“We are,” he replied firmly. “And we will do as you said. We will look into the family’s history, but discreetly. And Percy needs watching. His life is clearly still in danger though he seems determined to ignore that fact. As for Felicia...”
Adelia spoke over him, saying with equal firmness, “As to that, I have already decided that I will be sending for a doctor without delay. I do not care what Percy says. She was my daughter before she was ever his wife.”
Theodore did not object.
THEODORE WENT DOWN to the great hall and caught only the glimpse of Inspector Wilbred’s coat-tails as he disappeared out of the door and away, accompanied by the last of the police. Percy was watching him depart. He turned as Theodore approached.
“They are gone, at last, and good riddance.”
“Did they arrest anyone?”
“No.”
“What will you do now?” Theodore asked.
“I?”
“Your life is in danger,” Theodore pointed out.
“You needn’t sound so matter of fact about it. I am well aware of it.”
Theodore thought that he wasn’t acting as if he was really aware of it. He said, “I am matter of fact about it because I see no reason to make a fuss but it needs accepting and acting upon. The plain truth is that you are at risk of death or harm by person or persons unknown, who even now might be in this very house. Avoiding that issue risks your life even more. What measure has Inspector Wilbred put into place to keep you safe?”
“Nothing.”
“Did he suggest anything?”
“He laughed when I mentioned it and said he’d do something about it, whatever that meant. He said that I probably wasn’t in danger, and that someone’s killed Parker because they didn’t like him. He said that other servants often resent the higher household staff because of their trusted positions. Maybe he was right. He told me I ought to keep my house in order.”
“And is he coming back?”
“I can’t work out if I have thrown him out or he’s washed his hands of me,” Percy said in utter confusion. “I haven’t eaten all day – I can’t remember my last meal – I slept badly last night, and now this. Now this! I don’t even know what time it is.”
“Right. We are going to the kitchens and we will eat anything we can lay our hands upon. Come along.” Theodore spoke to him with patience but firmness and Percy seemed happy to be led down the corridors into the kitchens, where they fell upon bread and meat pies and fruit and the remains of a syllabub, under the wide and staring eyes of the maids until the cook shooed them all away. She seemed to understand what was needed and she brought them hot, sweet tea and a selection of pickles to adorn the pies. A bowl of cold potatoes with cream and chives appeared, and some cuts of ham. Theodore was as hungry as Percy. It was late in the afternoon, they realised, and the day had been very long.
Theodore wanted to continue to press Percy about his plans. He was worried for his son-in-law’s safety. He could hardly say as much while they were in earshot of all the servants and as soon as they had finished eating, Percy excused himself, saying that he was going to sit with Felicia. He stalked off and Theodore did not follow him. He looked around the kitchen, feeling hot and sweaty now that he had had his fill, and said aloud, “Can any of you think who might have wanted to kill Parker?”
The cook folded her arms. “He wasn’t the target, was he?”
“Did the police say that?”
She snorted. “The police said nothing. But it’s obvious and we’re not stupid. It was Lord Buckshaw the killer wanted. So I am not worried for my own life and I’ve told my girls not to be afraid, too. I was wondering if Knight was really killed by accident, after all, though.”
“But that doesn’t make sense,” Theodore said, keen to listen to the cook’s ideas. “Everyone knew that Lord Buckshaw wasn’t here at the time so that couldn’t have been mistaken identity that time.”
“Everyone in the household knew he was away, yes,” she said. “But did everyone from outside know? After all, Knight was killed outside the house, in a place that none of us ever go. It could have been mistaken identity then. And once the killer realised they were wrong, perhaps they tried again, but thought they’d get it right this time.”
“Two cases of mistaken identity?” Theodore said, shaking his head. “I think it is improbable.”
“Yet if you have no other explanation, the improbable one is true, is it not?”
“You are a philosopher-cook,” he said.
She smiled. “I do read a lot,” she told him. “I like to make myself think. It is my Christian duty, isn’t it, to improve my lot in life? That’s the way I see it. I make my girls read, too, anything but novels of course.”
“So who wants Lord Buckshaw dead?” he asked in increasing excitement. Had he hit upon the hidden source of all knowledge in the household?
He was to be disappointed. “Oh, as to that, I have no idea, sir. I have no knowledge of what goes on in society’s drawing rooms. I cook, and I read; but Lord this and Lady that mean nothing to me and I don’t encourage my girls to partake in gossip either.”
He had one last attempt at finding the key to the problem. “What can you tell me about Oscar Brodie?”
The cook’s blank face shut up like a trap. “Nothing, sir. Will there be anything else?”
And he thought – that’s what Adelia was talking about! The cook can’t say anything good, so she’s saying nothing at all. This is a result, of a sort.
He thanked her
