Page 56 of The Meriwell Legacy
Stokes grunted. “That still doesn’t tell us which man she saw, but with luck, it will narrow the field.” He stepped forward and opened the back door. “Let’s see if the others have found anything to help with that.”
* * *
Penelope managed to bridle her curiosity until they reached the oak on the south lawn, but immediately they passed into the shade beneath its widespread branches, she demanded, “So what is it—this scenario of yours?”
Constance halted and faced Penelope. “Percy assumed it was him Rosa saw, when he was crossing from the front edge of the shrubbery to the forecourt. But Percy has a mop of bright fair hair—even in poor light, Rosa wouldn’t have missed that. More, Rosa said she saw the manleavingthe shrubbery—not just coming from the direction of the shrubbery. So all distractions aside, it now seems clear that Rosa definitely saw the murderer leave the shrubbery via the main entrance.”
With one hand, Penelope made a “go on” motion.
Constance drew breath and rapidly ordered her arguments. “We’ve focused on why Glynis was murdered and not so much on Rosa.”
Penelope nodded. “But Rosa was killed by the same man, presumably because he feared she’d seen him.”
“Precisely. But when she saw him leaving the shrubbery, Rosa didn’t see him well enough to identify him—she consistently said so, and the testimony of the maid we just heard confirmed that the light wasn’t good enough to see features.”
“But it was good enough to see hair coloring, at least to distinguish between bright blond and brown, so it wasn’t Percy Rosa saw.” Penelope paused, then went on, “I accept that’s now certain.”
“Indeed.” Constance beckoned. “Now come over here and look.” She led Penelope to the other side of the oak, closer to where they’d stood earlier. Constance halted and pointed through the leaves. “See—from here, we have much the same line of sight as Rosa had when she was standing at the rear corner of the terrace. You can see the shrubbery entrance. If a man came striding out making for the front door, Rosa would have seen him at a sharp angle to his left side—mostly just his left arm and his back. She would have seen what she reported—the cravat and all the rest—but no real profile. Mostly, what she saw was his back.”
Penelope peered through the foliage; she had to stand on her toes—she was far shorter than Constance—and shift this way and that to get the right angle. Eventually, she allowed, “All right. I agree—Rosa saw the gentleman mostly from the back.”
“Rosa wasn’t lying in saying she didn’t recognize him from that sighting, but later…” Constance met Penelope’s eyes. “She recognized him—at least well enough to raise a real question in her mind—when she saw him leaving the billiard room and walking away from her.”
“You’re saying her turn was—as we’d earlier hypothesized—because recognition struck.”
“And struck hard—enough to make her giddy and faint. Something must have happened to trigger the realization.” Constance closed her eyes. She felt Penelope’s gaze on her face and said, “I’m reliving the moment in the corridor. I was there—I must have seen something.”
“Replay the memories slowly.” Penelope’s voice was almost hypnotic in tone, but with an undercurrent of eagerness. “Don’t force things, just observe as if from a distance. Start from where you left the conservatory.” After a moment, she asked, “Where are you in relation to Rosa Cleary?”
“Behind and to her left. There were six of us all told, three ladies walking in front—Rosa in the middle, with Mrs. Collard on her left and Mrs. Finlayson on her right—and Mrs. Cripps was to my right with Miss Weldon beyond her, behind Mrs. Finlayson.”
“Good,” Penelope said. “So you started walking along the corridor. What happened next?”
“We strolled, as one does, in the direction of the drawing room. None of us were in any hurry. Then the door to the billiard room, which was farther up the corridor on the right, opened, and the gentlemen started streaming out. I think all of them had been in there.” Constance paused, the recollection now vivid in her mind. “They didn’t see us—I suspect we were just far enough away that they didn’t glimpse or sense us as they came through the door. I could only see the tops of heads over those of the ladies before me, but I’m sure none of the gentlemen paused or looked back—not then. They turned out of the door and strode on, making for the front hall and the drawing room.”
“Did Rosa react straightaway—as the men streamed out?”
Constance frowned. “No. She didn’t.” Of that she was now sure. “In fact…it was after the last of the men had stepped into the corridor. They were in groups of three or four, so fell in much as we were, two or three abreast.” Constance paused, wracking her memory of the relevant moment. “As to the timing…I’m sure it was after all the men had stepped into the corridor and the last had taken at least a few steps.ThenRosa gasped and stopped and clutched Mrs. Gibson’s arm.”
Penelope waited, then prompted, “And…?”
“We all gathered around Rosa.” Constance concentrated, trying to focus on every little detail of who and what and in what order. “She’d gone as white as the proverbial sheet. The expression on her face…she didn’t look horrified so much as…well, uncertain. Shaky and shaken. That’s why we all so readily accepted her word that she’d come over faint and thought no more about it at the time. But…” Constance pored over one little snippet of memory, then her lips firmed. After a second of replaying, yet again, the relevant second, she said, “Reviewing what I saw as we crowded around, just before Rosa looked down, drew in a breath, and seemed to regain a little of her composure, she was looking straight ahead, and her eyes were wide. From where I stood, I couldn’t see all of her face, her full expression, but I did see that.”
Constance’s description was sufficient to allow Penelope to envisage the scene. “So as we suspected, she was staring at one of the men who had just left the billiard room.”
“But given her height—she was only average at most—and the timing of her reaction, the man who triggered it had to have been one of the last to leave the billiard room. Indeed, he was almost certainly in the last three or at most five or six—the men who made up the rear of the pack.” Constance opened her eyes and met Penelope’s. “He must have done something to trigger Rosa’s recognition. She’d been among the guests all day without realizing who he was.”
Penelope thought for a second, then raised her arms and mimicked closing them around the invisible throat of someone shorter than herself. “Strangling a lady.” Then she changed position. “Playing billiards.” She pantomimed leaning over a billiard table and striking a ball with a cue.
She straightened, shrugging her bodice into place—then she looked at Constance, and with dawning wonder, they chorused, “She saw him resettling his coat!”
Penelope felt the upsurge in confidence that told her they’d got it right. Then she realized, “He must have a particular way of doing it—some idiosyncrasy that marked him definitively as the murderer.”
Constance considered. “I suspect many men have a particular way of doing it—it’s one of those little actions they do constantly, so it becomes a habit.”
“One almost impossible to change.” Penelope’s eyes gleamed. “Rosa may be dead, but she’s left us with one solid clue to the murderer’s identity.”
Constance thought, then sighed. “Sadly, he now knows that, or at least he should.” She met Penelope’s disgruntled gaze. “If you’re imagining getting all the men to take off their coats, then put them on again, just to see who stands out as having a memorable way of resettling his coat’s shoulders and sleeves, I can’t say I favor your chances.”
