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At nine o’clock that night, Pat would have been surprised to hear that she’d sleep a wink. As it was, she passed out somewhere past midnight, Fen curled against her like a cat and purring with satiated pleasure, and was startled to open her eyes to light. Not a lot of light, because the rain was still coming down in sheets outside, but at least it was normal rain, not yesterday’s driving torrents. It would pass soon.
It would pass, and the police would come.
There was a tap on the door which, Pat realised, was what had woken her. She swung her feet out of bed, realising she was naked and, frankly, a bit sticky. She donned Fen’s dressing gown, unlocked the door, and let Travers in.
“Good morning, Miss Merton.” The maid came bearing tea. She put the tray down, casting a reproachful but affectionate look at Fen, still apparently asleep. “Shall I light the fire?”
“No need, I think. It’s not cold, just wet. Thank you very much.” Pat took the proffered cup. “Did you sleep well?”
“As much as might be expected, thank you, miss, what with murderers roaming the house.”
That was fair, but unanswerable. Pat got back on the bed to be out of the way while Travers went about her work. “What are they saying in the servants’ hall?”
Travers pursed her lips. “I wouldn’t wish to gossip, miss.”
“Oh, yes you would,” Fen said from under the covers. “You always know everything. You knew Mrs. Mapesborough was going to leave her husband before she did herself. Cough up.”
“That’s not ladylike, Miss Fen,” Travers said severely. “And if I had happened to hear talk, I shouldn’t dream of repeating it.”
Fen sat up. “What are they saying? Stop fiddling with my hairbrush, pour us both some tea, and tell me at once.”
Pat, slightly startled at Fen’s high-handed tone, was about to point out that she already had tea, but Travers was already pouring out two more cups. She handed one to her mistress, added an extra spoon of sugar to the other, and settled on the end of the bed with it. “Well. For a start, nobody’s sorry to see the back of that man.”
“Was he a nuisance to the maids?” Fen asked.
“Not that anybody said. He wasn’t liked, to say the least of it, but I don’t think he made himself unpleasant to the staff in a particular way. Almost the other. Too friendly, when nobody wants a gentleman being friendly.”
“Isn’t that what I said?”
“Not like that.” Travers waved a hand, groping for meaning. “Insinuating, is what Mr. Keynes’s gentleman called him. Sneaking and prying with a smile on his face.”
“He was trying to butter up the staff to get information?” Pat demanded.
“Just repeating what I’ve heard, Miss Merton.”
“Oh, don’t be stiff,” Fen told her. “Pat’s one of us. Is that what he was doing? Because you may as well know, he was a blackmailer.”
Pat opened her mouth to protest that wild indiscretion, and took a mouthful of tea to prevent herself. Putting Travers’ back up would be a tactical error of horrendous proportions.
“Was he now? Doesn’t surprise me,” Travers said with a sniff. “Everyone says he was a brute to the family.”
“Is it a loyal house?” Fen asked.
“Very, miss. Lady Anna has always been difficult, as I hear, but, but the Earl and Countess and Mr. Yoxall, well, nobody wants to see ill come to them. Or Miss Singh, either. She’s getting on very well with Mr. Keynes,” Travers added, superbly casual.
“So well that they’re getting married,” Fen said, trumping that with a hint of smugness.
“I wish them very happy, I’m sure. A nice gentleman, by all accounts and his man is a decent fellow. Good man, good master, that’s what I say.”
“What about Mr. Haworth’s man?”
“Doesn’t have one. Lost everything in the crash. That’s why they’re hanging on the Earl’s sleeve, not but what he’s felt the pinch too.”
Fen nodded. “So, what about yesterday? Did anyone see anything in the East Wing?”
“Now, why would you ask that? What are you up to, Miss Fen?”
“Asking questions.”
The maid pursed her lips. “Curiosity killed the cat.”
“Somebody killed Mr. Haworth, and I’d like to know who. Otherwise the police will ask a lot of impertinent questions, and it will be awful because, you know, one might well have done all sorts of things that one wouldn’t want to discuss with the world.” Travers raised a meaningful brow but didn’t comment. “And it might not even be clear who did it, and what then? What if whoever did it gets away with it and the rest of us are suspected forever?”
“I doubt anyone will think it was you, Miss Fen,” Travers said. “As for what anyone saw, I couldn’t say. All the gentry were moving round and about yesterday, cluttering up the place as usual.”
