Page 58 of Murder at the Dinner Party
I shook my head. “It’s noble of you, Lady Whitchurch, but I’m afraid I don’t believe you. If he’d been with you all night, why say he left earlier when your version gives him an alibi?”
In fact, it gave thembothan alibi. Now that was an intriguing notion…
“What did you think of Rupert?” I asked her.
“Me?” She glanced at her husband.
“What does it matter?” he barked. “This is nothing to do with my wife.”
“I beg to differ. She just lied, attempting to give herself an alibi for the time of the murder.”
Lord Whitchurch tugged on the bellpull to summon the butler. “You’ve said enough. Leave or I’ll telephone the police.”
Lady Whitchurch shook her head. “It’s all right, Arthur. I want to answer her.” She leveled her gaze with mine. “I hated Rupert. He was cruel to me. Oh, he was charming and a great deal of fun to others, particularly when he was drunk, but to me, he was awful. He called me all sorts of names. I was dull, you see, and he wanted to marry a spirited woman, someone to match his liveliness. His parents insisted he wed me, however, and my parents liked the idea, too. But the more time we spent together, the more miserable I became. Arthur noticed.” She put out her hand and her husband took it. “He tried to cheer me up while also telling his brother to be kinder. It didn’t work. All it did was bring Arthur and me closer. There you have it, Miss Fox. I loathed Rupert. I certainly wasn’t jealous of Charlotte. I didn’t even know they were having a liaison until after her murder. I had no reason to kill her.”
“But you had every reason to blame Rupert.”
“Becausehekilled her!”
I looked at Lord Whitchurch.
He glared back, thunderous. “My wife is innocent. We all are. Rupert murdered that poor girl, I know it.”
“How?” I asked.
“I just do.”
“What did Hardy say to you when you confronted him at the pub?”
“We never—” He cut himself off and pressed his lips together. Then he nodded quickly. “He told me Rupert did it.”
I didn’t believe him. There was more. There must be. “Who are you covering for, my lord? Why did you pay Hardy to keep quiet?”
The butler opened the door then and Lord Whitchurch instructed him to see us off the premises. There was no point continuing with the questions. He’d only deny it until his last breath. But that didn’t mean I was giving up.
His lordship followed us onto the landing. “You have no proof of anything, Miss Fox, and certainly no proof that I paid Harding, or Hardy, money in exchange for his silence.”
“Not money, no. But I do have proof you paid him. I’ll fetch it and show it to you.” I handed the butler the framed photograph. “Please return this to its position downstairs.”
Outside, I strode away from the house, the blood coursing through my veins like a torrent. The confrontation had stoked the fire within me, and I was determined to prove I was right. I might have overreached, however.
“We don’t have enough evidence,” I told Harry, keeping pace alongside me with his long, easy strides. “The tiepin and watch are not definitive proof. We need more. It is a start, though, I suppose.”
When Harry didn’t respond immediately, I glanced up at him, questioning. I wanted his opinion.
He had an opinion, just not about the investigation. “You can’t go to the Campbells now, then return to the Whitchurches. It’ll take too long.”
“They don’t live far apart.”
“You have to go home and dress for dinner.”
“Not now that we’ve built this momentum.”
“It can wait until tomorrow.”
“No.”
Harry caught my elbow. “I’m not joking anymore, Cleo. Go home and prepare for the dinner. It’s important.”
