Page 13 of Murder at Hambledon Hall
“There was, but she died before he was even born.”
That must be the young girl in the second photograph, the one that had been moved. “Did the police look through Mr. Shepherd’s cottage?”
He picked up his wine. “I suppose.” He sipped.
He may be trying to shut down my questions, but I wasn’t giving up yet. “You must have had a special rapport with the outdoor staff, as you’re clearly a man who enjoys nature.”
He looked up sharply. “What?”
I indicated the greenish tinge on his finger. Without his gloves, I’d spotted it immediately.
He placed his knife and fork together on the plate and tucked his finger under his thumb. “I picked up a leaf and crushed it to release the lovely smell. Lemon, I think it was. Or perhaps peppery. Anyway, the thing stained my skin, and no amount of scrubbing gets rid of it.”
I didn’t know of any plant or leaf that could stain skin that exact shade of green, but I was no botanist.
"I'm surprised the vicar didn’t see the poacher leave the vicinity,” I said. “He was quite close by when it happened.”
“Reverend Pritchard can be somewhat vague. Always losing his place in the sermon. It wouldn’t surprise me if the poacher ran right past him and he took no notice, but it’s more likely the man escaped through the woods. Not past you, of course, Miss Fox. I doubt you are vague.” He chuckled again.
“I believe Reverend Pritchard is new to your parish.”
“Previous vicar died. Heart gave out. We’re fortunate Pritchard could come so quickly.”
“Why did he want to leave his position in Cornwall?”
“I don’t know. You’d have to ask him.” He went to sip his wine, only to pause and lower the glass without drinking. “Do you know, that’s a good question. It’s unusual for a vicar to be available immediately to move to another parish. Usually, the church’s administrative wheels move slowly. I wonder if he left under a cloud and had to be moved on in a hurry.”
Now, that was interesting. “Do you know what parish he moved from in Cornwall?”
“He has never mentioned it. Whenever the topic comes up, he says the place is so small we would never have heard of it, then he changes the subject. Odd.”
Indeed.
I askedLady Kershaw about the silver candlesticks when we ladies left the men in the dining room to smoke their cigars and drink port. “They’re such fine pieces,” I said. “I hope one of the maids didn’t damage them while dusting.”
“Oh, no, nothing like that.” She smiled brightly. “Renton took them away to polish and forgot to put them back.”
It was the same answer Lord Kershaw had given me, however in her case, I felt as though it were a lie. I’d hoped to question her about Renton’s penchant for sipping his lordship’s brandy when no one was looking, and perhaps she’d then inform me that Mr. Shepherd had discovered the butler’s secret, thereby giving him a motive to murder the gamekeeper. Now I was having second thoughts. There was no diplomatic way to ask such a thing.
I considered how best to phrase it for so long that Lady Elizabeth filled the void by suggesting we play bridge. “Come and join my table, Miss Fox. You seem sharp, and I do enjoy a good game.”
Lady Kershaw was eager to oblige, as were my aunt and the younger ladies. Mrs. Browning also agreed to join in. “You’re very persuasive, Aunt Elizabeth,” she said.
“If I don’t do something, I’m in danger of nodding off in the corner.” Lady Elizabeth laughed, having done exactly that after dinner the night before.
Lady Kershaw instructed the footmen to set up the card tables and arrange the chairs. “This is just the distraction we all need after such a trying day.”
Mrs. Browning looked askance at her sister-in-law. “Do you mean from that episode on the drive? Good lord, Marion, he may have been here for as long as the dirt, but we hardly knew him. We don’tneedto be distracted from anything.”
Janet Browning looked like she’d jump out of her skin if she didn’t impart her gossip soon. “I heard he was quite the favorite among the maids, if you know what I mean.” She giggled.
Lady Kershaw smothered a gasp, and Lady Elizabeth frowned at her great-niece. Janet’s giggles died. She looked like she’d burst into tears, but managed to mumble an apology as she sat down heavily.
Her mother briskly accepted a deck of cards from the footman. If it weren’t for the extra firm jut of her chin, I’d say she looked as composed as ever. Like many ladies born into nobility, she oozed confidence even in prickly social situations. Her daughter hadn’t yet acquired the skill, but I suspected she would with her mother as teacher. Lady Kershaw also wasn’t quite as adept at brushing over a faux pas. She had a good pedigree, but she wasn’t of the same class as Lord Kershaw and his family. She’d risen quite high when she married him.
His sister’s marriage had not been as beneficial, but she’d lost none of her noble bearing because of it. According to Aunt Lilian, Mrs. Browning had fallen in love and married young. Having got to know Mr. Browning a little better, I presumed a handsome man had once existed beneath all that grizzly facial hair, and his character hadn’t been quite so bullish in his youth in order to attract a young wellborn bride.
I felt sorry for Lady Kershaw, having the stiff and judgmental Mrs. Browning as her sister-in-law, but at least her husband’s aunt was kind to her. The two women exchanged little smiles across the card table.
