Twelve
When Drew stepped outside, he saw that Nick was gone and two elderly ladies had taken his place on the bench with the distraught secretary.
“He said to tell you he’s gone for the police,” one of them said as she supplied Miss Grahame with a fresh handkerchief and nodded toward the milliner’s shop next door. “We wanted to take the poor dear into our place and give her some tea, but he thought we’d better not, at least until you came back.”
“Yes, better to wait,” Drew said, seeing Ranald and Shaw and a pair of constables following Nick back down the high street. “The inspector will want to talk to her.”
“Why am I not surprised to find you mixed up in this, Mr. Farthering?” the inspector growled when he reached Barnaby’s office.
“I suppose Mr. Dennison told you why we happened to be here,” Drew said, “and I have to say I’m glad we were. For Miss Grahame’s sake, I mean.”
Ranald turned to the woman huddled on the bench. “I’ll have to ask you a few questions, Miss Grahame, if you’ll be so kind as to come into the office here.”
Miss Grahame looked at Drew, terror on her tear-blotched face.
“Mightn’t she go with the ladies into their shop until she’s a bit calmer?” Drew asked. “There’s no need for her to go back inside at all, is there?”
Shaw nodded. “We’ll get much more of use from her, sir, when she’s had a chance to settle down.”
Ranald gave the sergeant a curt nod, and Shaw helped Miss Grahame into the shop. The two older ladies stood to follow her, and Ranald looked at them narrowly. “I’ll have to ask what you have seen, as well.”
The women looked at each other, wide-eyed.
“Nothing, Inspector,” the one with the handkerchief said. “We heard the poor dear scream and came out to see what the matter was.”
“It was horrible just to hear her tell it,” said the other. “I shan’t sleep, I tell you.”
“All right then, Mrs. Dundee,” the inspector said, his mouth taut with impatience. “I want you both and Miss Grahame to stay in your shop till I can come speak to you.”
“Oh, yes. Certainly, certainly.”
“We’ll send Dr. Portland over to see to Miss Grahame,” Shaw told them, “as soon as he’s had a look here.”
The two women hurried off, whispering and looking back, and Ranald gestured toward the still-open door to the office.
“I suppose you have no objections, Mr. Farthering?”
“None,” Drew said, “though I can’t tell you more than you can see for yourself.”
Ranald posted his two constables outside the door just as Shaw emerged from the milliner’s, and Drew and Nick followed the inspector and his sergeant inside.
Drew and Nick were late for lunch. Mrs. Drummond’s close-set little eyes were round with a peculiar mix of fear and excitement as she served the meal and listened in on Drew’s description of the morning’s events.
“Poor Miss Grahame found him there? And after almost two days? Mercy.”
She thumped a plate of minced collops and tatties down in front of Madeline, who looked at it warily. It was just ground beef, onion, and oats with a side of potatoes, but no doubt it looked rather suspect to the uninitiated.
“Yes, I’m sorry to say,” Drew said. “She’s been quite upset.”
“I can well imagine, sir.” Mrs. Drummond’s Scottish burr thickened with her excitement. “Mrs. Dunn says he’d been dead since Saturday night, slumped over his desk and already starting to spoil.”
Nick set his fork down and drank a bit of water.
Carrie pushed her plate away untouched and contemplated her bouquet of wildflowers instead. “There can never be just one.”
“Dr. Portland’s had his hands full,” Mrs. Drummond agreed, setting down the finnan haddie chowder and a potato-cabbage-cheese dish she called rumbledethumps. “He hasn’t had so much coroner work since I can’t say when. Now, what else can I get for you? More of the collops?”
Once they had assured her they didn’t want anything more, she hurried back to the kitchen.
Madeline picked at her food, and then seeing Drew watching her, she coolly took a large bite of the chowder.
“I never thought I’d be pining for our Chief Inspector Birdsong,” Drew said, starting on his own plate. “He might grumble and grouse, but he would at least tell us a bit more about what happened.”
