Don Gutteridge - Unholy Alliance

“So he uncorked the sherry and poured out twoglasses?”

“Yes. I took only a single finger in myglass. He filled his to the brim. We toasted his success. I wasabout to leave when he started to talk about the trials andtribulations of being a butler, and it was then I realized it wasnot my poor grasp of rapidly spoken English but his inebriationthat was causing my failure to understand what he was going onabout. Very politely I disengaged, and as I was leaving, I pleadedwith him not to drink any more, but to go straight to bed.”

“And you did not notice anything odd aboutthe sherry?”

LaFontaine smiled. “I take it that I shouldhave, as it was probably laced with laudanum?”

“It might have been, though someone elsecould have joined Chilton after you left, and doctored itsurreptitiously. That’s why I’m asking.”

LaFontaine paused to think about the matter.“To be honest, whenever I drink sherry, it’s invariably sweet, so Ihave no reference point for dry sherry like Amontillado. But, yes,it definitely seemed ‘off’ in some way. I recall making a face atthe time, but I did not wish to be discourteous by suggesting hisvalued gift might be tainted. And I did go back to my room and fallinto the deepest sleep I’ve had since leaving Montreal.”

“I’m grateful that you didn’t consume anymore than a thimbleful, sir. It sounds very much like the sherrywas doctored before it was given to the butler — the cork beingremoved and then replaced after the drug was poured in.”

“I see. So you will be looking for the personwho gave Mr. Chilton the sherry?”

“It would seem so,” Marc said, thenremembered to ask, “By the way, were there indications that Chiltonhad been working at his accounts?”

“There was a big ledger on the desk, but itwasn’t open, and I didn’t notice any pens lying about loose. I’dhave to say that he had either finished his work or had gotdrinking and never begun.”

“Well, sir, I do wish to thank you. You’vebeen very helpful.”

“I just wish the fellow had taken myadvice.”

Marc got up, and the two men shook hands.

“I look forward to our session with Robertlater today,” LaFontaine said.

So did Marc, though he was painfully awarethat it might be an abortive meeting if he and Cobb could notlocate the cold-blooded murderer amongst them.

As soon as LaFontaine left, Marc began thelaborious but necessary process of making detailed notes on eachinterview, including the content and his own thoughts about itspertinence to the case. Cobb would do the same, and they would notonly compare notes in a subsequent, freewheeling discussion buttake time alone to peruse each other’s written comments. It was aprocedure that had paid dividends in their past investigations, andhe hoped it would do so in this one.

Regarding the laudanum: he knew now that ithad been safely on the bathroom shelf at nine-thirty or so whenBergeron completed his bath. It may have been there when Tremblaytook his bath a few minutes later or, indeed, Tremblay himself mayhave taken it with him. If not, then anyone, guest or servant,could have slipped across the rotunda to the unlocked bathroomafter the house had settled into sleep at ten o’clock, and spiritedit away. To do what? Doctor a bottle of sherry. That doctoredbottle was on Chilton’s desk at midnight when LaFontaine drank atoast from it. So, sometime between, say, ten-fifteen and midnight,the killer slipped out of one or another of the north wings, paddedup the hall to Chilton’s office, and offered him a deadly gift. Intheory any of the guests could have brought the Amontillado withhim in his luggage and kept it out of sight. While the servantswould not normally be in possession of such a treasure, if they hada motive to kill Chilton, they could have obtained it or, morelikely, have already had it squirreled away for some rainy-daycelebration. Marc knew from his youth on his uncle’s estate inEngland that servants had access to wine and spirits, not only fromtheir master’s stores but from those of neighbouring houses wherethey were often loaned out. Also, he had to remember that thesherry could still have been doctored after LaFontaine’svisit, though that possibility was now remote.

The thought that LaFontaine’s account seemedto point suspicion towards one of the distinguished guests wasdisquieting, to say the least. He hoped Cobb would be able to comeup with a viable suspect or two downstairs. Meanwhile, he needed tothink about Tremblay. The fellow had had opportunity and means tosteal the laudanum and present Chilton with the poisoned sherrysometime before midnight. And he also had a motive: to bring thenegotiations he feared to a grinding halt.

There was still the puzzling business of theledger and the three pages ripped out and missing. Did Tremblaypossibly conclude that the newly arrived Chilton was a spy for theEnglish Tories or the Governor? Did he rip out and destroysomething on those pages that he thought might be exposed,something that would jeopardize his standing back home, where hehad ambitious plans to run for parliament?

Marc stopped thinking. At some point itbecame counter-productive. He would wait for Cobb, who couldnavigate nimbly among the wiles and dodges of theservant-class.

***

Cobb knew that if you wished to find the servant whowould know just about everything that was going on below the salt,so to speak, and was the de facto governor of the house, yousought out the cook. That was his thought as he descended the foursteps towards the kitchen of Elmgrove. But when he entered it, hewas disappointed, and surprised, to find the big L-shaped roomoccupied by a single soul — a painfully thin, plain young woman.She was standing beside a hefty wooden table, like a butcher’sblock, slicing thick pieces of cold ham and licking her fingerswhenever the opportunity arose. At Cobb’s entrance she jumpedbackwards and dropped her knife. Her large eyes were filled withfear, and her shrivelled chin quivered.

“We ain’t done nothin’ wrong down here,constable!” she cried in a spare, high-pitched voice.

“I’m sure you haven’t, miss,” Cobb said,smiling. He had left his helmet upstairs and with his coatunbuttoned and his tie askew, he felt he would be presenting acasual, even friendly, face to those he planned to grill. “I justneed to talk to you an’ yer fellow servants about last night. Infact, I was hopin’ to start with Mrs. Blodgett.”

“Well, I ain’t her, constable. I’m Hetty, oneof her helpers,” Hetty Janes said, keeping the table between herand Cobb.

“Glad ta meet ya, Hetty. I’m Cobb.” He bentover, picked up the knife and laid it beside the plate of slicedham. “Now if you’ll be kind enough to tell Mrs. Blodgett I’m herean’ would like to — ”

“She can’t talk to ya,” Hetty said, stillquivering but showing signs of pluck. “She can’t talk tonobody.”

“Is she not in, then?”

“She’s in her bed, back there in her rooms.Got her arthritis somethin’ awful. Tillie, that’s my sister, she’sin there nursin’ her.”

“How long has she been under theweather?”

“Took to her bed about nine o’clock lastnight, right after the supper meal. Worn out, she was, from cookin’fer half a dozen swells who don’t even speak the King’s English!Ain’t her fault she’s been laid low!”

“I don’t suppose it is,” Cobb saidsympathetically. “An’ she’s been in bed since then?”

“Didn’t wake up till eight o’clock, if ya c’nbelieve it! Tillie had to tell her about the dreadful thing thathappened upstairs, of course, which upset her all over again.Still, she done her duty an’ give Tillie an’ me our instructionsabout gettin’ food ready fer Mr. Macaulay an’ the swells.” Thisseries of complaints seemed to have a calming effect on Hetty’sfears. She had backed up against a sink on the far wall, and wasnow comfortable enough to sit awkwardly on its rim. “But she’s goneback to sleep again, an’ we ain’t supposed to disturb her.”