“Could you find out?” Fen asked. “Who went to the East Wing, and when? Really, Travers, it’s important. I want to know where I stand.”
“Stand indeed. Lounging in bed till all hours, more like.” Travers rose on that snub. “I dare say there’ll be plenty of people ready to gossip instead of doing their duty.”
Fen beamed at her. “Thank you. The movements of staff and the gentry, please, between—what time would you say, Pat?”
“We saw Haworth going into the East Wing at half past eleven. The dagger was missed at two o’clock, but the family and guests were at lunch from one, and of course Haworth wasn’t there. I think it must have happened between half past eleven and one o’clock.”
Travers nodded briskly. “I see, miss. I suppose I ought to look for cuffs, too.”
“Sorry?”
“Shirt cuffs. I understand Mr. Haworth was stabbed, and I dare say that would be a messy business.”
Pat’s mouth opened. She cast a look at Fen, who beamed smugly back. “I rely on Travers, Pat, you’ve no idea. Yes, of course shirt cuffs. What a good thought.”
“It wasn’t very messy,” Pat temporised. “There wasn’t much blood at all. I suppose it would still have...” She sought for a word. “Sprayed.”
“Small spots would be all the easier to miss. I’ll see what I can do.” Travers topped up the teacups, gathered up the tray, and disappeared. Pat said, “Good heavens.”
“She’s marvellous,” Fen said. “I’d say she was wasted as a maid, but she’s awfully good at that, too. Come on, let’s get dressed.”
***
EVERYONE ELSE WAS UP early with the exception of the Countess and Lady Anna. Most of them looked as though they hadn’t slept, and the party ate breakfast in yet another awkward silence.
“I wonder if you could all come to the drawing room,” Jimmy said after breakfast. “We need a conversation.”
“We’re all here,” Preston remarked.
“I’m not discussing this business over black pudding. I’ll order coffee. Father, if you’d like to go upstairs and sit with Mother, I’ll handle things down here.”
The Earl nodded. He looked exhausted, Pat thought, as if his son-in-law’s miserable end had been one piece of bad news too many.
The rest of them gathered in the drawing room as requested. Jimmy stood in front of the fireplace, as Bill leaned against the wall. “Well. Thank you, everyone. The first thing I should say is that I sent for the police this morning.”
“When will they get here?” Pat asked.
“It’s hard to say. The police station is thirty miles away. One of the grooms has gone on horseback rather than risking the motor-car. He’ll telephone from the village if he can, which is twelve miles, but it’s possible the wires came down in the high winds. I’d be surprised if they’re here until the afternoon and perhaps not even then.”
“Obviously, none of us is able to leave, given the trains,” Bill said. “But I hope you all understand that we mustn’t leave even should there be an opportunity to do so.”
“What does that mean?” Jack asked.
“Someone in this house killed him, not to dress the matter up. Therefore, everyone remains until the police arrive. That’s what it means and there’s no point anyone taking offence. We’re all in the same boat.”
Jack’s mouth tightened, but he nodded. “I dare say you’re right.”
“He is right,” Jimmy said. “I know this is all very awful, but the staff are being absolute trojans. There will be meals served as usual. Bill thinks we should stay together.”
“Do you think we’re in danger?” Victoria demanded.
“It would be best for everyone to be in company,” Bill said. “That’s all we’re saying.”
Pat attempted to catch his eye, without success, so had to convey her displeasure verbally instead. “I’m not sure we can sit in here together for the whole day.”
“No, we cannot,” Victoria agreed. “Preston and I will stay together, and we won’t leave the house. I hope that will suffice.”
“I’ll be with Fen,” Pat said.
“Bill, Jack, and I will stick together, then,” Jimmy said. “I don’t know if Anna will get up. She had a dreadful night, Mother said. Everything sinking in, I suppose.”
“Poor thing,” Victoria said. “Can I do anything for Aunt Mattie?”
Jimmy opened his hands. “You can try. I’m sure she’d appreciate it.”
Victoria and Preston headed out. Jack looked between the remnants of the party. “And now I suppose we simply wait?”
“Actually, while you three are here, I’d like a word,” Pat said. “I think it might be useful if we compared notes on what happened yesterday.”
“Ought we not leave that to the police?” Jimmy said.