“They can’t blame this one on Kuznetsov,” Nick said. “Someone must have had that wine bottle ready for him, don’t you think?”
Carrie pressed her lips together. “I don’t suppose you could just leave this one alone? Either of you?” Drew and Nick both looked at her, and she sighed. “No, I don’t suppose you could.”
“Carrie,” Madeline began, but her friend stopped her.
“I’m going upstairs now,” she said, laying her napkin aside. “I’m sure you’ll all want to go find out every lurid detail. When you’re through, let me know.”
She stood, the bouquet in one hand, and Drew and Nick immediately got to their feet.
“Carrie.” Nick grabbed her hand. “Please don’t go.”
She freed herself and made it to the dining room door before he caught her again.
“Carrie.”
She tried to pull away again, but this time he wouldn’t let her. He leaned down a little, his whispers urgent, and gradually her expression softened. She said something in reply, and he pressed a fervent kiss to her hand. Then he let her go, and she disappeared into the corridor.
He returned to the table. “I’m going to leave the sleuthing to you for a bit, old man,” he told Drew. “Carrie and I will be spending the rest of the day taking in the sights. If nothing else, there’s a great lot of water to look at.”
“Good,” Madeline said, giving his arm a squeeze. “That’s a wonderful idea.”
“I don’t expect there’s much we’ll be able to find out about the investigation right off, anyway,” Drew said. “Ranald will probably be playing it close as usual. Madeline and I will see what we can dig up on our own and report back later. Meanwhile, you’d better see to your young lady. You’re not likely to find another who’ll put up with your foolishness.”
“I’m quite sure of that,” Nick said, and with a grin he sprinted off.
“I hope it’s not too late,” Drew said once he had gone. “I feel bad for them both, especially with this new incident.”
“It certainly hasn’t helped.” Madeline took another bite of the rumbledethumps. “I can’t imagine Inspector Ranald won’t be interested in that will now. And in Lady Rainsby.”
“I suppose they will want to talk to her about it,” Drew said. “I don’t know why, but for some reason the poison surprises me.”
“Why should it? Though it does show premeditation, and it’s almost sure he must have known whoever brought him the wine. Count Kuznetsov isn’t in a position to have given it to him.”
“Seems logical.”
They ate in silence for a few minutes more. Madeline was right. Unless he had a confederate, Kuznetsov couldn’t have been involved in Barnaby’s murder.
“I suppose,” Drew said, “the wine could have been in Barnaby’s possession some time before he actually drank any of it.”
“You mean like Lord Rainsby’s saddle. Someone planned it ahead of time.”
“Perhaps.” Drew ate more of the chowder. It was actually rather good. “We need a great deal more information before we can start to theorize about it, and Ranald isn’t likely to tell us a thing.”
Madeline smiled over her glass. “Maybe I could ask him.”
“As charming as he would no doubt find that, I really haven’t time to be detained for assaulting a police officer.”
“Then what can we do?”
“Well, to begin with, I’m hoping Sergeant Shaw can tell us more about Mr. Barnaby himself.”
Once they’d finished their lunch and settled the bill, Drew and Madeline walked back to Hugh Barnaby’s office. Drew tipped his hat to the weary-looking officer standing guard at the door. “Good afternoon, Constable.”
“Afternoon, sir. I beg your pardon, but there’s a police investigation on these premises, and I’ll have to ask you and the lady to stay clear.”
“Yes,” Drew said, “I was here when the body was found. Might I ask if Inspector Ranald is still present?”
“Not just now, sir. I believe the inspector’s gone back to the station, if you’d care to call for him there.”
“No, no. It’s not as urgent as all that. Perhaps Sergeant Shaw is still here.”
“He is, sir, but I’m not sure—”
“Never mind, Rodgers,” Shaw said as he came down the front steps. “I’ll see to this gentleman. You go inside and help Yellin with those files.”
“Right you are, Sergeant.”
The sergeant waited until Rodgers had gone into the building before he said anything. “I suppose the gossip’s already got round the village.”
