Fourteen

Madeline and Carrie walked along the shoreline toward Thorburn Hall. The sea air was fresh and crisp, and they stopped to watch a flock of sandwich terns fishing among the rocks, their grating kear-ik kear-ik loud in the early morning quiet.

“Better?” Madeline asked as Carrie stood watching one of the males present his mate with a courtship offering of fish.

“Aren’t they sweet?” Carrie’s eyes were bright now, her cheeks rosy with sun and briny air rather than tears.

“Just like you and Nick.”

“Go on.” Carrie huffed and started off down the beach again, only to stumble and nearly fall.

“I told you not to wear those shoes.”

Carrie darted a glance at Madeline’s feet and made a face. “I couldn’t very well let Nick see me in something like what you’ve got on.”

Madeline took her arm, her expression warm. “You could wear army boots, honey, and he’d think they were glass slippers.”

Carrie smiled faintly, but the smile was more sad than happy. “I know he would. Oh, Madeline, what am I going to do?”

“You know I can’t decide that for you.”

Scowling, Carrie quickened her pace as they approached the boulder-strewn beach below Thorburn Hall. Then she stopped abruptly and shaded her eyes. “What’s that down there?”

A police car had pulled off the road, and two officers were standing over something that looked like a bundle of rags that had washed up with the tide. A little knot of people—an elderly couple, several children, a middle-aged woman with binoculars and a hiking stick—stood looking at the bundle and murmuring among themselves.

“All right,” one of the officers was telling them as Madeline and Carrie drew nearer. “There’s nothing to see here. Everything’s being looked after.” He looked over at the girls and raised his voice. “I beg your pardon, ladies, but I must ask that you carry on with your walking.” He turned again to the others. “Ladies and gentlemen, please. This is an official investigation. I must ask you to go on about your business.”

“Are we not to know anything, young Phelps?” the old woman asked. “Not even a wee bit of it?”

The officer shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Ellis, but you’ve got to go now. No doubt there’ll be something in the papers in time. Now come along.”

She took her husband’s arm, tugging him along with her, muttering darkly, though he didn’t look as if he quite knew where he was or what was happening.

The children, being warned again, scattered across the beach while the woman with the binoculars clutched her hiking stick and headed down the road behind Madeline and Carrie.

With a glance at Carrie, Madeline slowed to let her catch up. “What was that about?”

The woman lifted one heavy eyebrow. “It’s a body. I saw before they covered him up, poor man. Must have been rather a fine-looking man too, from what I saw, although it’s hard to tell so much when they’re dead.”

Carrie kept her eyes on the road ahead and said nothing, but her lips were pressed into a hard, taut line.

“Was it an accident?” Madeline asked. Please, don’t let it be another murder.

“They won’t say, of course,” the woman said thoughtfully. “But his front was all over with blood, and I heard one of the constables talking about the sort of gun it must have been. Can you imagine? Oh, I beg your pardon. I suppose they’re ever so much more common where you’re from, I daresay. Pistols, I mean, not a proper hunting rifle or that sort of thing. Those we have, of course, but that’s different, isn’t it? Still, it seems a shame. A young man like that. I suppose he had got in with the wrong sort.” She glanced back toward the scene of the crime, but there was little to see from this distance. “You are American, I take it?”

Madeline nodded. Carrie merely walked straight ahead.

The other woman looked grimly pleased. “I thought as much. Well, I suppose we’ll have to wait till the next edition of the news. Here’s my turn. Good morning.”

She scurried off along a little track that veered away from the water and was gone.

“Carrie,” Madeline began. But Carrie didn’t turn, didn’t slow. Madeline hurried after her. “Carrie.”

Carrie stumbled and then bent down to rub her ankle. Madeline stopped beside her.

“Are you all right?”

“No, I’m not all right. I’m not all right at all.” She sniffed and then fished her handkerchief out of her handbag and dabbed her nose with it. “I’m sorry. I promised myself I wouldn’t let all this get to me again. People die, right? They do. That doesn’t mean we’re in danger, right? Or Nick—” She looked up and put on a stiff smile. “Nick.”

The boys were scrambling down the steep path that led from the house to the beach.

“Hullo, sweet.” Nick went straight to Carrie, and she huddled against him.

“We didn’t expect to see you down here, but we saw the police and thought we’d see what’s what.” Drew kissed Madeline’s cheek. “What’s happening over there?”

