‘This is something like!’ Barrington declared, rubbing his hands with apparent pleasure as he took his place in the sun-filled sewing room, the clock I could see that Harriet admired telling us it was seven minutes past seven. ‘It’s good to have people working with me who understand the importance of time. Now, I’ve already placed an embargo on all staff comings and goings.’
‘What about food coming in, sir? Your cook will be expecting deliveries of milk and eggs from your home farm if the floods have dropped enough. Though I am sure Mrs Simpkiss will have stores to last for several days. That is the usual practice in great houses.’
He looked bemused. ‘Ah. A good point, Cousin Harriet. All the same I need to keep the commissariat happy, don’t I? But not have people thinking they can escape that way. Church? If we can’t go to church, then I’ll send for the rector to come and do his padre stuff here.’ He paused. ‘Assuming he can get through, of course. Tell you what, I’ll get that gardener chappie to organize a recce. Bright young man.’
I inhaled sharply. We both knew that Mr Harrison was disaffected, to say the least, and that he would resent being given a task he’d think was more suited to a pack of stable lads. ‘I’ll undertake the task of briefing him, shall I?’ I jotted it down before Barrington could argue.
‘I have made the acquaintance of Mrs Simpkiss,’ Harriet said. ‘I know she and her team will be frantically busy now, but I will suggest she keeps everyone behind after servants’ breakfast, when I can speak to them, if you think I dare leave it till then?’
‘Hmm. The maids are already about their work, of course. What if anyone tries to smuggle anything incriminatory out with the waste?’ I asked. I answered myself: ‘Human waste and slop buckets apart, you might despatch an immediate order that the waste baskets must be left unemptied?’
‘Good thinking. I’ll get a note to Mrs Simpkins immediately.’
I dared not catch Harriet’s eye.
Barrington jotted and rang.
Mason appeared as swiftly as if he had had been at his post all night, depositing three black armbands on the table before leaving with equal speed.
Hitherto Cousin Barrington had been all happy bustle. Now, however, he had a nasty fact to face. ‘It’s not just servants we need to worry about, is it? All these visitors, Matthew. Guests. I’m going to have to break it to them that they’re confined to barracks all day, you know. They’re not going to like it.’
‘The weather may assist us here; clouds are building already. And of course there is the giant moat surrounding us.’
There was a gentle tap at the door. ‘Cook was wondering, sir, if you might care for a pot of coffee and some drop scones. She didn’t think her ladyship would like the smell of kippers in here, sir.’ Mason did not risk a smile.
‘Quite right too. And we can always join the others later.’ My cousin’s face fell. ‘Her ladyship prefers guests to drop in for breakfast as and when they please, and I could really do with speaking to them en masse, the earlier the better.’
‘If you wished, sir, the other footmen and I could visit each room and ask them to gather together at – shall I say nine?’ It was an eye-wateringly early time for a Sunday. Did I detect a smidgin of enjoyable revenge? ‘I will warn Cook to have everything ready for then.’
‘Good man. Nine it is. And you might drop a hint that we don’t want people to come dawdling in late. A strong hint.’ He nodded home the point. As Mason withdrew, however, it was as if he lost his focus. ‘What do I do then? We,’ he corrected himself quickly.
‘I fancy that if the police were here, they would question everyone and take statements from them. But that will take time.’ I paused. ‘Your guests are going to have plenty of that to spare, of course. Might you ask them to write down an account of everything they did yesterday, up to and including the news of the Gräfin’s death? Not just what they did, but where they were and who they met – people they nodded at in passing, as well as those they had a conversation with. It would be very helpful if your wife could provide a list of your guests’ names and rooms, so we know if we’ve missed anyone.’
‘What about getting them to make a timetable too? Easier for us to read,’ Barrington said. ‘Because all they say will have to be double-checked, won’t it? Cross-referenced.’ He smiled. ‘Good job we’ve got three good pairs of eyes.’ He paused while Mason served our early breakfast, which included far more than griddle cakes, and left, nodding at me as the young man left, added, ‘As I said, I didn’t like the way Biddlestone behaved to you last night, m’dear. And I like bringing on a decent young man. At least I hope he is. What if he’s our killer? Dear God, anyone in the building might be. Or someone out there!’ He pointed wildly to the window, his arm shaking.
Harriet, at his side with a cup of coffee, asked with a calm that was almost bathetic, ‘Do you take sugar, Cousin?’
It took long moments for whatever he relived to disappear and let him return to polite normality. Then he was gesturing us to sit down and reaching for a pencil and pad. ‘Always a bad time before the first skirmishes in a battle,’ he said, still breathing hard.
We ignored the tremor that made writing almost impossible for him. We tried to make eating the drop scones a matter of rumination, as if we were too busy thinking to say anything aloud. Perhaps we were. When he was ready to write, we were both ready with questions, which we asked at the same time.
Cousin Barrington nodded at Harriet. ‘Ladies first.’
‘Jewellery apart, can you think of any other reason why someone would kill the Gräfin? A personal motive? Or someone who would actually profit from her death, which seems … All I know about her, Cousin, is that she was kind to me, a complete stranger who knew no one else to talk to.’
‘Really?’ There was no mistaking his astonishment. ‘She could be a cantankerous old biddy. Actually,’ he added, dropping his voice, ‘her tongue sometimes ran away with her. Not ladylike at all.’
