night in something of a depression himself, and Sunday dawned with a light rain that did nothing to lift his mood.
He certainly did not want to attend church alongside everyone else. He felt that he had done his duty the previous week and said to Adelia that his one attendance surely absolved him of any further obligation to turn up for the weekly worship.
But Adelia insisted that he ought to go. Percy was to go, and so was Felicia. “You need to be there to keep an eye on her,” she told him.
And for that reason, he reluctantly agreed.
They set off in the drizzle which had done nothing to ease the high temperatures. All everyone talked about was the weather, now, as people longed for the heatwave to break. Even when they reached the small parish church, the conversation was about the strange portents – the sea being as still and flat as glass, the sudden plague of grass snakes that had flowed like a river through Estover, the birth of a two-headed dog near to Tavistock. Theodore pooh-poohed it all, although he secretly wanted to go and see the dog.
He stayed close to Felicia. She seemed a little better, and her tremor had calmed down. She didn’t sing and she moved slowly between the standing parts and the sitting, but she certainly didn’t make any strange outbursts or draw any attention to herself. The sermon itself was mercifully short. Perhaps the vicar took note of the oppressive heat and the way people were trying to quietly fan themselves. He wouldn’t want half of the congregation to faint away.
After the service, Hartley Knight was mentioned by a gaggle of women crowding around the vicar who was shaking everyone’s hands as they left. Theodore had Adelia on his arm but he paused to listen. The talk was just about the upcoming funeral, which could be arranged now that the case had been closed by the police. As the death was officially an accident, no one was panicking about the possibility of a murderer running