“There’s nothing swifter,” Drew said, and turned to Madeline. “You remember the highly recommended Sergeant Shaw, darling. Sergeant, I trust you haven’t forgotten my wife.”
“That would be very difficult, sir.” Shaw gave her a nod. “Mrs. Farthering, ma’am.”
“I understand the inspector has returned to the police station,” Drew said. “Does that mean you might be willing to tell us a bit more about the case? I don’t doubt you’ve turned up some important evidence while I was away.”
Shaw took a quick glance down the street and then up the other way. “I could tell you a few things,” he said, lowering his voice, “but only because Chief Inspector Birdsong says you might have a thought or two worth hearing, and because he says you’re all right.”
Madeline gave him a most charming smile. “He’s a nice man, isn’t he? Even if he pretends not to be.”
“Yes, ma’am. And he was always fair to us men, even if the pay wasn’t enough to keep a cat on.”
“Pity,” Drew said. “I’d still like to hear what you’ve found out.”
Shaw shrugged. “There’s not all that much more since you were here, sir. The doctor says the victim died on Saturday night or very early Sunday morning as a result of taking poison. He wasn’t sure about the exact type of poison yet, but he suspects arsenic. As you saw yourself, some papers and perhaps other things were taken.”
“Rather an odd sort of robbery,” Drew observed. “Seems more like there were documents the murderer wanted, things not valuable to anyone but the murderer himself perhaps?”
“That could be the way of it, sir. A solicitor isn’t usually in possession of items that have intrinsic value, but he does have information regarding wills and estates and other things that might be worth a great deal to other parties not normally privileged to see them.”
Drew peered into the doorway, not actually stepping into the building. “I take it the poison was in the wine bottle.”
“We haven’t done extensive testing as yet, but the coroner did say the man was poisoned and certainly there’s poison in the bottle.”
Drew moved closer to the door, but Shaw stood his ground.
“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t let anyone in unless he’s officially connected with the investigation. Inspector Ranald’s orders.”
Drew winced. “He didn’t happen to name any parties specifically, did he?”
“I’m afraid the inspector doesn’t care for amateur sleuths, sir. Not even in books.”
Madeline’s lips twitched, though she managed not to laugh.
“Perhaps my wife and I can help you puzzle this case out, along with the Rainsby matter,” Drew said, giving her a reproving look, “and get you a nice promotion in the bargain. How would that be?”
One side of Shaw’s mouth turned up. “Can’t say I’d complain, sir, but it’d be you who’d get the accolades, not me.”
“Our names need not appear,” Drew assured him. “I never did much care for those newspaper accounts, anyway. They almost always get everything wrong.” He gave the officer a hopeful look and nodded toward the doorway once more.
Shaw shook his head. “Chief Inspector Birdsong tells me you can both be trusted to keep confidential information confidential, so I’ll tell you what I can about the case. But I won’t be able to let you inside, not as long as there are orders to the contrary.”
“I’ll concede defeat,” Drew said with a sigh. “But aren’t you ordered not to speak to me about the case, as well? In your official capacity, of course.”
“That, sir, was not mentioned. Now, if Inspector Ranald were to see you and me standing here chatting, it might be mentioned, so we’d ought to take care he doesn’t, eh?”
“That seems to be advised in this instance.” Drew took another look up and down the street. “Before any of your mates come down to see what you’re up to, what else can you tell me about Barnaby?”
“Not much, I’m afraid. As you saw, someone tried to break open a drawer in Mr. Barnaby’s desk. The locksmith is up there now opening it for us.”
Madeline tilted her head to one side. “Why do you suppose there was only one glass?”
“There was another found broken in the alleyway behind the office,” Shaw told her. “Both are being checked for fingerprints, though it seems quite likely there will be either none or Mr. Barnaby’s only.”
Drew nodded. “More than likely. What else?”
“Not much more of note. Not yet. But, uh . . .” Shaw glanced back into the building, hearing footsteps. “If there is, there’s always The Brassie and Cleek. Fair enough?”
Drew shook his head. “I think that will do nicely.”