“We don’t know when they’re going to arrive, and meanwhile we’re all in here together. And the fact is, I think Fen and I might have been among the last ones to see him alive, excepting the murderer, so—”
“Really?” Bill said. “When was that?”
“When we left you in the East Wing.”
She only realised how her words sounded when they came out. Bill blinked. Jack’s well-shaped brows rose steeply.
“We had that chat in the downstairs sitting room of the East Wing,” Pat ploughed on. “As Fen and I left, we passed Jimmy heading along the corridor towards us, and then Maurice Haworth coming through the hall behind him.” This was sounding worse and worse. Jimmy’s cheeks had reddened. “That was at half past eleven, because the clock struck right next to me,” she finished desperately. “So of course it would be useful to know who saw him after that.”
“You said you spoke to him an hour before dinner, Jack,” Bill said. “Where was that?”
Jack frowned in thought. “I don’t think it can have been an hour before, you know, now I consider. I was in here with Maurice at some point that morning. We exchanged some talk, about nothing in particular, then he looked at the clock, and went away in a meaningful sort of fashion in the direction of the hall. I assumed he had an appointment of some kind.”
“With whom?” Pat demanded.
“I have no idea. I might be wrong about that; it was merely an impression I had because he looked at the clock in such a marked way.”
“What time was it?”
Jack exhaled. “That’s what I’m trying to remember. The thing is, I had no reason to notice. I had nothing else to do so the time wasn’t important. It might well have been around half past eleven, or a little before, but I shouldn’t care to say so on oath. I certainly didn’t see him again after that, whenever it was, poor fellow. So you saw him, Jimmy?”
“No,” Jimmy said shortly. “I spoke to Father in his study, came across the hall, went straight in to the sitting room where Bill was, and shut the door after me. I didn’t know Maurice was following me, if he was. I didn’t see anyone except Pat and Fen on the way.”
“I stayed in the sitting room after you ladies left,” Bill added. “The door was open until Jimmy came in. Once he shut it, I don’t suppose I’d have noticed anyone walking past unless they made a racket, which nobody did.”
“What did you do then?” Pat asked. “Were you both in there until lunch?”
“No,” Jimmy said. “I went—”
“Yes,” Bill said over him. “Of course we were.”
There was a second’s silence, in which nobody breathed. Jimmy looked round at Bill, eyes wide. Bill said, “You’re thinking of the other day, you fool. You were with me yesterday morning, in the sitting room, until lunch. Weren’t you?”
His tone didn’t allow for contradiction. Jimmy swallowed. “Uh, yes. I suppose you’re right.”
“I am right.”
“What were you up to?” Jack asked.
Jimmy opened his mouth, then flickered a glance to Bill, who said, “Just talking. We sat and discussed various matters—financial, you’ll excuse me from going into detail—until the luncheon gong sounded. Jimmy was with me the entire time.”
“Yes,” Jimmy said. “That’s right. How absurd of me.”
Pat opened her mouth with no idea what to say. Fen put in, “But you must have heard something in that time?”
“What do you mean?” Jimmy asked.
“Well, Mr. Haworth didn’t come to lunch, which I expect is because he couldn’t. And that room, the one he was found in, is right above the one you were in, isn’t it?”
Bill shut his eyes. “Great Scott. Are you seriously suggesting he was murdered up there while Jimmy and I were talking downstairs?”
“Wasn’t he?”
“All I can say is, we didn’t hear it. Not consciously, at least. This is a creaky old place at the best of times and there was that howling wind. I would have thought I’d have heard a scream, still, but I didn’t. Given how little blood there was, he may not have had time to cry out.”
Fen shuddered. “Would you not have heard someone walking around above you?”
“Well, I didn’t,” Jimmy said shortly.
“Nor I,” Bill said. “Or perhaps I did but it’s what Jack said: there was no reason to notice or remember. There are plenty of people in the house, all of whom were entitled to go anywhere they pleased, including upstairs.”
“Indeed,” Jack said. “So you didn’t notice if Maurice went straight up to the room where he was killed? Surely you’d have heard him going up the stairs after Jimmy came in, if he was right behind you?”
“I don’t know that he was right behind me,” Jimmy snapped. “I’m told he was. I wasn’t paying attention.”
Jack’s brows drew together slightly. “You don’t seem to have been paying attention to much that morning. You don’t recall where you were, or who was around you—”
“He was with me,” Bill said.
