Page 35 of The Meriwell Legacy
“I think we have to conclude that Mrs. Cleary’s murder was secondary to Miss Johnson’s murder, not just in time but in intent,” Barnaby said. “It seems unlikely Rosa Cleary was killed for any reason other than that the murderer believed she’d realized who he was.”
“Or if she hadn’t already guessed his identity, that she soon would, and the threat of that wasn’t something the murderer would accept.” Penelope met her husband’s gaze. “Whether Rosa Cleary knew who he was or whether she ever would have known is neither here nor there. All that mattered was that the murderer wasn’t willing to let her live and risk her exposing him.”
Barnaby tipped his head in agreement.
“Nevertheless”—Stokes glanced at Philpott and Morgan—“it would be preferable to establish an unequivocal link between Mrs. Cleary’s murder and her putative knowledge of Miss Johnson’s murderer.”
Morgan was jotting in his notebook. “It’s possible the staff noticed something. Most of the nobs don’t even see the footmen and maids and reveal more than they realize.”
Stokes grunted; Morgan often turned up evidence via some obscure staff member who’d seen something they hadn’t thought was relevant. “See what you can ferret out. Meanwhile…” He looked at Barnaby.
“Meanwhile,” Barnaby responded, “given the time constraint, I suspect we need to focus on why Glynis Johnson was murdered. In the general way of things, it’s not a murder one might have expected. Jealousy, money, revenge, or rage—on the face of it, none of those motives seem to fit. She was twenty years old, and according to Miss Whittaker, this year’s Season was Glynis’s first—it seems unlikely she would have gained enemies in such a short time.”
“And what enemies she might have garnered would most likely be female, not anyone capable of strangling her to death,” Penelope dryly remarked. After a second, she went on, “But I agree that learning why Glynis was murdered should be at the top of our list. Given that Miss Whittaker was sent to fetch her away, how was it that Glynis even came to be at such a house party?”
“And,” Stokes said, “there’s the mystery of what she was wearing on that chain around her neck.”
Penelope nodded. “She kept it hidden—why?”
“More,” Barnaby said, “as the murderer took whatever the bauble was, was it the reason he killed her?”
He, Stokes, and Penelope looked at each other, then all three nodded.
“Right, then.” Stokes straightened and stretched his back. “That’s enough questions to be going on with. Let’s get some sleep, and we’ll start pressing as hard as we can for our answers immediately after breakfast.”
* * *
Percy had instructed Carnaby to give Alaric the room in the family wing he’d used on past occasions when he’d stayed overnight at the Hall.
The evening had proved remarkably short. After a quiet dinner at which all conversation was, understandably, subdued, the company had thought to entertain themselves with music, but after Miss Weldon had played three gloomy airs, the consensus had been that muted conversation was more appropriate.
As soon as the tea trolley had been wheeled in and cups of tea consumed, the guests had made excuses and drifted off to their beds.
Or to whichever bed they were currently sharing.
Alaric had kept Percy company; his childhood friend had still seemed stricken and not recovering from the shock as fast as Alaric had expected. Sufficiently so for Alaric to flirt with the notion that Percy might have been smitten with Miss Johnson, although of that Alaric had seen no sign—not while Glynis Johnson had been alive and still smiling.
Finally closing the door of his room, still pondering Glynis’s bright smiles, Alaric cast his mind back over the days before she’d been killed; was there any clue there as to any specific gentleman being the particular recipient of those smiles?
His memories were reasonably clear, yet still he couldn’t see it—couldn’t pinpoint any man as Glynis Johnson’s particular interest.
He halted by the bed, shrugged out of his coat, tossed it on a chair, and muttered, “And I could be reading far too much into what I sensed in her.”
While he undressed, he dispassionately reappraised all the gentlemen present. Logically, each and every one had to be considered a suspect, yet…
Alaric couldn’t see either Percy or Monty as the murderer. Not because he thought them incapable of killing—very likely all men were capable of murder given sufficient motive—but because he was confident neither Percy nor Monty would be able to behave with any degree of savoir faire afterward. Neither had the stomach nor the strength of personality to be able to conceal their inner turmoil—and they would, most definitely, be in turmoil had they committed murder.
And that was just one murder. Two… For such as they, that would be impossible.
“If they’d killed just once, they would be panicking—all but incapable of functioning.” They would be falling apart; of that, he was absolutely certain. And despite Percy’s…whatever it was, he wasn’t falling apart.
“So—not them.” Who else could he strike from the suspect list?
By the time he slid between the cool sheets, he’d realized he couldn’t discount any of the other men. More, he knew several potentially pertinent facts about Wynne, Fletcher, Walker, and Colonel Humphries—facts that could have given rise to a motive for murdering Glynis Johnson.
Alaric settled on his back, his head cushioned in the pillows, and stared at the ceiling as he debated keeping what he knew to himself.
In the end, he concluded that—as Adair had stated—in matters of murder, the usual unstated ton prohibitions did not apply. He would have to tell Adair, at least, and let those more experienced than he decide how relevant those gentlemen’s proclivities were.