He and Madeline slipped away just as Shaw was called back inside.
“Perhaps,” Drew said, taking his wife’s arm, “there’s more we can find out on our own. Mrs. Drummond was kind enough to give me the late Mr. Barnaby’s home address.”
Mr. Barnaby lived in a stylish Georgian home not half a mile from his office. Drew knocked on the front door, and after a silent moment, he and Madeline were admitted into the house by a young maid. The girl looked positively unsettled when Drew handed in his card and asked for Mr. Brogan.
“Mr. Brogan, sir? I don’t know—”
“We need to speak to him about Mr. Barnaby,” Drew prompted, “if you’ll be good enough to fetch him. May we speak to him in here?” He gestured toward the small parlor just off the front hallway. Finally, the perplexed girl showed them in.
No more than a minute later, a wizened little man came to the parlor door. “I’m told you wished to speak to me, sir.”
“Are you Brogan?” Drew asked. “Mr. Barnaby’s valet?”
The man inclined his balding head. “I am, sir. Well, valet and butler and whatever else is required. Of course, now there’s only the house to be closed up and Mr. Barnaby’s things to pack away. Is there something you wish to know?”
Drew motioned for him to come into the room and shut the door after him. “We’d like to know about Mr. Barnaby, if it’s not too much trouble.”
He sat on the striped divan across from the window overlooking the street, and Madeline sat next to him.
“I beg your pardon, sir, but are you with the police?” Brogan asked.
“No, but I was there when poor Miss Grahame discovered the body. I’m a relation of Lady Rainsby and looking into the matter of his lordship’s death for her. It’s a possibility that the two incidents are related.”
“I don’t know what I can tell you, sir. Mrs. Brogan, my wife, does the cooking, and she and Ella, the girl who let you in, do the cleaning and such. It’s not a large house, and Mr. Barnaby wasn’t one to entertain much, not more than once or twice in the year, so it was a rare occasion for him to have friends in. He was never one to take staff into his confidence.”
“He didn’t have a young lady he was seeing?” Drew asked.
The valet colored faintly. “Naturally, Mr. Barnaby had several lady friends he escorted to various functions. He was by no means a solitary gentleman, and he received many invitations.”
“Was there one in particular?” Madeline asked. “Perhaps one he was serious about?”
“I think there must have been someone he saw regularly in the past few weeks,” Brogan admitted. “Mr. Barnaby was a very private gentleman, of course, and he never brought his young ladies here, but I could tell all the same.”
“How did you know?” Drew asked.
“His wardrobe, sir. And his daily routine.”
Drew glanced at Madeline. “How do you mean?”
“He began dressing . . . differently,” Brogan said. “And he became quite particular about wearing scent, especially when he’d go into the office for the half day on Saturdays.”
Drew nodded. “What else was different?”
“I don’t precisely know how to describe it except to say he seemed to wish to appear as stylish as possible. As prosperous and fit as he was able. He began wearing lifts in his shoes, sir, and even, though I advised strongly against it, went to be fitted for a toupee. Of course, a gentleman of forty-seven will never be what he was at twenty-five, will he? And a woman—I mean, the right sort of woman—would understand that.”
Madeline shook her head in sympathy.
“Normally, it hadn’t been his habit to stay out late on Friday and Saturday nights,” Brogan continued. “He had his club in Edinburgh, if he wasn’t invited somewhere else, but even then he rarely stayed late. But for the last little while, he mightn’t come in at all. Even on a weeknight.”
“And he never mentioned the lady’s name?” Drew asked. “It wasn’t Schmidt by any chance?”
“Schmidt, sir?”
“Mr. Barnaby never mentioned anyone called Schmidt?”
“I have never heard him use that name,” the valet said. “But if it was a lady friend of his, he wouldn’t have. Still, I thought there might be an announcement of some kind forthcoming. He seemed quite enchanted with this one in particular.”
“How could you tell?”
The valet looked deeply troubled. “Upon at least three occasions, sir, he wore a corset.”