Carrie glanced at Madeline. “I—I don’t know. The police won’t let anyone near. They told us to keep walking.”

“Did you see anything?” Drew asked Madeline.

“I’m fairly sure there’s a body on the rocks over there, but as Carrie said, they wouldn’t let us stop and look.”

“Probably not something either of you want to see, darling. I believe that’s Sergeant Shaw over there now. Let me just see what he’ll tell me. Won’t be half a moment.”

Drew loped over to where the body was. There was a second police car pulled up there now and another officer, Sergeant Shaw. Drew spoke to him for a moment. Then he knelt beside the body and lifted up the blanket that covered the face. He pushed the blanket to about halfway down and motioned for Shaw to come closer. He pointed at something on the body and then put the blanket back into place and stood.

For another minute or so, he walked carefully around the area, bending down now and then before going back to speak to Shaw. The sergeant shook his head decisively, frowned and then pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. Drew looked at the contents and then jogged back to where the other three were waiting for him.

“Definitely a body,” Drew said. “Not quite what I expected.”

“Drowning?” Nick asked.

“No. Shot through the heart. Dead before he hit the rocks.”

“There was a woman there when we first came up,” Madeline said. “She mentioned something about a pistol. But who is it?”

“The caddie. Jamie Tyler.”

“Oh,” Carrie breathed. “Poor Joan.”

“We’d better go on back to the house,” Drew said, looking back toward the crime scene once more. “I know the inspector will be by any minute now, and doubtless he’ll be in no mood for my antics. The good sergeant will keep us informed if there are any developments.” He took Madeline’s arm. “I think we’d better go and talk to Joan, darling. I don’t want her to hear about this from one of the servants or from the next edition of the paper.”

“Are you all right, Carrie?” Nick asked as they climbed the path back up to the Hall.

She lifted her chin. “Of course I am. I know I’ve been a ninny about all this, but I’m not going to be anymore.” She clasped his arm, struggling for a moment with a step that was higher than the others. “You’ll figure this out, and that’ll be the end of it, right?”

“Of course.” He put his hands around her slim waist and lifted her up to the next step. “Not to worry.”

Madeline watched them for a moment and then hurried after.

When they reached the Hall, Drew immediately sent for Twining. “Has Miss Rainsby rung for her tea this morning?”

“I don’t believe so, sir. Is something the matter?”

Drew glanced up the stairway. “Is she usually up at this time of the morning?”

“No, not generally, sir. Like many young persons, Miss Joan has always been rather a late sleeper.” The butler looked at the crystal clock on the mantel. “She should be rising soon. May I send up a message with her breakfast?”

“Does she generally request a newspaper with her tea?” Drew asked. “Or would she have had occasion to see one this morning?”

“I don’t believe so, sir. I could ask Agnes, but based on my own observations, I don’t believe Miss Joan ever looks at the papers until the afternoon.”

“All the same, could you see that whoever brings up her tray makes sure not to include the morning papers? Thank you, Twining.”

“Just as you say, sir.”

Drew looked out the window down toward the sea. He couldn’t see anything of the spot where Tyler’s body lay, but it was possible that from some parts of the house, perhaps from the roof, it would be visible. “Oh, I say, Twining?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Do you know if there’s been any gossip among the servants this morning?”

“There is always gossip, sir.”

Drew smiled faintly. “Quite. But something alarming. Just this morning.”

“I understand the Russian gentleman is to return to us sometime today.” In spite of Twining’s always correct demeanor, Drew could still tell the butler found this news decidedly alarming. “Mr. and Mrs. Pike have gone round to fetch him.”

“Besides that.”

“All the staff were churning amongst themselves, trying to see what was amiss down on the beach,” Twining said. “But I let them know in no uncertain terms that their duties lay inside the Hall and not outside of it. They know no more than I do about the matter.”

“Good. Please see that no one says anything upsetting to Miss Rainsby until I’ve had a chance to speak to her. It’s very important.”

“Certainly, sir.” Twining gave a half bow. “I will see to it personally.”

“And yes, please send up a note with her breakfast asking if I might come speak to her as soon as is convenient.”

“It’s not likely to be in the papers, is it?” Madeline said once the butler had gone. “I mean, they only just found the body.”

“Not likely, no,” Drew admitted. “But I don’t know how long they’ve been out there or if some reporter mightn’t have happened on it before dawn and hurried off to write a lurid account for the early edition. No sense having Joan seeing that instead of us breaking it to her gently.”

