Nancy Atherton - Aunt Dimity and the Duke

21

Outside the warm cocoon of the dowager’s bedchamber the storm raged on. Thunder cracked and rolled, lightning slashed the roiling sky, and driving rain battered the windows and walls, the roofs and towers, the balconies, turrets, and terraces of Penford Hall.

Crowley and Hallard had cleared away the tea things, replacing them with a decanter of port and nine delicately etched wineglasses. The decanter was passed from hand to hand, the aromatic wine glinting ruby-red in the firelight.

What an amazing story, Emma thought. It was the most amazing—No. The most amazing story was that she had been permitted to sit there and listen to such an amazing story. Sipping the sweet wine, she contemplated the still figure of the duke. She knew that she was in the presence of a remarkable man, a man who inspired such devotion that those who knew him best had given years of their lives to ensure that his dream would come true.

Nanny Cole’s offhand comment about building a rocket to the moon was more apt than the old woman probably realized. The world of rock music must have been as alien to these elderly people as the red dust of Mars, yet they had mapped the terrain and exploited it as fearlessly as any team of space explorers.

While clearing away the tea trays, Crowley had described Lex Rex as a limited partnership in which all members of the core group, staff and villager alike, held equal shares. Thanks to Crowley’s impeccable management, each person in that room was independently wealthy. All of them could have left the hall behind to build their own castles, but they stayed on, because Penford Hall was their home, and the world beyond its walls offered nothing they didn’t already have.

“Grayson,” Derek said gruffly, “owe you an apology, old man. Shouldn’t have doubted you. Sorry I did.”

“Me, too,” Emma added. “I should have trusted the Pym sisters. They told me you couldn’t be guilty of any serious wrongdoing, and they were right.”

“Were they?” the duke mused. He turned his glass slowly in his hands. “I’m not so sure. One person, at least, appears to have suffered greatly as a result of my scheming. We mustn’t forget about Susannah.”

“What do you mean?” Derek said sharply.

“Can’t you guess?” the duke asked in return.

Derek’s eyes narrowed and he glanced down at Emma, who nodded for him to go on. Looking back to the duke, Derek said, “Susannah told me she had reason to believe you’d had a hand in Lex’s death.” He hesitated. “Do you know about her father?”

“Syd told me, on the way to the hospital,” Grayson answered. “Until that moment, I had no idea that such a tragedy had occurred. When I think of her poor mother coming here, asking for help, and being turned away ...” Grayson bowed his head. “No wonder Susannah felt unable to approach me directly. But we’ll discuss this matter later. Please, continue.”

Derek explained the way in which Susannah’s accident had triggered doubts in his own mind about the circumstances surrounding Lex’s death. He described the reasons he’d enlisted Emma’s aid, and the gradual evolution of their suspicions. “But none of it matters now, does it?” he asked. “If you were prepared to deal with the consequences of exposure, then none of you would’ve had a motive to harm Susannah. Her fall must have been an unhappy accident.”

“Unhappy, to be sure,” said the duke gravely, “but not, I fear, an accident. Tom?”

The red-haired chief constable nodded grimly. “Knew there was some funny business going on the minute I heard about her shoes. Kate told me they was all clean and shiny, like she’d just polished ’em up that morning.”

Emma could picture Susannah’s high-heeled shoe poking out from beneath the oilcloth; the broken heel had gleamed in the morning sun, but it hadn’t registered until now. “It had rained the night before,” she said slowly. “If she’d walked to the chapel garden in those shoes, they would have been muddy.”

“And they wasn’t even wet,” the chief constable declared. “But I didn’t hear about it until two days later. The evidence was gone by then, and the crime scene was contaminated, as they say, so I thought I’d just ask around, quiet-like, before reportin’ to my superiors. Asked Newland to give me a hand.” He stared down into his wineglass. “Between us, we’ve been able to account for everyone in the hall and the village. We’ve come up with a lead, but ...” His voice trailed off and he looked to the duke for support.

The duke cleared his throat, then ran a finger around the inside of his shirt collar. He favored Derek with a troubled, almost apologetic smile, then hunched forward and said, in a confidential murmur, “You see, old man, we know that Susannah was pestering you a great deal. As you observed earlier, it’s difficult to keep secrets in a place like this.”

Derek blinked in surprise. “Grayson, if you’re accusing me—”

“I’m not. Madama has confirmed that you were breakfasting with Bantry in the kitchen.” The duke wet his lips. “Fact is, old man, I’m accusing your son.”

“Peter?” Derek stared at the duke in astonishment.

The duke sighed regretfully. “Wanted to discuss this with you privately, but ... The truth of the matter is that Peter was seen going into the garden early that morning.”

“By whom?” Derek demanded.

“Bantry. He didn’t think anything of it until Tom and Newland had struck everyone else off the list. It was only then that he recalled Peter’s repeated expressions of concern about Susannah interfering with your work. Viewed in that light, the boy’s presence in the garden on that particular morning suggested the possibility ...” The duke averted his gaze. “I’m sure you understand what I’m getting at.”

“Yes,” Derek murmured, setting his wineglass on the tray. “Yes, I quite see.”

“No,” Emma broke in. “You don’t see at all. None of you do.” She reached for Derek’s hand and hoped that Peter would forgive her. “Peter did go into the garden that morning, but he didn’t spend any time there. He was in the chapel until the shouting started; then he slipped out through the back door and went around the outside to the cliff path. You can check with the Tregallis brothers. They saw him go out there.” She pulled Derek around to face her. “He didn’t want to get into trouble for hanging around the chapel. That’s why he told you he was—”

“Shouting?” Newland spoke from the doorway, then came to stand over Emma. “Did you say that the boy heard shouting?”

“Well ... yes,” Emma replied, unnerved by the man’s hawkish gaze. “That’s what he told me.”

“First I’ve heard of any shouting,” Newland growled. He surveyed the other faces in the room. “Any of you lot forget to tell me about shouting?”

As murmurs of denial sounded all around her, Emma tried to recall whether she or Nell had cried out upon finding Susannah. She was sure they hadn’t. She clearly remembered being impressed by Nell’s calmness and amazed by her own, but, before she could open her mouth to reply, she felt a tremor pass through Derek’s body.

“My God,” he murmured, half to himself. “If none of you were shouting, then Peter must have heard someone else.” His head snapped up. “I breakfasted alone that morning. Bantry only stopped by for a cup of coffee.” He grabbed Emma’s arm and pulled her to her feet. “Come on. We’ve got to get up to the nursery.”

As they darted into the darkened hallway, Emma’s mind raced. She refused to believe that Bantry would harm Peter, but he might have lashed out at Susannah. She remembered that first afternoon in the garden, when he’d spoken so harshly against anything that threatened to disrupt the peace of Penford Hall. He’d known where the grub hoe was and he had the strength to wield it. He’d cleaned the oilcloth, as well, and stowed it safely in his cupboard. And now it looked as though he’d tried to cast suspicion on Peter, the one person who might identify his voice and place him in the garden with Susannah at the crucial time.