“Ah,” Drew said, determined to keep his expression as grave as the other man’s, “that is quite telling.”
“Yes, sir, it is. And now to know that this woman has gone and killed him, right there in his own office if you please, well, it’s not right. It’s just not right.”
Madeline’s eyebrows went up.
“Is that what you think happened?” Drew asked. “We hadn’t actually got that far along yet.”
“I don’t know for certain, sir,” Brogan said, looking faintly abashed. “But who else could it be? Poison like that? It must have been his young lady. A lovers’ quarrel, my missus says, and I can’t disagree.”
“I can’t disagree, either,” Drew told Madeline as they walked back to Thorburn Hall. “It does seem odd, though, that this mystery woman would kill him just after he gave important evidence about the will of a man who’d just been murdered, don’t you think?”
“True,” Madeline said, “and it seems, in the proverbial fit of jealous rage, the woman would be more likely to conk him over the head with the wine bottle rather than poison it ahead of time.”
“Precisely.” Drew frowned. “And if she does exist, what was this woman looking for in that locked drawer?”
“And what did she take from the office?” Madeline added.
Drew tapped one finger against his chin, thinking. “No, darling, it won’t do. There must have been a woman of some variety. Barnaby’s vain attempts to make himself look grand definitely point that way. The question is whether she was the same woman who poisoned that wine. Or if the one who poisoned the wine was a woman at all.”
Dinner at the Hall that night was a quiet affair, just Lady Louisa and Joan, the Pikes, and Drew and Madeline. Afterward the two couples played bridge, but Mrs. Pike could never remember what trumps were or that her husband was her partner and not her opponent, so it wasn’t a very entertaining match. Louisa was charming, if subdued, as she looked on, trying to help Mrs. Pike concentrate on the play, while Joan merely stood at the library window, smoking cigarette after cigarette as she stared at the darkness. It wasn’t until the game broke up and everyone was retiring for the night that Joan finally spoke.
“I’m out of cigarettes.”
Lady Louisa gave her a look of indulgent reproof as she rummaged in her handbag. “You smoke too much, dear. It’s not good for you.”
She fished out an unopened pack, and Joan took it without comment, immediately tearing it open and lighting up again. Drew watched her for a moment, and then caught a startled breath.
Everyone looked at him.
“I do beg your pardon,” he said, patting his chest with a look of discomfort. “Perhaps a bit too much dinner.”
“I’m so sorry.” Lady Louisa looked grieved. “If something didn’t agree with you, I’ll certainly speak to Cook about it in the morning.”
“No need. Truly, it’s nothing. Everything was divine, but I do think it’s time I escorted my wife back to The Swan and then retired. A good night’s sleep ought to put me right again.”
“Poor dear.” Madeline took his arm, patting it. “Good night, everyone. Dinner was lovely, Lady Louisa. Thank you.”
She walked him swiftly out of the library. “What is it?” she asked when they reached the front door, her voice low. “And don’t tell me it was too much dinner.”
He answered with a slight shake of his head and hurried her outside, saying nothing until she shut the door behind them.
“Tell me. I know that look.”
“The cigarettes,” he said with a glance back at the house. “I hadn’t noticed it before, but Lady Louisa smokes the same brand as Joan.”
Madeline’s eyes widened. “Then she could have been the one coming from the cottage.”
“Or at least Joan might think she was, or question if she was. Little wonder she changed her mind about our investigating any further.”
“True,” Madeline murmured. “She’s already lost her father. I can hardly blame her for not wanting to lose her mother, too.”
He thought of his own mother, his natural mother, someone he knew nothing about. He’d been so involved in the case that he hadn’t really had time to consider again what he ought to do about her. If he told Mr. Whyland to keep looking for her, suppose his people actually found her. Suppose she was nothing like he imagined her to be. Suppose she had done something heinous, then what? He couldn’t blame Joan for not wanting to know something awful about her mother or even for trying to deny what she did know.
“Maybe it’s Tyler and not her mother she’s trying to protect,” he said. “Either way, it’s a bit twisted, but love is a funny thing.”
