Ten

Drew went into the garden after Tal, who was grieving and so didn’t mean what he’d just said. Still, there was no need to make a bad situation worse. He found Tal pacing the grass, sometimes steering clear of the carefully tended flower beds and sometimes not.

“Look here, Tal—”

“Have you come to tell me what a beast I am?”

Drew shook his head. “We all understand what a rough go you’ve had of it. But she has too, you know.”

“I know.” Tal sank down onto a marble bench beneath the weeping willow and put his head in his hands. “All this is hard enough without seeing what it’s done to her.”

“We’ve all been rather on edge, but perhaps she’s had it the worst, what with finding out about your father and you losing Alice that way. I think most mothers would rather be hurt themselves than have to bear the hurt of their children.” Drew shoved his hands into his pockets. “She’d make it all better for you if she could.”

Tal looked up at the cloudless sky with a groan. “Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think I feel an absolute swine for snapping at her? She thinks she can fix everything with a jam bun and a cup of tea. I know she means well, but it’s not enough. Some things just can’t be fixed.”

The fierceness in his expression faded as quickly as it had come, and he put his head in his hands once again. “You saw her at dinner last night, nearly falling to pieces over a bent fork and a cracked plate.”

“I’m sorry. It’s always the little things, isn’t it?”

“Doesn’t help that I can’t manage to be civil, either.”

Drew shrugged. “She seems a bit lost these days. Without your father to lean on and all. I expect you feel the same way, but maybe the two of you could lean on each other now.”

“We’re all we have left, aren’t we? And you know how Mum is. Even when the world is coming down around my ears, I know she’s there for me.”

“It’s a good thing to know.”

Tal managed a crooked smile. “It is that.”

Drew clapped him on the back. “Maybe you ought to tell her so.”

Tal said nothing for a moment, and then he nodded. “I suppose I ought. Thanks, old man.”

Drew got to his feet. “Ready to go back?”

Tal made a wry face and stood, too. “You don’t have a healthy portion of humble pie on you by any chance, do you?”

Drew chuckled. “Sorry, no. But you tell her anyway. See if it doesn’t help.”

They walked back toward the terrace, but Tal stopped before they reached it. “No.”

Drew stopped beside him and studied his wan face. “What is it, Tal?”

“I can’t do this, Drew. I can’t keep pretending things are all right, that they’re ever going to be all right.” He caught a quivering breath. “I can’t go tell my mother I’ll help her get through this when I don’t know if I can even get through it myself. I feel as if I’ll go mad caged up here, knowing my father had help doing what he did and not know who’s in it with him or what lengths he’ll go to stay hidden.”

Drew couldn’t say he didn’t have the same fears, especially with Madeline and Carrie staying at Winteroak, but he wasn’t going to let those fears make him turn tail and let a murderer go free. For now, though, he just wanted to help Tal make it through the morning.

“Maybe you ought to get away from the house for a bit. I don’t mean leave the country or anything, but maybe just take a drive or a walk. Clear your head. You should have gone to the cinema with the others last night. Would have done you good. Better than shutting yourself up as you have. I haven’t seen you all morning. Not until now.”

Tal shrugged. “Don’t know where I’d go. Everything seems so . . . useless.”

“We’re going to find out who killed her, Tal.” Drew took hold of his shoulders, looking steadily into his pain-dulled eyes. “We’re going to find out what happened and who was helping your father. It’s going to stop, do you hear me? You just have to hold on. Your mother needs you.”

Tal said nothing, and Drew began to wonder if he’d even heard.

Then Tal took in a deep, strengthening breath of the fresh salt air and nodded. “Yes. Of course she does. Come on.”

Carrie and Nick had joined Madeline and Mrs. Cummins on the terrace by the time Drew and Tal came around to the back of the house once again.

Tal leaned over and kissed his mother’s cheek and murmured a swift apology. Mrs. Cummins’s worried face suddenly bloomed, and she patted his hand. That was all, but it was clearly enough. Tal seemed more at ease afterward.

“We’ve just had a wonderful idea,” Madeline said, pulling Drew down onto the bench beside her. “What do you think, Tal? We were just talking about the Little Abbey. I hear it’s very pretty this time of year.”

