Kat reached out and stopped Harry just as he was about to open the grand front door to Mydworth Manor.
“Harry, how about – before we talk to Forsyth – we go take a look, down where the grotto is? I mean, last night no one was thinking anything. Now—”
“In the light of day, a hint of suspicion in the air?”
“Exactly!”
“Lead on.”
They walked around the house and took the gravel path down to where a lush green carpet of grass hugged close to the small lake, just north of the main grounds, leading to the grotto.
*
Harry knelt down, looking at the churned-up mud at the water’s edge made by all the people who had stomped about here last night.
He looked up at Kat. “Going to take Grayer quite a bit of work to get this patch looking like it hasn’t been turned into cow pasture.”
He saw Kat looking around, to the east where the lake ended and the grass trailed off into the rising hills where Harry had loved to play when he was young.
He and his pals would run around, playing at being soldiers as they hid behind giant rocks and climbed trees – not knowing that, for nearly all of them, the real thing was not too far away.
And that only a few would return.
Kat turned and looked back to where they had come from.
“You, m’lady, are having some thoughts, yes?”
She nodded. “That I am. I mean, this grotto, it’s a long way from the house.”
“Yes, I suppose it is. Bit of a refuge. Sit there, book of poetry in your lap. Rather peaceful, don’t you think?”
“Yes, but that’s just it.”
Kat, seemingly unconcerned that her leather laced-up boots were turning a darker brown as they sank into the mud, took a step towards him.
“Go on,” said Harry.
Another step. And now with the late morning sun hitting his wife squarely in her face, making each angle stand out, her blue eyes glistening, she faced him directly and said, “That’s just it. Carmody, maybe not feeling all that well, wants some air. But why on earth…?”
“Walk this far?”
“Precisely. It’s a long walk from the party in the dark. Especially when you’re not feeling well.”
“Doesn’t add up.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Suspicious?”
At that Kat shrugged. “Curious. Odd. No easy explanation.”
“Well, we are a little early in this investigation.”
“Is that what it is?”
“Time will tell, my dear, but… hang on…”
“What?”
Harry had noticed something, the sun at a high enough angle that he could make out the ripples and lines in the churned-up mud.
“Do step carefully for a minute. But follow me.”
He stepped over the mess of jumbled footprints to where he saw just one set of footprints. He stopped and Kat followed suit.
“Harry, what is it?”
He pointed where the footprints led away from the muddy jumble.
“Notice anything?”
Kat paused, right at his shoulder. “These prints here. One set. Heading off in that direction, away from us. Not directly back to the house.”
“Unlike the other ones,” he said.
“Yes. So who would do that, with the body on the ground, and the police on the scene? No one could just walk away, unnoticed. Someone would have seen them. Don’t you think?”
Harry stood up.
“That I do. Which means–”
“The footsteps were made before anyone discovered the body of Wilfred Carmody.”
“Makes sense,” he said. “But I’d wager if we follow the prints, they’ll disappear as soon as we get away from the mud, and onto the grass. Then… who knows where they went?”
He watched Kat scan the lake, the grass, then back to the grotto.
“It might also mean,” she said, “that when Carmody came down here, he was not alone.”
“He came down here to meet somebody.”
“Exactly,” Kat said. “You know, for a warm morning, that thought just gave me quite a chill.”
“Me too, I must admit. Though quite how you give someone a heart attack on cue…”
“Can be done,” said Kat, her face now serious. “So I’ve heard.”
Harry nodded, knowing that Kat, in her years working for the American government, had experience of the darker side of the diplomatic arts.
As indeed had he, in service with His Majesty’s Diplomatic Corps.
“In which case, perhaps I should phone Dr Bedell, ask him to take a discreet look at the body.”
“And order an autopsy.”
“That too,” said Harry, “but in the meantime, worth a careful inspection here for signs of anything untoward.”
“I agree,” said Kat. “You know, I just remembered something from last night. Not sure it’s important.”
“I’m sure it is,” said Harry.
He looked at Kat, the morning sun catching her hair.