“I dare say I was in a flap,” Jimmy said. “Forgive me if the end of my engagement and my father’s troubles and Maurice’s behaviour seemed more important to me than listening to footsteps on the stairs.”
“So you did hear footsteps?” Jack asked.
“No!”
“Oh!” That was Fen, hand coming to her mouth.
“What’s that, Miss Carruth?” Bill asked.
“Footsteps. I just remembered. When Pat and I left you, Mr. Merton, we went through the hall, where we saw Mr. Haworth, and straight up the west stairs to Pat’s room, while my maid packed. But do you recall, Pat, we heard footsteps go past the door? And I do remember that because we’d been talking about private matters”—she gave Jimmy a nod to indicate the broken engagement—“and I didn’t wish to be overheard. So I stopped, and someone went past, coming from the East Wing and going past our rooms. And I did think they were walking awfully quietly. I remember wondering if they might have been listening and telling myself not to be silly.”
“You’re right,” Pat said. “Someone came past...oh, at perhaps twenty to twelve, would you say? Not much later. Quarter to at most.”
Bill frowned. “Along the first floor back corridor, coming from the East Wing. Who would come that way? Staff?”
“Can’t see why. There’s a servants’ door on the west side,” Jimmy said. “And Ma told them not to trouble with anything in the East Wing while we’ve a houseful of guests.”
“Nobody came along there before,” Fen said. “Or, at least, that was the first time I’d noticed someone walking past my room in the whole time I’ve been here.”
“There’s no obvious reason for anyone to come that way, is there?” Bill said. “Not unless you were already on the first floor of the East Wing.”
Fen’s eyes were huge. “Was that the killer, walking past Pat’s bedroom?”
“It’s a theory,” Bill said. “A pretty good one, but still a theory for now. We’ll need to pin down who the walker was. Man or woman?”
“I don’t know,” Pat said. “It was a fairly light tread. If it was a man, he wasn’t thumping around like a herd of elephants. Which rules you out,” she added to Bill. It was an automatic sisterly jibe, but Jack Bouvier-Lynes raised his brows with a sardonic lift that brought the colour to her cheeks. “That was a joke.”
“Of course it was,” Jack said. “And of course we all want to be ruled out. May I make an observation? If someone were leaving the room in question yesterday—let us say, with an urgent need to wash their hands—they would have taken the first floor back corridor to reach a bedroom on the first floor. If that person was billeted on the second floor, they would surely have taken the East Wing stairs all the way up, and followed the back corridor from there. No?”
He didn’t point out that he, Bill, and Preston were the only people sleeping on the second floor, while Jimmy’s room was on the first floor. He didn’t have to.
Jimmy’s mouth tightened ominously. Pat rushed in before this became personal. “That sounds plausible but as Bill says, it’s a theory. We need to know where everyone was still. So where did you spend the rest of the morning, Jack, after Mr. Haworth left you? Were you with anyone between then and lunch?”
Jack opened his mouth, but didn’t answer at once. He looked decidedly self-conscious. “Did you stay here alone?” Pat pressed.
“I’m afraid I’m not willing to comment at the moment.”
“I beg your pardon?” Bill said.
Jack grimaced. “As you’ve said, we all have our own concerns. I should like a chance to consider mine before I reply.”
“I don’t think so,” Pat said. “The police won’t give you a chance to consider, and they’ll be here soon. If you’ve something to say, you’d better say it.”
Fen looked at her with startled admiration. Bill, however, was wincing. “If it’s a delicate matter—”
“Oh, I think we’re beyond that,” Jimmy said roughly. “Murder isn’t delicate. I suppose you ‘aren’t willing to comment’ because you were with someone you oughtn’t have been with. It’s hardly a conundrum, is it? I don’t know why you don’t come out with it; it’s not as though you’ve had any other care for her reputation.”
Jack held up a hand to stop him, paused as if thinking for a moment, and then said deliberately, “I suppose indiscretion is the lesser of two evils. When Maurice left me, I went to Anna’s room, and I spent the period until luncheon with her.”
“Was anyone else with you?” Bill asked.
“No, dear fellow. That was the point.”
Jimmy pushed himself straight, fists clenching. Jack winced. “No, think, Jimmy. You may not like this conversation but you must be glad to know Anna has a witness to her whereabouts.”
“What?” Jimmy almost shouted. “Are you accusing my sister?”
“No, curse it! I’m giving her an alibi.”