“Is it very old?” Carrie asked.

“I, uh, yes.” Tal cleared his throat. “It was built in 1123 and then dissolved and abandoned in Henry VIII’s time. They took the roof off for the lead, and the locals used the stones for their houses, so there’s not all that much left of it. But it’s a pretty place. There are still three walls, some steps, and nice stone tracery, and the walk through the forest up to it is rather pretty, too.”

“May we go see it?” Carrie asked. “It’s not too far to go, is it?”

“Perhaps a half-hour’s walk is all. A bit more if you take the path round by Claridge Rindle. It’s quite lovely, in fact.”

Madeline glanced at Drew, then turned a warm smile on Tal. “We were thinking, if you’d like, that it might be nice to go see it.”

“There you go, Tal,” Drew said. “It’d make a welcome change, wouldn’t it? You can be our tour guide and point out all the sights, and I daresay we’ll be back just in time for lunch. What do you think?”

“Well, I . . .” Tal hesitated, catching the hopeful look on his mother’s face, and then managed a small smile. “It might not be a bad idea, after all.” He squeezed his mother’s hand. “Provided we all go.”

Mrs. Cummins beamed at him. “Oh, yes! But really, we ought to invite Mr. Laurent to come, too.”

“Mother,” Tal protested.

“Now, yes, we should. The police haven’t found that he’s done anything wrong, and there’s really no reason you shouldn’t be friends with him. He’s our guest, and it’s not right him being left out.”

“Actually, ma’am,” Drew said, “I believe he went down to his yacht earlier this morning. I heard his valet telling the cook he wouldn’t be in for lunch.”

“Oh.” A little pucker formed between Mrs. Cummins’s brows. “I suppose that’s all right, then. Perhaps that’s the way they do it in France. Well, never mind. I’ll just go put on my walking shoes and won’t be a minute.” She hurried away.

Madeline frowned. “He might have let her know himself.” She sighed and looked down at her own shoes. “I suppose these will do for a half-hour walk. How about yours, Carrie?”

“They’re fine,” Carrie said, half distracted as she looked around the garden and out toward the beach. “You two haven’t seen Billy, have you? I told him if he was late coming to lunch again today, he’d just have to do without. I don’t know why everyone should have to wait for him to show up every day.”

“Oh, he’s all right,” Nick told her. “At least he’s been keeping himself busy and not staring at us every minute.”

“I saw him earlier,” Drew said. “He looked as if he was headed down to the beach, and he seemed rather pleased with himself.”

“Did he tell you where he was going?” Carrie asked. “At least he wasn’t searching the house again.”

“He didn’t say anything to me,” said Drew. “He and the vicar were having a talk. Then Will just grinned at me and hurried off.”

Carrie rolled her eyes. “He’s driving me crazy with this detective business.”

“Shall I go down and fetch him?” Nick asked, and she frowned.

“No, it’s all right. He’ll be in when he feels like it.”

A moment later, Mrs. Cummins came back onto the terrace wearing what were no doubt her most sensible shoes. “I think this walk will be just what we all need. Everyone ready?”

Beddows appeared in the doorway and made a bow. “Beg pardon, madam. The Reverend Mr. Broadhurst is here to see you.”

Mrs. Cummins bit her lip. “Oh, dear. He did say he was coming today. I completely forgot. I hope you will all excuse me.”

“Couldn’t you see him another time, Mother?” Tal asked.

“He could come along with us,” Madeline suggested.

“You’d all better go along,” Mrs. Cummins said. “I know he has several calls to make today, and I don’t want to keep him too long. Just enjoy yourselves and be back in plenty of time for lunch.”

The walk up to Little Abbey and back was a pleasant one, and by the time they returned to Winteroak House, everyone was in better spirits. Even Tal was eager for lunch. But when they all trooped into the dining room, Mrs. Cummins told them they would have to wait.

“Miss Holland’s brother hasn’t come back from his walk yet,” she said. “We really shouldn’t start without him.”

They sat down at the table anyway and told Mrs. Cummins about their visit to the abbey. Drew tried to ignore the tantalizing smell of roast chicken and vegetables coming from the kitchen and hoped his stomach wouldn’t decide to growl.