“Breaking what to me?”

All four of them looked up to see the daughter of the house standing in the drawing room doorway, her face pale, her eyes puffy as if she hadn’t slept well. Nick and Drew both stood.

“Good morning,” Drew said, going to her. “I hope my message hasn’t disturbed you. I most distinctly told Twining to say I’d wait until you had a convenient moment. You can’t have eaten yet.”

He led her to an overstuffed chair, and she sat down.

“I’m not hungry. I couldn’t stand even the smell of whatever was on my tray this morning. When Agnes brought your message, I was already dressed anyway, so I thought I may as well come down.” She smoothed back her dark hair on one side. Evidently she had done no more than run a comb through it before coming downstairs. “So what is it you have to break to me? Is it more about my mother? It is, isn’t it? Have they found something else against her?” She ran her hands through her hair, disarranging it again. “Oh, I can’t stand this. I could hardly sleep, thinking about everything that’s happened. It is Mother, isn’t it?”

Madeline went to her, sat on the arm of the chair, and put an arm around her shoulders. “No, no. It’s not that at all.”

“Actually, in its way, this might help your mother’s case,” Nick said. “Don’t you think so, Drew?”

“Possibly, though we can’t know that quite yet.”

Joan looked from one to the other of them, clearly bewildered. “I don’t understand. If it might help Mother, then—”

“It’s about Mr. Tyler,” Madeline said gently.

“No.” There were sudden, fierce tears in Joan’s eyes. “I don’t believe it. They’ve been trying to blame Jamie for everything, from Father’s murder to the devaluation of the British pound. Whatever they say he’s done, it’s not true. I know it’s not true.”

“I wish it were just that,” Drew said, “but I’m afraid Tyler is dead.”

Joan blinked and her forehead wrinkled. “Wh—what? No. No, he can’t be dead. I saw him just last night. We went to Edinburgh, where nobody would know who I am and gossip about me. We had dinner at a little pub. We parked in a grove of trees just off the road on the way back.” She looked pleadingly at Madeline. “We were going to be married. As soon as everything with my mother was settled, we were going to be married.”

Carrie glanced at Nick, wrapping herself in her arms and saying nothing.

“I’m so sorry,” Madeline murmured, pulling Joan closer.

Joan clung to her for a moment, perfectly silent but trembling visibly. Then she pushed herself away and blotted her face with the handkerchief from her skirt pocket.

“Is there someone you’d like us to call?” Drew asked. “A friend? An aunt perhaps?”

Joan shook her head, her face blank now. “Just tell me. Tell me what happened.”

“Someone shot him,” Drew told her. “Last night or early this morning.”

“Shot him? Where is he? I have to go to him.”

“There’s no use doing that. The police won’t let you down there. Believe me, he’s dead. I saw for myself.”

“Down where?” she demanded. “What’s happened to him?”

“He was found on the rocks by the water, not far from the house.”

“But . . .” She looked bewildered. “Why would he be down there?”

“Wouldn’t he have been going back to Gullane after he’d seen you home?”

She shook her head. “He didn’t see me home. I dropped him at the end of the high street, just round that corner where the road bends. People in the village can’t really see much of that part of it. I thought it was best. Why would he have come back this way?” She caught a trembling breath. “Oh, Jamie, why didn’t you just go home?”

“What time did you let him out?” Drew asked after she’d had a moment to collect herself.

“I—I don’t know. We didn’t leave the pub until after midnight, I remember, but I can’t be sure about anything else. I got home maybe an hour later, maybe two.”

Drew frowned. “Did you speak to anybody in the house, someone who might remember the exact time? It would help us in narrowing down when he was killed.”

“I didn’t speak to anyone, no. Agnes was up. I saw her in the hallway. I don’t know if she’d remember the time, but we could ask her if it would help.”

“What was she doing that time of night?” Madeline asked.

“I don’t know. I hardly noticed her. One doesn’t, you know.”

Shortly after she was summoned, Agnes peeked into the drawing room. “You wished to see me, Miss Joan?”

Her face told the story as plainly as if it were written there. She’d heard about Tyler.

“Come in, please,” Drew said, and he brought over a straight-backed chair, one of those stark modern things that populated the house.

Looking as though she were on trial, Agnes sat down. “Is there a problem, sir?”

“No need to worry. I take it you’ve heard about the incident down by the water.”

