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THEY FOUND THE OBJECT of their search curled up on a settee in the sunroom, a blanket wrapped around her and an untouched cup of tea sitting on a tray nearby.
“Grace?” Rosemary asked quietly, not wanting to startle the poor girl. Normally, Grace was a good-looking woman. A woman of great character with a quiet air about her, though on this day, she'd gone all puffy from crying. Not that anyone could blame her for such a typical response. At the sound of Rosemary’s voice, Grace sat up a little straighter and motioned for her guests to take a seat.
“Please, accept my apologies for my appearance. I’m unable to dredge up the will to make myself presentable today.”
Grace gave Vera’s posh outfit an up-and-down look, but made no comment even though her eyes lingered over the handbag Rosemary had to admit was a statement piece if she had ever seen one. Where Vera had procured the vibrant pink-and-black patent-leather work of art, Rosemary could not begin to guess. However, what they didn’t need at that moment was to make Grace feel like a wilting flower, and this was one of the few occasions when Rosemary wished her friend could be a little less fabulous.
Any irritation she might have felt evaporated—as usual—when Vera seated herself and tenderly took Grace’s hand in hers. “You have nothing to apologize for, my dear, you have been through a horrific ordeal, and are more than entitled to take a day off from titivating yourself.” The sincerity with which she spoke the words seeped through Grace’s despair, and she allowed a small smile to play across her lips.
“Vera is right,” Rosemary agreed. “We certainly didn’t expect to find you in high spirits. Tell us, how are you faring?”
“I’ve been better,” Grace admitted. “The image of Uncle Ernest just keeps swimming up behind my eyes. Sleep did not come easy, and so Mother gave me a sedative. All it did was ensure I was unable to wake from my nightmares.” She shivered and pulled the blanket a little closer around her shoulders.
Rosemary was unsure what tactic to use on the poor woman. On one hand, the police were interested in Grace’s relationship with her father and considered her alibi for the time of the murder as something of import. On the other, she did not seem to have any motive for harming Mr. Cuthburt and appeared an innocent victim whom Rosemary was loath to interrogate.
“Have the police been round to question you yet?” It seemed a safe enough question.
Grace’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, that Inspector Whittington was here earlier this morning. He seems to think I may have killed Uncle Ernest, and that I mistook him for my father. What kind of person would do such a thing?” Either Grace was one of the most naïve young women to ever walk the earth, or she was a psychopath capable of just about anything. Rosemary’s opinion leaned in one direction, but she couldn’t discount the other.
“People have a way of surprising you, and it’s not always pleasant,” Rosemary murmured.
Grace blinked. “You believe me, don’t you?” she asked.
“Of course, we do,” Vera answered quickly, patting Grace’s hand again. “Don’t we, Rosie?”
“I can’t believe you had anything to do with this, Grace. But we need to think like the police if we are going to clear you of suspicion and solve this crime. It’s imperative that you be honest and transparent. Can you do that?” Rosemary pierced Grace with a look, though she felt terrible about having to do so.
“Yes, I can. What do you need to know?”
“Firstly,” Rosemary began as she took a seat across from Grace and Vera, “is there anything you can tell us about Mr. Cuthburt? Anything that might be a motive to kill him?”
After a moment’s thought, Grace shook her head. “Nothing I can think of. I’ve heard Father talk about how much he’s changed since the war, and I’ve got the impression he wasn’t always a good man. But surely that’s just Father being dramatic. Uncle Ernest has always doted on Teddy and me, and I can’t imagine what he could have done to gain such a reputation. Surely he couldn’t have been involved in anything that would have got him killed.” Her voice held a heavy note of incredulity, and Rosemary decided that perhaps she’d hit the nail on the head thinking of Grace as naïve.
“All right, let’s focus on the theory that your father might have been the intended victim. What about the arrangement between your father and Herbert Lock? I believe the police think you may have harbored resentment towards your father for his part in attempting to pair you with that man.”
“Well, I have not been pleased with father for suggesting the arrangement. I met Herbert at a dinner party my mother threw a few months ago. She knows a cousin of his, and the cousin talked Herbert up as my perfect match. From the sounds of it, he was well off and single. That’s all my mother would have needed to hear. He seemed all right, at least at first. Spent more time talking to my father than he did me, and it rubbed me up the wrong way. Later he claimed he had found me so enchanting that he wanted to ensure good favor with my family, and that was why he had attempted to chum up with Father. Now, I know that to be a blatant lie, but for some reason, Father still believes him a viable suitor. As if I need my parents’ help to find a husband.” Grace looked like she might like to spit or say something uncomplimentary, but refrained.
Interesting, Rosemary thought, noting the slight change in Grace’s tone during the last part of her diatribe. “Is there someone else in your life, Grace? Someone you would rather marry than Herbert Lock?” she said out loud.
Grace’s eyes widened slightly, and her jaw wavered. “No. No, there isn’t anyone else.”
Rosemary caught Vera’s eye, and Vera returned a wink. Grace had something to hide.
“You can tell us, you know. We promise to keep that information to ourselves.” Unless it becomes necessary to divulge it, Rosemary added to herself. She would protect Grace for as long as possible, but if it came to light she had any part in Mr. Cuthburt’s murder, Rosemary would go to Max with whatever pertinent information she had gathered.
“There is nothing to tell,” Grace insisted. “But if you ask me, the police ought to focus on Herbert. He has a nasty streak a mile wide, and I wouldn’t put anything past him.”
“What motive could he have for killing your Uncle Ernest?” Rosemary wanted to know, and more so wanted to understand why Grace would think it.
“Perhaps he thought if he got Uncle Ernest out of the way, Father would need a new business associate,” Grace speculated. “Or, maybe he was trying to get Father out of the picture, believing I might marry him in my hour of grief. Then, he would have access to any funds I might inherit.”
Grace’s thoughts circled the same path Rosemary’s had done, but hearing Grace say them out loud shook Rosemary’s confidence in the theory. It was too easy, and she didn’t believe that someone like Herbert Lock would perpetrate such a crime with a flimsy motive.
She did, however, know that Grace was hiding something, and had every intention of finding out what.
“Do you know what’s even more concerning? That letter I found in Father’s study has disappeared. I heard him arguing with Mother about it after Inspector Whittington had taken his leave. It was the only clue as to who might have wanted to cause him harm, and it’s gone.” Grace sniffled. “Now, it looks as though I lied about its existence. And, to top it all off, Father knows someone was in his study before the murder, and he’s furious. If he discovers it was me...”
“You aren’t scared of him, are you, Grace?” Vera asked with wide eyes.
Grace grimaced. “Not in the way it sounds. I know he would never physically hurt me, but he can be quite harsh when backed into a corner. He will never trust me again, and will most likely push for my engagement to Herbert just out of spite.”
“You’re being rather dramatic, don't you think, Grace?” The voice of Mrs. Barton intruded upon the conversation, and Rosemary wondered how long the woman had been standing in the doorway before making her presence known. “You ought to have known better than to intrude on your father’s privacy. However, I fear having Herbert Lock for a husband would be more punishment than you deserve so I will keep your secret.”
Rosemary half expected Eva Barton to tell her daughter she now owed her a debt, but the woman left it at that, cast a scathing look toward the two guests, and exited the room as quietly as she had entered.
