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“TWO MURDERS IN TWO days,” the dowager duchess moaned. “That is outrageous.”
Edmund frowned. “You weren’t sure the late duke’s death was a murder—”
“I’m certain now,” said the dowager duchess. “And please refer to him as your father. Not his occupation, no matter how much pride he found in it.”
Everyone gathered around the body, and Cora wrapped her robe more tightly around her. She’d been sad when the duke had died, but she hadn’t particularly liked him, and he’d had decades of partaking in sumptuous pleasure behind him.
Gladys, though, had scarcely lived. She’d wanted to do so, to be sure. She’d been bright and curious. Gladys hadn’t been involved in selling arms to a country that had fought a long and bloody battle with Britain a generation ago, and was rumored to be interested in having another go at a war, though this time with the intention of winning. Gladys didn’t have children to whom she was cruel.
Gladys had had her whole life before her, and even if others might make snide comments about her inability to stay quiet and her enthusiasm for everything fashionable, Cora was certain Gladys had never intended to harm anyone.
It seemed unimaginably cruel that someone had harmed Gladys in this manner.
“She wanted to speak with me yesterday,” Cora said sadly. “And then she changed her mind and had to return to the kitchen. If only I had insisted she tell me what was troubling her.”
“You think she was killed because she had information against someone?” Randolph asked.
Cora gave a miserable nod.
“What’s that in the chimney?” Lady Audrey asked.
“I don’t see—”
Lady Audrey bent down and pulled up a long piece of leather.
“That’s hardly elegant,” Veronica said. “Is that some horrid belt?”
“Gladys had excellent taste,” Becky said defensively.
“I don’t think Gladys would have used that as a belt.” Cora picked up the fabric. It looked—familiar.
Too familiar.
She glanced at Randolph. “Do you have your camera?”
“It’s in my room,”
“Why do you ask?” Edmund asked.
“I just think—it might be, I mean it looks awfully similar to—”
“A camera strap,” Veronica finished for her. “Honey, you really needn’t stammer so much. You added all sorts of unnecessary words.”
“I think someone else should search Randolph’s room,” Lady Audrey said.
“You don’t mean to think I would have done anything?” Randolph protested. “That’s nonsense.”
Distress moved through Cora.
Randolph knew spies—even the foreign ones.
Perhaps someone had hired Randolph to murder the duke.
He had arrived in the middle of the night.
Perhaps it was just like the dowager duchess had said—he was the strange man who’d killed the duke and then had had second thoughts about attempting to leave the property because of the snow.
“Becky, please bring us Mr. Hall’s camera,” the dowager ordered.
“Very well, Your Grace.” Becky curtsied and hurried from the room.
She came back quickly carrying a camera. Half of the strap was missing.
“She must have pulled it from his hand when he was killing her,” Mr. Ardingley said.
“How dreadful!” Mrs. Ardingley buried her head on her husband’s shoulder.
It is horrible.
Randolph had been perhaps an illusion.
Too perfect, too exquisite, too charming.
Cora’s throat tightened, as if she’d managed to swallow some strychnine.
There was no way for anyone except a stranger to kill the duke. They’d investigated, but found no one guilty.
There was a tree outside the window. Naturally, Randolph would have said it was impossible for someone to have climbed it. He’d been feeding her false information.
Gladys must have noticed something. That’s why she’d wanted to talk with Cora in private. And Cora had been so foolish that she’d mentioned it to Randolph, sealing that poor maid’s fate.
When Cora had fallen, it had been Randolph who’d appeared. Because he’d been right there. Perhaps he hadn’t wanted her to see where he’d come from, since he’d just slipped away to kill Gladys.
Randolph’s eyes were thoughtful, and Cora despised them. He should be acting more afraid. She knew. The fact should make his body quiver, though Cora thought it possible he’d never had an unconfident moment in his life. The man oozed self-assurance...the sort only found in the murderers in the pictures.
“Maybe Randolph is the murderer,” Cora said slowly.
“Nonsense.” Randolph gave a strangled laugh. “I wasn’t even in the house when the dead duke’s murder took place.”
“You climbed the tree. Or perhaps you even brought a ladder over from the barn. I don’t know how you got inside, but you did.”
“I didn’t do it,” he said solemnly. “I-I value life.”
It would be so easy to believe him. He’d been her support over the past few days, but she shouldn’t have been leaning against him. He was dangerous, as unstable as a drawstring bridge.
“You’re coming with me,” Edmund said.
“What are you doing?” Randolph’s voice sounded almost desperate, but Edmund swept his arms behind him and tightened his grip.
“Don’t run away,” Edmund thundered.
Veronica looked like she was about to swoon. “You’re so heroic, darling.”
Edmund smiled, but then his face grew grave. “We won’t have you murder anyone else here.”
“But look,” Randolph said desperately. “I didn’t do it. You must believe me.”
“You must have been hiding out,” Cora said somberly. “And you had access to murder Gladys. And motive. Why else would she have your camera cord?”
“Evidently someone planted it there,” he said.
“I agree,” Signor Palombi said.
Cora glared at him. “You would. The police can decide when they arrive.”
“Yes,” Edmund said. “In the mean time we’ll put you in the South Tower.”
“This is when a dungeon would come in handy,” the dowager duchess declared. “It’s a shame none of the former Holts ever took on the role of magistrate.”
“You’ll suffer for this.” Edmund’s voice was icy and cold. “Breaking into our house? Murdering my father? And then sitting in the drawing room and convincing Cora to arrange a bedroom for you? Interrogating all of us—pretending to help?”
“That poor sweet servant girl,” the dowager wailed.
She’d probably never said so many nice things about a servant before.
“B-but,” Randolph stammered. “Do something, Cora. Tell them!”
“I can’t,” Cora said sadly.
“Please?” Randolph begged.
Cora hesitated and then picked up the Shakespeare volume. “Take this with you. You can read it while you wait for the police.”