Heirs and Graces (A Royal Spyness Mystery) Read online

  “You see, I told you there was no point in our coming here,” Darcy said. “Nothing worth seeing, is there?”

  I studied the ground. It had been churned up by numerous feet but other than that one would never have known that a body had lain there an hour or so previously. Frankly I didn’t know what I was looking for.

  “Strange,” Darcy said. “You’d have thought there would still be a bloodstain or two. Or perhaps the rain was hard enough to have washed them all away.”

  “That was it!” I exclaimed, turning to face him. “That’s one of the things I thought was strange. He was stabbed with that enormous knife but there was almost no blood. He was wearing a white shirt too. When I’ve seen someone stabbed before, the blood completely soaked his shirts.”

  “Who have you seen stabbed?” Darcy asked suspiciously.

  “That poor chap called Sydney when I had that visiting princess with me.”

  Darcy shook his head. “I wonder how many other men have future wives who mention casually the number of people they have seen stabbed. You won’t be bringing that up as a topic of conversation at our future dinner parties, will you?”

  “I can’t help it if I’ve happened to come across a few dead bodies in my life. It’s not as if I enjoy it, or go looking for bodies,” I said. “They just seem to find me.”

  “We should probably warn our guests when they come to stay at our future house. I can see it now: please do come and stay, if you don’t mind that people seem to die in horrible ways when they are around Georgiana.”

  I had to laugh and so did he. It seemed so amazing and wonderful that we could be talking about our future home together. He looked down at me tenderly, brushed a strand of hair from my face then took me into his arms and kissed me. “I’ve been wanting to do that all day,” he said. “At last we’re alone with nobody watching us.”

  “You never know around here,” I said. “Remember, Sissy can see all sorts of things from her room.”

  “Let’s hope she hasn’t seen anything else that might put her in danger,” Darcy said. “Murderers can be ruthless if they feel threatened.”

  “Oh, gosh, I didn’t think about that,” I said. “Should we suggest a guard on her to the police?”

  “She has her brother and sister and their nurse up in the nursery with her, doesn’t she? I presume the nurse is there at all times.”

  “Yes, but . . . I just wish they’d hurry up and solve this,” I said. “It’s horrid looking at people and wondering which of them might be a murderer. Perhaps it was that footman William, and we can all get on with our lives again.”

  “Perhaps,” Darcy repeated thoughtfully.

  “And you never answered me,” I said. “Why do you think there was so little blood from that stab wound?”

  “Maybe the knife being left in the wound prevented too much blood from leaking out,” he said. “Or maybe he was wearing a thick, wool vest underneath that soaked up the blood.”

  “Don’t,” I said, shivering. “It’s too depressing, isn’t it? One day someone is alive, and the next he isn’t. I don’t like the thought of life being so fragile and cheap.”

  As I was saying this, the sun went behind a cloud again, plunging the world into gloom. I shivered. “Let’s get away from here. I can still picture him lying covered with his coat, with the stream washing over him.”

  “Covered with his coat?” Darcy asked.

  “That was another strange thing. He had taken his jacket off, and his top half was covered in it. Why?”

  “He certainly wouldn’t have taken it off because he was too warm,” Darcy said.

  “And why did his killer bother to cover him?”

  “Maybe it wasn’t his killer. Maybe someone else saw him and was so disturbed that they covered him?”

  I shook my head. “If they were so disturbed, why didn’t they call for help?”

  Darcy shrugged. “I can’t answer. As you say, let’s get away from here. What’s that building up among the rocks?”

  “It’s a folly,” I said.

  “Let’s go and explore.” He took my hand.

  “You’re not leading me there to have your wicked way with me?” I asked.

  He laughed. “Too cold and damp, I suspect. I prefer my wicked ways in soft, feather beds.” His grip on my hand tightened as he helped me up the rocky path to the folly.

