The fire crackled gaily, but despite the leaping flames there was a deathly chill upon the room. Roberta left the fireplace and returned to the sofa, sitting alongside our host. She took the elderly gentleman's hand in both of hers, and as he turned to look at her in surprise, she gave him a warm smile. I myself had been on the receiving end of a similar gesture a day or two earlier, a gesture that had moved me greatly. Now, I realised it was just her way of setting people at ease, and had no special significance. A small part of me was saddened by that realisation, but at this moment I had more important things to consider.
The admiral, for that was his rank, was slowly unbending as Roberta encouraged him to speak of his wife. "After my years in the navy I'm used to loss, have no doubt of that," he was saying. "But a loss this close to home? Now that is something terrible for a man to deal with." He looked at Roberta, his expression beseeching. "My dear, you spoke with Hattie before her death. Tell me, was she content? I was away so often, you see, and one fears that this was no life for a woman of her tender years."
"Sir, she was happy indeed. She spoke of you with great affection."
"She was not troubled by any curious, er, fancies?"
"I'm not sure to what you refer, my Lord."
"Oh, I may as well lay this out before you!" cried the elderly gentleman. "After my first wife passed, I chose the life of a bachelor. It's the best course for a naval officer, especially an aging specimen like myself, tied as I am to a desk in the Admiralty." His face took on a distant expression. "But then came the gala ball, and Hattie was kind, and attentive, and so charming…" He broke off, swallowing fitfully. "I'm afraid she quite stole my heart, notwithstanding my advancing years."
"Sir, you do yourself a disservice. Any girl would be happy to be seen with a dashing admiral of the fleet."
I thought she was laying on the charm exceedingly thick, but Lord Snetton had consumed some considerable quantity of spirits and was not at his most perceptive. Instead of dismissing her statement, he accepted it, nodding sagely. "Well, my dear, t'was not long before we were married, and her joyous company made me a new man." He smiled at the memories, but then a shadow crossed his face. "It was not to last. She began to hear things, to see malevolence and jealousy in the shadows. She was convinced it—it was the presence of my former wife, and nothing I could say would convince her otherwise."
I held my breath, for I was certain Roberta would explain the reason for our attendance at the house the day before. But instead, she merely stroked the admiral's hand.
"In all my years serving in the Royal Navy, I never ran from a fight," said Lord Snetton quietly. "The French, the Spanish, the Russians… I've faced 'em all, dammit, and I never turned tail. But this—this madness of Hattie's was something foreign to me. I took to staying at my club, drinking too much and sleeping away from home." He swallowed. "I ran away and hid like a craven coward."
Roberta moved closer, putting her arm around the old gentleman's shoulders, and this small gesture of comfort triggered a wave of emotion. Lord Snetton leaned forwards, burying his face in his hands, his body racked by sobs. "There there," murmured Roberta. "You did nothing wrong by your wife, sir, for I swear there was nothing you could have done to help her."
Profoundly moved by this heart-wrenching tableau, I could only pray the professor did not take this most inopportune moment to present his Lordship with an invoice for ten pounds. But instead, the professor took my arm and led me from the room. "This is a terrible tragedy," he whispered, once we were standing in the hallway, "but there is nothing unnatural here, and I believe our business is done."
I winced at his close proximity, for the smell of fish was as strong as ever. "You don't think this was the work of a vengeful spirit?"
"It is more likely the old goat killed this woman himself." The professor saw my shocked expression. "Don't be fooled by his tears, my boy. Murderers cry too, you know."
"But—"
"If he did kill her, that's for the police to determine." The professor eyed me with a most calculating look. "D'you think you can get the ten pounds out of him?"
"Me!" I said, aghast. "I could no more ask that broken gentleman for money, than…than…" My voice tailed off as I reached for a suitable comparison, and then it came to me. "Than I could load and fire a broadside single-handed!" I finished.
"And so I bid adieu to my ten pounds, unless Roberta thinks to charm it out of him." The professor harrumphed. "Well, I am not waiting for his Lordship's tears to dry. I shall take the omnibus this instant, and you will see Roberta home once she is quite finished with her charitable works."
Before I could say anything, the professor turned and left, striding along the corridor towards the kitchens. Fragments of broken vase and wood panelling, the result of Lord Snetton's wild gunfire, crunched under his feet, and once the scullery door closed I was quite alone. I glanced into the sitting room, where Roberta sat with Lord Snetton, and I decided to allow the grief-stricken gentleman a little privacy.
While they were occupied, I would take myself upstairs to inspect the bedroom where poor Lady Snetton had breathed her last. After all, the professor had dismissed an unnatural hand in Lady Snetton's death without so much as a cursory investigation. This, then, was a chance to determine the truth on my own.
– — Ω — –
Before going upstairs I paid a visit to the kitchen, my intention being