She ducked her head, not looking at her mistress. “Yes, sir. I’m so very sorry, Miss Joan.”

Joan nodded just the slightest bit but said nothing.

“We’d just like to know,” Drew said, “if you heard anything last night. Something out of the ordinary, perhaps?”

“I canna be certain, sir. I was asleep, and I thought I heard something and went to look, but it was just Miss Joan coming in. There wasn’t anything else.”

“Fine. And did you happen to notice the time?”

“That I did, sir,” the maid replied. “It was twenty minutes past one. I looked because I was that turned around and thought I might’ve overslept myself. But it wasn’t nearly time to get up, so I took myself back to bed.”

“I see. Was there anything else you noticed, either then or later, anything at all? Perhaps you heard something? A motor car backfiring? The slam of a door?”

Agnes shook her head. “No, sir. I went to sleep again, got up at my usual time, and started work. It was then I heard about . . . well, about what had happened down there. I mean, after the master and then madam being taken away and now—”

Joan made a half-strangled little sound, and Madeline gave Drew an urgent look over the girl’s head.

“Yes, thank you, Agnes,” Drew said smoothly. “It has been a difficult time. That will be all for now. If you happen to think of anything else we ought to know about, don’t hesitate to come to me.”

Agnes stood and made a small curtsy. “Thank you, sir.” She turned anxiously to Joan. “Is there anything I can do for you, miss? I’m so very sorry.”

Joan shook her head, and with another bob, Agnes scurried out of the room.

Drew dropped to one knee beside Joan’s chair. “Would you like to stop for now?” He looked at Madeline. “Perhaps you could help her upstairs.”

“No,” Joan said, a determined set to her mouth. “I’m all right. It’s not going to get any easier, and I want to know what’s happening. I can’t stand to think—” She drew a hard breath. “Just ask me whatever you want to know.”

“All right.” Drew stood again. “Did Tyler say anything unusual to you? Was he having trouble with anyone at Muirfield, or at the place where he took lodgings?”

“Nothing.”

“I was down there just now,” Drew said gently. “I saw what had been in Mr. Tyler’s pockets. It can be quite helpful sometimes, seeing that.”

She merely looked at him, bewildered.

“Mostly it was the usual thing,” Drew told her. “A few coins, some tees, a ball marker, not much more. But there was also a 1914 Star. Do you recall seeing that before?”

“I think so, yes. He dropped it once when he took his latchkey out of his pocket. One night when I let him out in the village. He said it was his father’s. From the war.”

“I see. I expect he must have been quite proud.”

She glared at him, blinking back tears. “Of course he was. Do you think just because he hadn’t any money, he had no finer feelings? You didn’t know him. Nobody knew what he was really like.” She gulped down an unsteady breath and then another. Then she quieted and folded her hands in her lap. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” Madeline said.

“We just spent the evening together,” Joan said, her voice flat and emotionless now. “He told me that when all this was over, he was going to tell Mother we would be getting married whether or not she liked it. We quarreled a bit because I didn’t think now was the time. He said we couldn’t wait forever, that we had our lives to live, too. You don’t think—? Oh, I don’t know. I can’t believe any of this is true.” She held her clasped hands to her mouth, taking slow, shaky breaths.

Drew pulled her hands gently away from her face. “What is it you’re thinking?”

“Nothing. It doesn’t even make sense.”

“What?”

She looked pleadingly at Madeline. “Did you ever wonder if someone you knew, someone you loved and trusted wasn’t who he said he was? And it was so awful, you didn’t even want to think it, but you couldn’t help it because all the evidence made it look that way?”

Drew could feel Madeline’s eyes on him, though he never looked away from Joan. Yes, he knew that feeling, a horrible, terrible feeling where the world seemed to be spinning backward and there was nothing to grab hold of.

“What is it you’re thinking?” he asked again.

“It’s just who’d want to kill him, and why?”

“I understand there might be several husbands who might be interested,” Nick offered.

Joan scowled at him. “That’s old news. If any of them wanted to kill him, he’d have tried ages ago. I mean now. Who’d want to kill him now?” She swallowed hard, steadying herself. “My father said he was going to. If Jamie didn’t clear off. Of course, he’s gone now, too. But he and Mother both didn’t want me seeing him.”

“You’re not saying your mother could have been responsible for his death, are you?”