“How is Mr. Broadhurst?” Madeline asked after a while. “I wish he could have come with us. I wanted to talk to him about his charities.”

Mrs. Cummins smiled fondly. “He couldn’t stay long, I’m afraid. But he only came by to see how we were doing. He was so pleased to know you were all out getting some fresh air and sunshine. He takes such good care of his flock.” There was a lull in the conversation, and she looked worriedly at the clock above the fireplace.

“I’m sorry my brother’s being so inconsiderate,” Carrie said, looking at her wristwatch. “Why don’t we go ahead and eat? There’s really no need for everyone to wait for him.”

“I suppose it would be all right,” Mrs. Cummins said. “If you’re sure he won’t mind.”

She rang the bell, and Beryl came into the dining room wearing a cap and apron that clearly belonged to someone else.

“Yes, madam?”

“We will begin now, thank you,” Mrs. Cummins told her. “And please tell Cook to put something by for when Mr. Holland comes in.”

“Yes, madam. Right away.”

She curtsied, beaming when Madeline gave her a subtle nod of approval, and then hurried back into the kitchen. A moment later, she was back.

“I beg your pardon, madam, but the cook says to tell you she wouldn’t be surprised if the chicken is dry as last week, having to keep it warm so long and all.” She glanced at Madeline and made another curtsy. “I beg your pardon.”

Drew chuckled when she was gone. “At least we’ll know why.”

“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Cummins said. “You must all forgive me. If it’s overcooked, then certainly we shall have something else.”

She reached for the bell, but Tal stopped her.

“Don’t be silly, Mother. No matter how late we sit down, have you ever known Mrs. Ruggles’s chicken to be anything but delicious?”

She chuckled softly. “I suppose you’re right. Well, I’m just not going to worry. At the worst, we can all eat the cake she made this morning.”

Drew and Nick exchanged glances at the mention of cake.

“Did you happen to notice what variety of cake she made?” Drew asked.

“Chocolate.” She smiled at her son. “Tal’s favorite.”

That won a faint smile from Tal in return. “I’d as soon start with that as chicken.”

“Now, Tibby—” She broke off at a muffled thud and then a clatter from the direction of the kitchen and was immediately on her feet. “If Cook has broken another of my serving platters!”

Her threat unfinished, she scurried out of the dining room, leaving her puzzled guests behind.

“That didn’t much sound like a serving platter,” Drew said. “A serving platter would be more of a crash than a thud. That was—”

A shriek pierced the air.

Tal shoved his chair back and leapt to his feet. “What in the world—?”

Drew was immediately beside him, not liking the profound horror in the sound. “We’d best go see. Nick, look after things here.”

Tal was already out of the dining room and into the kitchen before Drew caught up to him. The cook was standing at the open pantry door, rolling pin at the ready, wide-eyed and determined to take on whatever had dared invade her hallowed domain. Beryl fled up the stairs, almost running the two men down.

“Oh, sir! Mr. Drew! It’s horrid! Down—down there! Oh, hurry! Please, please, hurry!”

By then several of the other servants were peeping into the pantry, gawking and murmuring among themselves.

“See to her,” Drew called back to the cook as he scrambled down after Tal.

The wine cellar was lit by a single shaded bulb overhead, a bulb that illuminated Mrs. Cummins’s bloodless face and bloodied hands.

“Oh, Tibby,” she breathed and fell senseless into her son’s arms.

Behind her, a body lay sprawled on its side and stained with blood, half concealed by the two wine barrels that had fallen, crushing the head. Drew recognized the clothes immediately.

“Will.”

Tal looked at Drew, his face as white as his mother’s. “Drew—”

“Take her up the back way and put her to bed. I’ll clear everyone out upstairs.” Drew glanced at the body, another life snuffed out in an instant. “Just stay with her.”

Tal nodded blankly, then realization came into his face. “You can’t possibly think she—”

“I don’t think anything.” What am I going to say to Carrie? “Just take her upstairs.”

Drew went up to the pantry ahead of him. Beddows the butler was peering down the stairs, the rest of the staff trying to see into the wine cellar from behind him.

“There’s been an accident,” Drew told him. “Clear everyone out of the kitchen, if you would, and see they stay out. And be so good as to ring up Dr. Fletcher and the police.”