They walked along in the moonlight, the quiet broken only by the rush of water to the shore.
“So, would you?” he asked when they had almost reached the village.
“Would I what?”
“Would you still love me if you knew I had murdered someone? Someone you loved?”
“That’s a horrible question.” She tightened her hold on his arm. “I don’t even want to think about it.”
“But suppose I had. Would you?”
For a long moment, she studied his face. Then she looked away. “I don’t know. I suppose I’d wonder if you were ever the man I thought you were.” She smoothed his hair back at the temple, her eyes meeting his again. “The man I love.”
Perhaps no one ever knew such things until faced with them. She was right. It was a horrible question.
“I’m sorry, darling.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek and then her lips. “It was beastly of me to even ask. I promise never to put you in an awkward situation by murdering someone and then asking if you still love me.”
“Silly.” She pressed closer to him. “I wish you would just figure out who the murderer is so we can go home and get Carrie and Nick married.”
He chuckled and wrapped her in a tight hug. “You realize we have absolutely no say in the matter, don’t you?”
She nodded against his chest. “But it’s what I wish all the same.”
“Come along.” He tugged her hand, quickening his stride as they came into Gullane. The Swan was just down the street. “The two lovebirds have had all day to moon over each other. It’s up to us to bring them to their senses, at least until they reconvene tomorrow.”
They found Nick and Carrie in the inn’s otherwise-empty dining room, Mrs. Drummond doing her account books in one corner as they lingered over their hours-old supper. Reluctant to be parted themselves, Drew and Madeline sat a while, drinking coffee and sampling some of the landlady’s very excellent apple scones.
Finally, Drew and Nick escorted their ladies upstairs, made their farewells, and headed back toward Thorburn Hall. There were a lot of things Nick needed catching up on.
Drew had just come downstairs for breakfast the next morning when he heard Inspector Ranald and Sergeant Shaw at the door, asking to be announced to Lady Louisa. From behind the inspector, Shaw gave Drew a warning look.
“Good morning, Inspector,” Drew said, going over to shake the man’s hand. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”
“Mr. Farthering. No, I didn’t expect to be here as soon as this, either. In fact, I didn’t expect to be here at all.”
Drew glanced over his shoulder at Shaw, who was looking rather grim. “I take it you found out more about the Barnaby matter.”
Ranald gave a curt nod. “We did.”
“Well, come in, Inspector. I know Lady Rainsby wouldn’t want you standing on ceremony at this late date. She is the one you’ve come to see, isn’t she?”
“She is.”
“Is Lady Rainsby at breakfast, Twining?” Drew asked.
Although his demeanor was flawless, Twining’s tone as he surveyed the inspector was frigid. “I will see if she is receiving visitors.”
“And Miss Rainsby?”
“Miss Joan has gone out for the day.”
“Just as well,” Ranald said, and he fixed one glum eye on Drew. “The less I have to bother with people not actually involved in the case, the better.”
“As you say, sir.”
Once Twining had gone to speak to Lady Louisa, Drew turned to Inspector Ranald. “I realize you don’t want any interference from amateurs, Inspector, but Lady Rainsby is my cousin. I’d like to be of whatever help to her I’m able, if she’ll allow me.”
“Suit yourself.”
Ranald said no more until Twining returned.
“Her ladyship will receive you here, Inspector Ranald.” He led the three of them across to the drawing room.
Lady Louisa appeared a few minutes later, perfectly dressed and coiffed as always. “Good morning, Inspector. Sergeant.” She looked from one to the other, weary lines around her dark eyes. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“I presume your ladyship is aware of the murder of Mr. Hugh Barnaby.”
“We’ve thoroughly examined Mr. Barnaby’s office, and there are a few questions we would like to ask you.”
“Certainly.”
Drew came to stand behind her. “Would you like me to stay, or would you prefer to talk to Inspector Ranald alone?”
“Please stay, Drew dear.” She patted his hand. “Yes. Please.” She smiled distractedly. “Forgive me, all of you. Do sit down. Now, what is it, Inspector?”