  “As I said, cold and damp,” he exclaimed, looking around. It was built like a Greek temple with one circular room, surrounded by columns and with a back wall of white marble. Ivy clung to some of the columns and draped across the back wall. The view must have been enchanting on a bright, sunny day but the clouds were now gathering again, and they held the promise of rain. The place smelled of rotting leaves, mildew and decay.

  “I was going to make the most of the opportunity and kiss you at leisure,” Darcy said, “but now that we’re here, I’m not keen to stay. Depressing sort of place, isn’t it?”

  I nodded. “We’ll be missed anyway.” I looked around, noticing the tall silhouette of the house looming above us. “We should probably get back.”

  “Good view from here on a nice day,” Darcy said. “You can see right across the valley.”

  “Also the footpath down to the lane,” I commented, as I toyed with this idea. “And through the glen. In fact, if someone wanted to lie in wait and watch, this would be a good spot.”

  “Who knew that Cedric was going to post a letter?” Darcy asked. “Surely that would have been a spur-of-the-moment decision. He went to his study, wrote the letter and then decided to post it himself. Who would have known about that? None of the family was even awake at that time.”

  “Except Jack,” I said.

  Darcy nodded. “Except Jack,” he repeated. “It really doesn’t look good for him, does it?”

  “And also Sissy,” I added. “She was already dressed at seven thirty.”

  “But she’s hardly mobile enough to follow her uncle to the glen and stab him, having first recovered Jack’s knife.”

  “True,” I said. “Irene was drugged, and the old ladies are surely too frail to follow and stab anybody. That only leaves the Starlings.”

  “And they’d hardly want to stab Cedric, would they?”

  “Which brings us back to the ex-footman William. He does seem the most likely suspect now, doesn’t he? He could easily have made his way here through the wooded part of the estate then watched for Cedric to come into the glen.”

  Darcy was leaning against the wall as we spoke. Suddenly he spun around to face the wall. “Listen,” he said, and knocked on the marble. “It’s hollow.” He examined the wall, pulled back the ivy and turned to me. “This has been pulled away recently. See how it’s come off the wall here?”

  “What for?” I asked.

  “My hunch is that”—he felt around in the ivy— “. . . aha. See? I was right.” He lifted a brass ring and pushed open a door in the wall.

  I peered inside a dark opening. “Do you think it leads somewhere?”

  “Maybe not,” he said. “It could just be for storing deck chairs and the like, but I’ll wager it hasn’t been used for years.”

  “Oh, my goodness,” I said. “The children said there were secret passages in the house and they were trying to find one, but they had never managed to. I thought it was just childish fantasy. You know—a house this size ought to have secret passages.”

  “What’s the betting this was created so that the duke could make a hasty getaway at the time of the civil war,” Darcy said. “Are you game to see where it leads?”

  “It’s awfully dark,” I said. “We can’t walk all that way in the darkness. At least, I’m not attempting it. I’ll keep thinking of spiders and rats.”

  “I thought you were intrepid.” Darcy laughed. “Actually, we’re not very far from the house. The path cu
rled around through that glen but we’re only just below the stables. And I happen to have my trusty cigarette lighter with me.” He produced it, and clicked it on. A tiny flame appeared. “Better than nothing,” he said.

  “That won’t light our way very much and it probably won’t last all the way up to the house.”

  “Oh, all right then.” Darcy scooped up some dead twigs, some still with leaves on them, fashioned them into a crude torch then lit the tip. It flared into flame. “Come on, follow me.”

  We plunged into darkness with the flame from the impromptu torch lighting the passage with an eerie red glow. The floor and walls around us were smooth, cut into the chalk of the Downs but the ceiling was so low that we had to stoop, and unpleasant drips of water ran down inside my collar. I couldn’t stop thinking about those spiders. I am normally quite brave—just not where spiders are concerned. I really wanted to go back, but I didn’t want Darcy to think I was scared. The passage led steadily upward until without warning, Darcy swore and dropped the torch, whose flame sputtered and went out. We were plunged into darkness. I stifled a scream and grabbed onto Darcy.