At the mention of the police, several of the staff stared at each other while the butler nodded.

“Very good, sir.” Beddows turned to his subordinates and gave a sharp clap of his hands. “Clear the room, if you please. You all have duties to see to. You will be sent for if you are required.”

Mrs. Ruggles was at the kitchen table with Beryl, sobbing against her shoulder. She looked at Drew questioningly.

“Stay there, if you will,” he said to her as Beddows ushered the others out. “I need to talk to Beryl, and I’m sure she’ll do a great deal better if you’re here to help her along.”

Beryl looked up, eyes and nose and lips red and swollen, and then she saw Tal come out of the pantry carrying his still-unconscious mother. “Oh, sir.”

Tal never glanced her way, never looked at any of them. He hurried up the back stairway and out of sight.

Drew sat at the table across from the two women. “All right, Beryl, I know this is upsetting for you, but you must tell me everything you remember while it’s still fresh in your mind.”

“Oh, Mr. Drew, I shall never be able to forget it. And him lying there with his head bashed in.”

Mrs. Ruggles made little shushing noises and pressed a dry serviette into her hands, replacing the one she had already soaked with tears.

“I’m sorry,” Drew said. “We’ll try to make this as brief as possible. Tell me what happened. What did you see when you went down to the wine cellar?”

Beryl sniffled and wiped her nose. “I . . . I heard that great clatter, so I went down to see what it was. And th-there he was, just like you saw him, Mr. Drew.”

She began to sob again, and Drew pressed his lips together, waiting for her to calm, knowing he had perhaps a minute or two more before the girls pushed their way in and demanded to know what the row was about. Finally, Beryl looked up at him again.

“And where was Mrs. Cummins?”

“She was up in the pantry, sir. I suppose she heard the clatter too and came down after she heard me scream.”

“I see. And how do you suppose she got blood on her?”

“She was trying to help him. She . . . I didn’t think to even go to him, sir, I was that upset. I don’t know how she could bear it, t-touching him, but I suppose she went to see if there was something could be done.”

“Did you see anything else,” Drew asked. “Anything that might tell us more about what happened?”

“No, sir. I expect he was down there, and those barrels fell on him. Poor Miss Holland, she’s going to be ever so cut up over it.”

Drew bit his lip, not liking to think of that just yet, not liking to think of any of this. It would certainly be quite a coincidence if such an “accident” was unrelated to the murder that had already taken place at Winteroak House.

“Sir?” Mrs. Ruggles said, something in her tone telling him she had been obliged to repeat herself to get his attention. “If you’ve done, perhaps she ought to go lie down for a bit.”

“Oh, yes. Yes, of course. I’ll need a word with you when you’ve got her settled in.”

“Right, sir. Just as you say.”

The cook was just helping the maid up the back stairs when Nick stuck his head in the kitchen doorway. “There you are. What’s going on? I daresay it wasn’t a broken serving platter that’s pulled all the color out of your face.”

Drew stood and went to him, making his voice low. “It’s bad, Nick. Very bad. We have to keep Carrie and Madeline out of—”

“Keep us out of what?” Madeline said as she pushed open the kitchen door. Her expression was mild, but there was something in her eyes that would not be gainsaid.

Carrie was just behind her. “Drew, what’s happened? You know Billy will have a fit if he missed out on something to do with the case. He always . . .” She faltered, looking questioningly at Drew and then at Madeline and Nick. “Tell me what’s happened.”

“Drew,” Madeline pled, her voice barely audible.

“You’d better sit down,” he said. “Both of you.”

“It’s Billy,” Carrie cried, lunging toward the pantry. “Something’s happened to Billy!”

Nick caught her before she could take more than a step. “Wait.”

“What is it?” she asked, taking hold of his coat with both hands. “Nick, what is it? Where’s Billy?”

“I don’t know.”

He looked desperately at Drew and then urged Carrie into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. Madeline sank into one across from them, and Drew sat beside her.

He took her hand and looked over at Carrie. “I’m sorry. It’s . . . it’s your brother.”

Tears spilled down Carrie’s porcelain cheeks. “Please, tell me what’s happened. Has he been hurt?”

Drew shook his head. “I’m afraid he’s dead.”