“Has Mr. Barnaby been to your home at any time in the past few weeks, Lady Rainsby?”
She thought for a moment and then shook her head. “I don’t believe so. It’s possible my husband may have had him here, but if he had, he never told me about it.”
Ranald nodded. “Do you by chance own a sapphire-and-pearl bracelet? Earbobs and a cocktail ring to match?” He looked at his notebook. “A carved jade bracelet with gold fittings? A platinum-and-diamond necklace, hair clasp, and bracelets? Diamond-and-ruby marchioness necklace with matching earbobs?”
Lady Louisa’s forehead puckered. “Why, yes, Inspector. I do.”
“I’d like to see them, if you please, your ladyship.”
“If you like.”
She rang for her maid, and soon the girl came back, fidgeting as she stood there under everyone’s expectant eye.
“They’re not there, my lady,”
“What? That can’t be right, girl. Did you look in the jewelry case in the cupboard?”
“I did, my lady. They aren’t there.”
“Oh.” Lady Louisa got to her feet. “Lord Rainsby must have put them in the safe with the other jewelry. As you know, he was worried about things being taken. I’ll be just a moment.”
“We’ll go along, if we may,” the inspector said, his expression grim.
“If you like. It’s this way.”
She led them all into Lord Rainsby’s study where she removed from the wall a painting of an eighteenth-century hunt, revealing the door of a safe behind it. With a practiced hand, she turned the dial and then the handle, and the door swung open. She stood there a moment, unmoving, and then turned back to the others, her face perfectly white.
“They’re not here.” She pushed aside some of the other items in the safe, papers and a packet of ten-pound notes, a small wooden case that appeared to hold old coins. “They’re just not here.”
She took out a few pieces of jewelry, quality but not particularly impressive, but none of them could possibly be the items Ranald had described.
The inspector pursed his lips. “And how, my lady, would you account for their disappearance?”
“I—I don’t know.” She looked at Drew, tears filling her eyes. “I suppose they must have been stolen. I don’t know what else could have happened to them if they’re not in the cupboard with my other jewelry. Oh . . .” She held on to his arm as she sank into a nearby chair. “After everything else that’s happened, I don’t know what to do or think.”
He stood next to her, one hand on her shoulder. “I suppose you have a particular reason for asking, Inspector?”
Ranald kept his attention on Lady Louisa. “I would like to know where you were on Saturday night, my lady.”
The night Barnaby was killed. Drew didn’t like the covert look on the inspector’s face.
“Saturday night?” Louisa thought for a moment. “I—I was here, of course. I had dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Pike and my daughter, and then I went to my room.”
“And what time was that, my lady?”
“About eight-thirty, I believe. Before nine anyway.”
Ranald glanced at his sergeant with an almost imperceptible nod. “A bit early, wasn’t it, your ladyship?”
Lady Louisa’s hold on Drew’s arm tightened. “I had a monstrous headache and wanted to lie down.”
“I see.” Ranald noted her answer. “I suppose Mr. and Mrs. Pike can corroborate your story? And Miss Rainsby?”
“And the servants, if you like,” she said, the quaver in her voice taking the intended bite out of the words. “I went up to my room and took a headache powder and went to sleep. I didn’t wake up until the next morning. That was all.”
“I see,” Ranald repeated. “And where were you, Mr. Farthering?”
“I’m afraid Mr. Dennison and I were out at the time. We had dinner with my wife and her friend, Miss Holland, then spent a bit of time walking the beach. It was . . . after ten, I believe, when Nick and I got back to the Hall. Everyone was already in bed.”
“Right.” Ranald focused on Lady Louisa again. “Was it your maid who gave you the headache powder?”
“My daughter, actually,” she said, her voice cooler than before. “We both take them from time to time, but I had run out, so she got me one of hers.”
“And you didn’t wake during the night?”
She shook her head. “I’m usually quite a light sleeper, but I don’t think I even stirred until morning. I suppose I was very tired after everything that’s gone on lately.”