‘In that case, may I put an awkward question?’ she pursued. ‘Why was she a house guest? And in particular for a cricket weekend when she did not like the game?’
‘Malice! That’s what my wife thinks.’ He tried too late to wind back the indiscretion. ‘Thing is, we invited her for last weekend, when there were a lot of card-players like her, but she never left. Just stayed where she was. But she’s my wife’s god-mama, you know. Can’t be offending her, can we?’
‘Card player?’
‘Whist – she’s extraordinarily good. Was. Didn’t suffer fools gladly, though – you soon knew if you’d played the wrong card. People feared her tongue, I can tell you.’
‘Do your guests ever play for money? Or just for pleasure?’
‘Wasn’t much pleasure if you didn’t follow her lead! Money? Pennies only, I assure you. At least that was the rule.’ He frowned. ‘Dear God, shouldn’t be speaking ill of the dead, should I? I wonder why she liked you – no, please, don’t take that the wrong way. But she had been known to reduce young ladies to tears. Between ourselves, young men too. Come, Cousin: you said she was kind to you, but what impression did you get of her over all?’
If she had been a man, she might have tugged her moustache while she considered.
‘Do you know, I wonder if she was being kind to me simply to be unkind to others? She gave me a detailed commentary on several lives, in a voice that was meant to carry. She might even have been – how can I put this – making my life worse by drawing attention to me. But I did not think either of these things at the time. I just felt grateful to have someone talking to me.’ From her tiny gasp she realized – too late – that she had just made, by implication, a decided criticism of his wife.
He shot a look at her under his scarred brows. Though he opened his mouth to speak, he shut it firmly again. Reaching for another drop scone, he asked, ‘I suppose she didn’t suggest that you might play cards with her?’
‘No. She kindly introduced me to another guest, Lady Pidgeon.’
‘Interesting choice.’ He stared at her but said no more.
‘It transpired that we share a love of books.’
‘And you and Mason said something about carrying her?’
‘Matthew and I found ourselves involved in some of the rescue work.’
‘And nearly made damned fools of yourselves when that lightning struck. Lady Pidgeon, now … did you know her husband stood as one of the umpires?’
‘Is he an old friend?’ I asked, almost absently.
‘Bit of an old duffer, now, truth to tell, isn’t he? It’s a good job he didn’t have to give any leg-before-wicket decisions – I think he was asleep on his feet, most of the time. All that brandy – no longer sound in the head, poor devil. But he does love to be involved. Don’t know about next year, mind – as you saw, the other umpire had to remind him to call “over” and so on. Sad, very sad. But sometimes – no, he’s not always the gentle doddering old soul people see.’
I nodded. ‘He was very angry when the village umpire abandoned the game.’
There was an awkward silence.
‘How did you recruit your team?’ Harriet asked, stepping in to break it.
‘Mostly neighbours. Some of Hortensia’s old friends volunteered their husbands, you might say.’
‘And the youngsters? Young Lord Webbe, for instance – he’s quite a different generation from some of the other players.’
‘Got to involve the young sooner or later: got to keep the tradition going. Important for country life. That’s why I keep going, damn it. Tradition. He’s my godson: I knew his father. Broke his neck on the hunting field. Young Forsyth’s another godson. I’m not sure why that young man with the stammer is here – something to do with the rector, I fancy. Or another godson. Can’t keep up with them all. Turpin or something. He’s going into the Church, you know. Ah! I suppose I could get him to lead the service tonight. No. Perhaps not. Useless batsman too.’
‘You wouldn’t have the team-sheet about you?’ I asked. ‘So we can check we’ve missed no one.’
‘In my study. Remind me.’
‘Barrington, can you tell me anything about Mr Jameson? I beg your pardon – Major Jameson.’
‘What about him?’
‘It’s just that I really know nothing about him.’ Barrington did not respond to my smile. I ploughed on. ‘He and I got off on the wrong foot, didn’t we? I still don’t know how I offended him.’
‘Well, you certainly annoyed him when you took over the practice session. An officer expects subalterns to obey orders, you know.’ He spoke fine words but looked decidedly shifty.
I could not let the subject go. ‘And he was very … outspoken …’ I stopped. I was being pusillanimous when Harriet had been brave. ‘Let me be clearer. He was actually very rude indeed, when Harriet took that catch. Extremely offensive.’
‘That’s just his way. Like me. As I said, used to giving orders, used to having them obeyed.’ By now he was clearly very uncomfortable. ‘I’ll have a quiet word, shall I?’
As if to head off trouble, Harriet smiled her housekeeper’s professional smile. ‘This coffee is almost cold. Shall I ring for more, Cousin Barrington?’
‘Pretty well finished here, I’d have thought,’ he blustered.
‘So we are. Though I suppose we could use the time to start constructing a timetable, a big one, so we can plot everyone’s movements.’
‘You’ll need big sheets of paper … Very big,’ he added doubtfully. He rang.
Mason’s face was a study. ‘Very big sheets, sir?’
Cousin Barrington looked at me. I looked at Harriet.
‘You may need glue,’ she said. ‘Unless any of the rooms has been hung with wallpaper recently? Ceiling paper would be ideal – something plain.’
‘I will see what I can do, ma’am,’ he said, backing out.
‘One moment,’ I added. ‘We will need something to attach it to, something we can prop up. Not a door, with panels. Something flat.’
‘Like a teacher’s blackboard and easel, sir?’
‘Exactly that, please, Mason,’ Harriet said, with her most winning grin.