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Not having found Mr. Gilchrist at the Prior’s House, Michael approached the manor. As he climbed the entrance steps, the door opened. The butler who stood, stiff and formal in a drab livery, was unknown to him.
He, though, was not unknown to the butler. “Inspector Wainwright.” He came down a step and closed the door behind him. “Mrs. Filmer remains indisposed, sir. I am ordered by the dean to have you direct any inquiries of her to the Prior’s House.”
“Ordered?”
“Yes, sir.”
Ralston Filmer might be headmaster of the well-known school, but he wasn’t master of Michael Wainwright. “Mr. Dodges, correct?”
“Just Dodges, sir.”
“Well, you’ve done your duty. Now tell me if Mrs. Filmer is truly indisposed.”
“The death of Mr. Webberly on manor grounds grieves her.”
He recalled more than one person hinting or outright stating the relationship between Webberly and the married woman. Servants could be extremely loyal. Some, though, were mere employees. How loyal would Dodges be to his mistress? “At Webberly’s death? Or murder on the grounds?”
No flicker of an eyelid betrayed Dodges’ emotions. “At the death, sir.”
“Was she involved with Webberly?”
“An intimate association existed between them since the autumn.”
Those careful words told Michael no more than Amsley had reported the first day. “What do you call intimate, Dodges? Was her marriage in jeopardy?”
Now the butler’s eyelids flared open. He hesitated then said, “The dean did not know the extent of their intimacy.”
And good servant that you are, you don’t provide information unless specifically asked. Gilchrist was the same, he remembered. He needed the specific question to break the unspoken rules of butlerdom.
Since Ralston Filmer knew nothing, he would have had no reason to confront Webberly about the affaire.
He doubted Dodges’ rules of butlerdom would bend to specific details about intimate encounters. “Where did they meet? Here in the house?”
“Sir, I do not believe—.”
“Tell me what you know, Dodges. Where did they meet?”
“The Rowing Shed, sir, in the beginning. When the weather turned chilly, they visited an unused cottage near the other gate.”
“There’s another gate?” He had a sudden wish for Isabella Tarrant’s skill with a map.
“One used by the manor staff, sir.”
“Not near the river, then?”
“No, sir. Quite the other way. Around the curve of the road.”
Webberly wouldn’t have been heading to an assignation with Mrs. Filmer when he was struck down.
Or he had, but not with Mrs. Filmer. Had she followed him and struck him from behind? She had a half-hour. Did that give her enough time to stalk behind him, discover that he wasn’t going to meet her, locate a weapon, and do the deed? No. Although he and Callaway might time it out later, if things became desperate.
Webberly had a reason to be on the woods path to the river. Either he planned to meet someone, or he used the route to reach another trysting spot.
“Does the woods path go to the Rowing Shed?”
“No, sir. One uses the gravel drive behind the Abbey School buildings for that. The woods path connects the manor to the river path. From there, one can reach the Rowing Shed or venture along the path to the Hook and Line Pub.”
“Where does it go in the other direction?”
“Nowhere, sir. At least, the old manor dock, but it’s in disrepair. Fishermen are known to use that part of the river path. The boys who row for the school occasionally carry their sculls along the path to the old dock, but that is rare, I believe.”
Chevington and Malvaise, entering the case again. “Where is the normal location to float their sculls?”
“The Rowing Shed, unless the school sponsors a race.”
“Tell me what happens at a race. Starting point and finish line.”
“Those are past the pub, sir. The village provides the best viewing for spectators. The sculls are placed in the water at the Rowing Shed then floated down to the village. The starting point is just past the willows, and the bridge provides the finish line. Why are you inquiring about the races, sir? There will not be a race until next month.”
“Following a rabbit’s trail, Dodges. I never know what will be pertinent to a case.”
“I understand, sir, that Master Sherborne was arrested last evening in connection with the case.”
“Sherborne is not the murderer. We’re holding him on a different charge. Not an arrest. Nothing to do with Webberly. I came here specifically this morning to question your mistress. Mrs. Filmer left the Sunday service for a half-hour. I’d like to know the reason. I need to speak with her for that, notwithstanding Mr. Filmer’s orders.”
“She came here, sir. She had a gastric upset.”
“You were at the service, Dodges. How do you know that answer?”
“A maid admitted her to the house and assisted her, sir. They were upstairs together until Mrs. Filmer left. As the maid was upstairs cleaning, the cook can confirm for you when Mrs. Filmer left the house. The cook spoke with me upon my return. I left the service a little in advance of the benediction, sir, and a good thing, for the cook had a problem which had to be addressed before the dean and Mrs. Filmer came for luncheon.”
Michael felt his wind sigh away. Mrs. Filmer was now accounted for. He hadn’t really expected any result that would help his investigation. “Is that all you have to tell me, Dodges? Nothing more about Webberly and Mrs. Filmer?”
The man’s mouth compressed, a good butler refusing to speak about his employer.
“Who else knew of their affaire?” He expected a strict I could not say. Dodges’ answer surprised him.
“Mr. Farrell, sir. And young Gilchrist, who informed his father who spoke of it with me.”
Now those were two definite lines of inquiry. How would Farrell know? Mrs. Filmer confided in him, just as school boys and masters confided in the man. And young Gilchrist? Gilchrist the Younger. He remembered hearing that.
And Gilchrist the Older had hovered, wanting to share something but needing the right question to enable him to break those unwritten rules of butlerdom, the same guide for major domos.
“What did young Gilchrist say?”
“He spotted them, sir. In the cottage.”
“How do you know this?”
“I was there when he informed his father.”
“Where can I find young Gilchrist?”
“He’s an undergardener. Mr. MacAlphin, the head gardener, will know his assignment for the day.”
No rabbit trail this but a direct path to where he needed to reach. “Where can I find Mr. MacAlphin?”
“I would try the maze, sir.”
The maze. Michael headed round the manor and spotted the tall hedge in the distance, past the ornate garden. The maze kept surfacing, but was it a rabbit’s trail, like the boys and their races, or a definite need of inquiry?
One step forward: Mrs. Filmer could be wiped from the suspect list.
He hoped Callaway was making headway.
. ~ . ~ . ~ .