“That may be.” Ranald made more notes. “Where is Miss Rainsby? I’d like to speak to her as well, if I may.”
“She went into Edinburgh to have lunch with a school friend of hers and do some shopping. I don’t expect her home until this evening.”
“Very well, we’ll speak to her another time.”
“What is this all about?” Lady Louisa demanded. “Why are you asking all these things? Why did you ask about my jewelry? If someone has stolen it, does that mean you’ve caught him?”
“No, my lady,” Ranald said. “Those particular pieces of jewelry were found in a locked drawer in Mr. Hugh Barnaby’s office desk, along with a list of dates and places we’d like to ask you about.”
“Dates and places?” Drew asked. “What dates and places?”
“That’s what we’d like to find out.”
“Mr. Barnaby?” Lady Louisa said. “Mr. Barnaby had my jewelry? How could he have got it? Why did he have it?”
Drew watched the inspector’s face, knowing from his utter lack of expression what would come next.
“Was Mr. Barnaby blackmailing you, Lady Rainsby?” Ranald asked at last. “Those jewels would make a handsome payment, I should think.”
Louisa’s hold on Drew’s arm was growing painful. “Blackmail . . . ?”
“But they always seem to get greedy, don’t they?” Ranald continued. “Asking for more and more until there’s just nothing to do but end the matter.”
“No,” she breathed.
“Had he found out you’d murdered your husband in order to keep him from signing that new will?”
“The new will that excluded you for reasons of which you are well aware?”
Her lip quivered. “No.”
“What were those reasons, Lady Rainsby?”
She looked pleadingly at Drew. “I don’t know. I don’t know of any reasons. He never said such a thing to me.”
“And then,” Ranald insisted, “you decided if you’d done one murder, no reason not to carry on with another?”
Drew glared at the inspector. “Look here, Ranald—”
“No!” Lady Louisa cried. “No, no, no! I never did anything of the sort. Drew, tell him—”
“This seems nothing but conjecture,” Drew said. “What proof do you have?”
“The jewelry.”
“Stolen.”
Ranald shrugged. “The list.”
“Rubbish.”
“The will.”
“Unsigned,” Drew said. “Besides, Lady Rainsby was home the night of the murder. You could ask a number of witnesses to corroborate that. All of them would swear to seeing her go up to bed directly after dinner.”
“They could swear as to her going up,” Ranald conceded. “But could they swear as to her not coming down again?”
Drew pressed his lips together. He had no answer for that. Not yet.
“Forgive me, your ladyship,” Ranald said, looking almost smug, “and no disrespect meant, but I’ll have to ask you to come down to the station for more questioning regarding the murders of your husband and of Mr. Hugh Barnaby.”
He took her by the arm, but she pulled away from him, all ice and self-control now.
“You’d be wise to engage a solicitor to be present during questioning,” he added mildly.
“Her solicitor has just been murdered,” Drew reminded him, “and hadn’t you ought to caution her about her statements being used against her in court?”
“Yes, well, it’s not an arrest,” Ranald said. “Not quite yet. Merely questioning. But if you would like to telephone a solicitor’s office, your ladyship, you may do so now.”
Again she looked at Drew with pleading eyes. “I don’t know of anyone. Mr. Barnaby always saw to everything for us here in Gullane.”
“I’ll see to it, Lady Louisa.” Drew helped her to her feet. “I don’t suppose I might—”
“You will be informed when her ladyship is allowed visitors,” Ranald said, sounding as if Lady Louisa was indeed under arrest. “For now, you’d do as well to stay put.”
“But my daughter,” she said. “Someone must tell her—”
“Now that would be an excellent job for our amateur sleuth.” The inspector took firm hold of Lady Louisa’s arm, not allowing her to pull away this time. “Do let Miss Rainsby know that we have made progress in the case,” he told Drew. “We will be keeping her informed. Sergeant Shaw.”
Shaw glanced at Drew and then opened the study door to show the inspector and his prisoner out.