“Do you think— Shut up, Jim. Do you think it’s necessary to do so?” Bill asked.
Jack pushed a hand through his hair, disarranging its sleekness. “There’s no point sugar-coating this, is there? When a husband dies, especially an unkind one, the police look first to the wife. Murder is so often a family affair. And perhaps I’m wrong, but I doubt I’d have seen a wall ornament as a weapon. One might well conclude the killer knew the house intimately.” Jimmy’s cheeks darkened. Jack shook his head. “I’m talking about what an outsider might think, not what I think. And I know not to think it, because I bade farewell to Maurice, went straight to Anna’s room, and remained with her until luncheon. Disapprove all you like, but I’d rather save her neck than her name. I can only add that I hope this discussion will remain private and I have no intention of repeating it to anyone except, if need be, the police.”
“You really are a damned cad,” Jimmy remarked, voice shaking. “Conducting this under my father’s roof—”
“Does it make a difference if one keeps one’s mistress in London?” Jack snapped, his normally smooth tone fracturing at last. Jimmy moved, but Bill grabbed him.
“Steady. Steady. Your sister is a grown woman, Jim. You may not like it, but Jack’s not wrong about where suspicion might fall. And it’s probably best to have this out here instead of in front of your parents, isn’t it?”
Jimmy cast Jack a look of loathing. “It ought not have been necessary. What are your intentions now?”
Jack blinked at that. “My what?”
“Your intentions. You can’t expect me not to ask, since you’ve shared your business so generously with us. And given Anna has already brought one damned smirking fortune-hunter into the family—”
“Jimmy!” Bill barked. “For God’s sake. This is not the time or the place. In fact it’s the least of our worries, would you not say?”
“It isn’t yours at all,” Jack said. “I know what I want, but it will be Anna’s choice. And I hardly think it’s right to discuss the matter with Maurice barely cold.”
They glared at each other for a moment, then Jimmy threw up his hands and turned on his heel. Jack relaxed visibly, the movement making Pat realise how tense he’d been.
“How did you go to Lady Anna’s room?” she asked, keeping her voice calm as though this were a normal question. “What route?”
“Up the west stairs.”
“Did anyone see you?”
“Well, I didn’t see anyone,” Jack said. “Which isn’t the same thing of course. The place felt deserted, though.”
“And what time was this?”
“Very shortly after Maurice left me. Which, if he went straight to the East Wing, would be around half past eleven.”
Pat didn’t feel she could press any further questions about the pre-prandial period within decency. “All right. It seems that the, er, period of interest is between half past eleven and one, during which Jack and Lady Anna were together the whole time. So were Fen and I. And so were you?” She hadn’t meant to make that a question, but it came out that way.
“Yes,” Bill said flatly, for himself and Jimmy.
“That leaves Victoria, Preston, the Earl and the Countess, and if everyone has an alibi for the period before lunch then we’ll have demonstrated that none of us was responsible. I’m going to talk to Victoria.” She knew it sounded abrupt but she didn’t care. She rose, feeling jerky and ungainly, and strode out. Fen followed, and Pat felt a warm hand close over hers.
“Pat?”
“Let’s find the others first. I want this over with.”
The engaged pair weren’t far away: in the West Wing’s library, talking quietly. Victoria looked up as Pat entered. “Hello. Is something wrong?”
Pat plunged in, unwilling to hedge. “Sorry to bother you. We’re interested in knowing where everyone was before lunchtime yesterday.”
Victoria’s brows rose. “That is the question of the day, I suppose. Should we not wait for the police to do the asking?”
“I’d prefer to ask now. I’m not terribly happy about waiting.”
“All right with me. We were together,” Preston said. “Met up at breakfast, went to speak to Lady Witton to let her know our news, and then we rather went and hid, didn’t we?”
“Where?”
“In here,” Victoria said. “We had tea around eleven; Mary—the housemaid—brought it, and came to clear away when we were finished. I suppose that was around quarter to twelve or so but I couldn’t swear to the exact time.”
“Did you go to the East Wing at all?”
Preston shook his head. “We stayed in here until luncheon, then decided we ought to make an effort to be sociable in the afternoon, since Haworth wasn’t around. I played cards with the other chaps. Jack won, naturally.”
“Did you see Haworth at any point yesterday?”
“Glad to say I didn’t.” Preston reddened. “That is—oh, you know what I mean. It was jolly awkward, having laid hands on the blighter. I felt I’d behaved badly enough the night before.”