  “Damned thing burned my fingers,” he said.

  “Turn your lighter on again.”

  I heard its click, and he said, “Drat. I knew I should have filled it. Come on. Take my hand. Can’t be far now.”

  We moved forward, inch by inch, until my foot kicked against solid rock.

  “Steps,” Darcy whispered, his voice echoing strangely. “We must be under the house now. Carefully.”

  Up we went, feeling our way with hands and feet until we came to a small platform and before it a solid wall.

  “There must be a door somewhere.” Darcy was feeling around carefully. Then he said, “Aha.” Light blinded us as a door swung open. We peered out and found ourselves looking into a small, empty room. The walls were paneled in dark wood, and the only contents of the room were glass-topped cases. It was the butterfly room I had discovered in my tour of Kingsdowne when I met Adrian. Darcy helped me step through, and the door swung shut behind us, now invisible from the rest of the paneling.

  “Handy,” Darcy said. “Now we need to find out who might know about this, without giving away that we’ve found it ourselves.”

  “Should we tell Fairbotham?” I asked.

  “Not yet. Let’s wait and hear what he has found out himself first.”

  We came out of the butterfly room without seeing a soul. As we walked down the corridor, we heard voices coming from behind a closed door.

  “It wasn’t me. I didn’t do it!” a man’s voice was shouting.

  “But you were seen, my lad.” Fairbotham’s voice.

  “I told you what happened. I came up the path, planning to have it out with the duke and then I found him lying there, dead. I ran up to the house to report what I’d seen, but suddenly it occurred to me that someone might think that I’d done it.”

  Darcy and I moved closer to the door.

  “And what exactly did you mean when you said ‘have it out with the duke’?” Fairbotham’s voice inquired.

  “Tell him what I thought of him. Tell him that he couldn’t throw out my parents, who had lived in that cottage all their lives. I was prepared to go to the press if necessary—let the world know how he was treating his tenants. The left-wing newspapers would love a story like that.”

  “So how do we know that you didn’t have this little confrontation with the duke? That he didn’t laugh at you and tell you to go ahead and do your worst. There was nothing you could do to stop him from doing what he liked with his land. So you were furious. You’d seen the knife before in the tack room. You went and got it and followed him, and at the right moment you stabbed him.”

  “I didn’t. I swear!” William’s voice had risen alarmingly now.

  “I think you’d better come down to the station with me, my boy.”

  “Are you arresting me?” William asked. “You can’t do that. I didn’t do it. You’ve no evidence against me at all.”

  “We’ll see about that. Take him to the motorcar, boys, and see what he’d like to tell us after he’s been locked up in a cell for a while.”

  “Ah, there you are,” said a peeved voice. We turned to see Belinda come up behind us. “I wondered where you’d got to. I must say, I thought it was rather mean of you to sneak off alone together, leaving me unguarded in a house full of potential murderers.”

  “We were sent on a commission by Edwina, Belinda,” I said, wanting to laugh at her indignant face. “And anyway, why would anyone want to murder you? As you admit, you’ve no family connection.”

  “No. Let go of me. You’ve got the wrong man. I didn’t do it!” The voice in the study had risen dramatically now.

  Belinda stared at the door with interest. “Who have they got in there? Not Jack. He’s sitting with Edwina, being shown the family tree, and trying not to show that he’s dying of boredom.” She paused, put her hand to her mouth then grinned. “Oh, dear. One has to be careful what one says in a house where people are being popped off.”

  Just then, the door burst open and William was pushed out, struggling as he was held by two burly Kentish coppers.

  “Who was that?” Belinda asked as the young man was half dragged, half shoved out of the front door.

  “An ex-footman,” I said.

  We walked on down the hall, and made our way to the Long Gallery.

  Belinda stared after them, speculatively. “He was the one who killed poor dear Cedric then? It wasn’t Jack after all?”