“No. I told you it didn’t make any sense. I told you it’s too awful. But the police think she killed Father and then Mr. Barnaby. If she would do that, or if she and an accomplice would do that, then why wouldn’t she have Jamie seen to, as well?” She bit her lip. “I—I haven’t been honest with you.”

“No? What do you mean?”

“That night you saw me coming in from the stable. You knew I’d been with Jamie, but I didn’t tell you what else happened.”

“As I recall,” Drew said, “you were quite adamant that there was nothing out of the ordinary going on.”

“I was in the stable with Jamie.” Her face turned pink, but she lifted her chin and forced herself to go on. “I walked with him to the road, watching him until he had gone over the rise. Then I saw that car parked there under the trees. You remember?”

Drew nodded.

“It was Mr. MacArthur’s car. I recognized it. But I couldn’t understand why he’d left it there. The only thing out that way is the cottage, so I thought I’d see if he was down there for some reason. I was going to see him off if he was. I know he was great friends with Mother and Dad, but I didn’t like how he acted as if he lived here.”

“Go on.”

She took a deep breath. “I was only about halfway down the path when I heard voices, so I stayed close to the trees, in the shadows, until I could see who was coming.” She shook her head. “Oh, Drew, it was Mother. She was laughing, coming from the direction of the cottage with a bottle of wine in one hand and her clothes all rumpled. And he was back there. He’d been in the cottage with her. I could hear him telling her to hurry home before anyone knew she was gone. And she said they wouldn’t wait so long next time.”

“You didn’t see him come out, too?”

“Oh, no. I had to get back home before they knew I’d been there.”

“Neither of them saw you?” Drew asked. “And you didn’t say anything to your mother later?”

Joan looked down, shaking her head. “It was too awful. I couldn’t say anything.”

“That doesn’t mean she killed anyone,” Madeline said.

“But that’s not all,” Joan said. “The night Mr. Barnaby was killed, that Saturday night, Mother said she had a headache after dinner and went up to her room.”

“That’s what she told the police,” Drew said.

“Well, I was a little worried about her so I went up with her. She said she was out of her headache powders, so I went and got one of mine. She took it from me and said she was going straight to bed. I went to my room and got ready for bed myself. I read for a while, and when Agnes brought up my chocolate at ten, I told her Mother wasn’t feeling well and that I was going to go check on her. Agnes said she would do it if I liked, and I told her I would appreciate it very much.” She licked her dry lips. “It was just a minute or two before Agnes came back. She said Mother was in her bathroom with the door locked and wouldn’t answer her knock. I thought maybe she was really ill and couldn’t answer, so I went to see what was the matter. I didn’t get any answer either, so I rummaged in her bureau and found the key to the bathroom and opened the door. The bathroom was empty.”

“Where had she gone?”

“That’s the terrible thing about it. I don’t know. I told Agnes to search the house quietly, and I’d do the same. Neither of us could find her. I was looking in my father’s room when Agnes came and got me. She said Mother was in her bed, fast asleep.”

“What? Where had she been?”

“I don’t know. I started to wake her, but she was very soundly asleep, and I really didn’t want to disturb her. She hadn’t slept well since my father died. I thought maybe she’d been restless and had gone for a walk in the garden or something and then had come back and gone back to sleep. I didn’t think much of it until we heard Mr. Barnaby was murdered. Once we heard about that, I asked where she’d been.”

Drew raised his eyebrows expectantly.

Joan shook her head. “She told me she’d been asleep. From the time she lay down until her maid brought her tea the next morning, she hadn’t moved. I didn’t ask her about it after that. I . . . oh, I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to say anything because she just couldn’t have done something so horrible.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “But then I looked in the medicine cabinet there in her bathroom. She had almost half a box of those powders left.”

Drew glanced at Madeline, who looked at him round-eyed.

“The same sort she borrowed from you?” he asked. “The ones she said she was out of?”

Joan nodded fiercely.

“And what did you do next?”

“God forgive me, I took them and put them down my toilet. I didn’t want the police finding them. I didn’t think it could be what it looked like. I didn’t want to think it. But now that Jamie’s gone, I can’t go on lying. I can’t go on making excuses for her. If she lied about being in bed all night that night, what reason could she possibly have, that night of all nights, except that she did kill Mr. Barnaby? And why would she kill Mr. Barnaby unless he knew something she had to keep quiet. He’d already told about Dad’s new will, so it had to be something else. Something very serious.”

There was pain and pleading in her dark eyes, but Drew could offer her little comfort.

“Something like murder.”