“Did you think you might hit him again if you saw him?” Fen asked, so wide-eyed and innocently curious that Preston was half way through his answer before Pat realised her meaning.
“I should hope not. Talk about uncivilised. I’d have hopped on the milk train this morning and rid the Wittons of my presence if it hadn’t meant leaving Victoria in the lurch. But since I couldn’t do that, I felt I’d be best off avoiding the ghastly swine. Not to speak ill of the dead.”
“Were you suggesting Preston might have wanted to avenge Maurice’s insults?” Victoria enquired.
“Oh, I say,” Preston objected. “Hold your horses. I’d gladly have darkened his daylights for him, but there’s a difference between giving a man the thrashing he deserves and, well, what happened.”
“There certainly is,” Pat said. “And you weren’t alone in your desire to give him a thrashing. My brother asked him to step outside, if you recall.”
“But it’s Preston whose finger-marks are on the corpse’s throat,” Victoria said. “Which is something we’ll have to explain to the police.” Her face was tense.
“That’s the problem,” Fen said. “An awful lot of us will have to explain very personal things when they arrive, because Mr. Haworth was an expert in digging up very personal things, wasn’t he? Digging them up, sniffing them out, and using them against one.”
Victoria frowned. “What do you mean?”
“He liked to make people unhappy. Everyone knows I’ve been engaged before but nobody else found it necessary to taunt me about it. He liked to make people do what he said, as with the Wittons, sitting there letting him speak monstrously because they were afraid of what he’d do if they crossed him. Or for profit. He made a good thing out of knowing people’s secrets, didn’t he?”
Preston’s mouth dropped open. “Are you suggesting he was a blackmailer?”
“Good heavens,” Victoria said. “Really? Although I can’t say I’m astonished. Are you sure?”
Pat nodded. Preston made a face. “If he was blackmailing someone, I’ve every sympathy for the victim. It’s a foul thing.”
“It is, but one can’t take the law into one’s own hands,” Victoria said. “Especially not if one attempts to cast suspicion on other people.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Fen said. “Do you think the killer used that particular weapon on purpose?”
Victoria gave her a sardonic look. “It seems likely that someone wished to direct suspicion at me. That said, it was also an easily available weapon, and extremely sharp.”
“Yes, the Earl told us the weapons on the walls are kept in good condition.”
“Uncle James insists. I dare say we’re fortunate the killer didn’t use one of the broadswords in the hall.”
Pat had an instant mental image of that, which she attempted to forget. Fen said, “That’s unusual, isn’t it? Who would have known that’s his practice?”
Victoria opened her mouth, paused, then gave Fen a look sharp as the kirpan blade. “The family and me, I dare say.”
“Mmm,” Fen said. “I don’t suppose you saw or heard anybody, between half past eleven and luncheon?”
Both shook their heads. “We had the door shut,” Victoria said, sounding self-possessed as ever but her cheeks reddening a little. “We really didn’t want to encounter Haworth. Is that the period—”
“It seems so. It would be an awful help if everyone could pin down their movements.”
“Unfortunately, we can only speak for ourselves. I heard people walking by at various points but I’ve no idea who or when.”
That was all of use the engaged couple had to say. Fen took Pat’s hand as they left the library and steered her gently up to her bedroom, which was mercifully free of Travers. She shut the door and said, “Come here.”
Pat walked into her open arms, burying her face in Fen’s hair and inhaling her scent. Fen pushed up against her, warm and soft and desperately comforting. They held each other for a moment that Pat didn’t want to break and then Fen stepped away, sat on the bed, and patted the quilt next to her.
“Sit down. We need to talk about it.”
Pat sat. She didn’t know what to say; she didn’t want to speak.
“I’m inclined to believe Victoria and Preston,” Fen said. “They had every reason to hide away together like that, and they sounded truthful. And they both seemed surprised about the blackmail, one could see that.”
“Yes. I agree.”
“So, unless they’re hiding some deep dark motive, I don’t see they had a reason to kill him, other than this idea of avenging insult,” Fen persisted. “They could just leave and not see him ever again.”
“Yes.”
“So it probably wasn’t them. And it wasn’t us. And Jack was with Lady Anna—assuming she supports his story, of course. We still need to know about the Earl and Countess.”
“Yes.”
Fen took a deep breath. “And your brother was lying.”