  “Belinda, I have no idea who killed Cedric. It seems that he is another person who has a good motive.”

  “It’s like a veritable house of horrors,” Belinda said, drawing her fur-collared cardigan more closely around her. “Next thing we’ll find out that it really was a batty aunt who is locked away in the garret. I can’t stand it here another minute, darling. I really do have to escape back to London to keep my sanity. Can you please work your magic on the clodhopping inspector and tell him that I had nothing to do with this crime and I’m needed desperately at home.”

  “I should go up to London, anyway,” Darcy said. “You can come with me, Belinda.”

  “Could I really? You’re an angel, a positive angel.” She reached up to stroke his cheek, and it looked as if she was about to kiss him. I felt a horrid stab of jealousy—I suspected that Darcy and Belinda had been more than friends in the past.

  “Why do you have to go to London?” I asked, trying to sound unconcerned.

  Darcy lowered his voice. “Why do you think? To see a pal at Scotland Yard. I can’t telephone from here without being overheard, and besides, these things are best done in person.”

  “Then maybe I should come too,” I said. “Don’t you think it would be a good idea if I went to see my grandfather and enlisted his help? He’s seen plenty of murders during his time on the force. Perhaps I could persuade him to come down here.”

  “Your grandfather is a splendid old chap,” Darcy said. “But I can hardly see him dining at Kingsdowne.”

  “I don’t mean as a guest in the house,” I said. “Maybe he could pose as my chauffeur or something. Or even stay at a pub in the village.”

  “I think we have to be careful, Georgie,” Darcy said. “I’m not even sure it’s a good idea to try and bring in Scotland Yard. Your grandfather would be seen as a terrible interference. And remember, the Kentish police are officially in charge until they request help.”

  “But you can see that poor old Fairbotham doesn’t have a clue,” I said. “He’s arresting people left, right and center.”

  “I’d say he has two reasonably good suspects,” Darcy said. “Jack and William would stand out as good candidates, whoever was doing the investigation.”

  “I’d still like to talk it over with Granddad,” I said. “Maybe he’d have an idea w
hy Cedric’s coat was put over him, and why the stab wound didn’t produce much blood. I’m sure those are important clues.”

  “I understand perfectly, Georgie. You really want to get away from here as much as I do, don’t you, darling,” Belinda said. “A day in town will do you good. We could have a bite at Fortnum’s.”

  “Now all we have to do is to persuade the chief inspector that we can leave the scene of the crime,” Darcy said ominously.

  “He can’t possibly think that we had anything to do with Cedric’s death,” Belinda said.

  “He clearly thinks Georgie is all right,” Darcy said with a quick glance in my direction. “Those two are thick as thieves. But you, Belinda—I’m afraid you’re a suspicious person to him. Someone who was chummy with Cedric in London, who is currently hard up, who arrives conveniently bringing a shoe when Cedric is killed. And you’re dealing with a policeman who loves circumstantial evidence. My bet is that you’ll be in the next-door cell to Jack by the end of the day.”

  “Don’t, Darcy,” Belinda said, swinging her handbag at him. “It’s not funny. You’re frightening me.”

  “He’s only teasing, Belinda.”

  “I know. But it all sounds too plausible. I just wish they’d hurry up and find the real murderer. Let’s hope there were lovely fingerprints on the knife and someone confesses.”

  “That’s a little too easy,” I said. “But I really hope they find out the truth soon. It must be horrid for Jack with everyone half believing that he did it.”

  “Don’t you half believe he did it?” Belinda said. “The wild colonial boy. I bet they settle disputes with knives all the time in the outback.”

  “Well, I don’t think he did it,” I said firmly, perhaps trying to convince myself. “He’s not stupid. Would you leave your knife sticking out of someone’s back so that everything would point straight to you?”

  Belinda’s eyes opened wider. “So you’re suggesting that someone else wanted us to believe it was Jack?”