This conversation so incongruous.
“Just after we arrived, I saw Forsyth arguing with someone out on the lawn. Someone in a monk’s robe, like Carmody’s.”
“Funny you say that,” said Harry. “I saw a monk in a hurry on the staircase last night. Course, always hard to tell one monk from another. And in a mask, well…”
“Perfect set-up to kill somebody, wouldn’t you say? Masks, disguises…”
“Indeed,” he said, wiping his muddy shoes against the grass. “Well this idea of yours – coming down here – jolly productive. Shall we see the state of play up at the house?”
“By all means.”
And Harry walked beside Kat.
For now they were silent, though he guessed she had to be thinking the same as him.
What on earth actually happened last night?
Had Carmody been murdered?
If so, why?
And how?
*
Kat followed Harry up the steps onto the rear terrace of Mydworth Manor, and through the French windows into the house.
She could see that the staff had already been busy cleaning and tidying. Last night’s Venetian decorations were all gone, and the floors looked freshly swept and polished.
Maids and footmen – they had to be weary! – still scurried back and forth, carrying trays – presumably for those guests still in their bedrooms.
She and Harry walked down the corridor into the big living room. A handful of overnight guests sat on sofas and armchairs – some stood in the open French windows.
Everyone was now in their normal weekend clothes – Venetian costumes gone.
She saw Benton delivering drinks on a tray to one couple she did recognise, standing just outside on the terrace: Celine Dubois and her husband Douglas Sawyer.
As Benton came back through the living room, Harry nodded to him.
“Benton.”
“Sir Harry?”
“People still having breakfast?”
“Yes, sir, though many of her ladyship’s guests have preferred breakfast in their rooms.”
“I can imagine why, eh? Mr Palmer down yet?”
“Indeed yes, sir, he was one of the first to arise. I gather he is out riding sir.”
“Nothing gets in the way of an Englishman and his morning ride,” said Harry.
“What about Mr Forsyth?” said Kat.
“Still in his room, I believe, Lady Mortimer. He was one of the last to take to his bed last night, what with the… er… unfortunate incident by the lake.”
“Of course,” said Kat. “Seems he was pretty upset.” Then a thought: “I wonder – don’t suppose you know if anyone in particular left very muddy shoes out last night to be cleaned?”
“Muddy shoes, m’lady? It is more a question of who didn’t do so. The lakeside entertainments, while being of course a marvellous diversion, have taken their toll on the carpets and footwear throughout the house.”
So much for identifying the mystery footprints this morning, thought Kat.
“Well, we won’t delay you much more, Benton,” said Harry. “Just one last question…” Kat saw him nod to the Sawyers through the French windows. “That a brandy you were just pouring for Mr Sawyer?”
“It was indeed, sir,” said Benton, heading back towards the kitchens.
“The old eye-opener,” said Harry. “Thought Sawyer looked two sheets to the wind last night.”
“Me too,” said Kat. “Know what? Might be a long wait for Forsyth to emerge, why don’t we start talking to people, see if anyone knows anything?”
“Good idea. Fancy the singer and the silent movie star?”
“You know me too well. How about you?”
“Think I’ll take a quiet peek at Carmody’s room.”
“Really?” said Kat.
“I was thinking – remember last night Palmer mentioned important papers? Carmody’s been Palmer’s private secretary for years. Could be that Palmer trusted him with information that might have put him in harm’s way.”
“Government secrets, you mean? Always possible. Though perhaps political secrets are more likely,” she said.
“Good point – Palmer running for Number Ten this autumn. Even people on his own side of the House might be interested in what he’s up to.”
“Journalists too,” said Kat.
“Newspaper barons, even…” said Harry, smiling.
“Maybe a good idea then to search Carmody’s room before Palmer’s back from his ride,” said Kat. “Meanwhile, I’m going to grab a coffee and get the latest gossip from Hollywood.”
“Think I got the raw deal there,” said Harry, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Love you.”
Kat watched him head off to look for Benton, and then went looking for a coffee.
Maybe there was more to Mr Carmody than we thought.