The Lady By His Side(83)

Antonia studied Sebastian’s frowning expression and the inspector’s puzzled face. She cleared her throat. “I hesitate to mention it, but there’s one other possible candidate for the role of murderer—someone from outside who came to the house in secret. Ennis was expecting him”—she looked at Sebastian—“perhaps as a part of his revelations to you. Ennis opened the window and let this man in. Having learned that Ennis was preparing to speak to the authorities, the man killed Ennis, then escaped via the window.”

Crawford shot her a glum, distinctly unhappy look.

“No.” Still frowning, Sebastian shook his head. “It can’t have been that.”

Crawford perked up. “Why not?”

“Because while that neatly accounts for Ennis’s murder, a mysterious man from outside the house party can’t account for Cecilia’s murder.” Sebastian grimaced and met Crawford’s gaze. “Not unless you’re willing to entertain the possibility of two different murderers.”

Crawford groaned. “Heaven help us—no.” He closed his notebook and tucked it back inside his coat. “One murderer is bad enough. No need to imagine a second.”

Sebastian grunted. “I agree.”

Antonia had been picturing where all the men had been, like a play on a stage with characters moving here and there. “Of our three men who might be guilty, Connell Boyne was out of sight of anyone else for the longest period of time.”

Crawford nodded. “True. But he’s also the one it’s hardest to see being able to stab Ennis in the study late enough to fit the doctor’s timetable, then get back to where he was seen several minutes before Lord Earith here raised the alarm.” The inspector grimaced. “He’s Ennis’s brother, too—not that that makes him any less likely as the murderer, sad to say.”

“As to that,” Antonia said, “another possibility we haven’t properly canvassed is whether the motive for these murders is something quite other.” She looked at Sebastian. “Something not in any way linked to Ennis’s message for Winchelsea.”

Both Sebastian and the inspector stared at her impassively.

Then Crawford heaved another sigh. “And that’s entirely possible, too.”

Sebastian snorted. “If it comes to that, Blanchard could have done the deed. He—or any of the staff—had as much opportunity as any of the guests.”

Crawford nodded. “I’ll be interviewing the staff again tomorrow. We’ll see where that gets us.”

“We can discount the obvious other motive,” Sebastian said. “Ennis had at least one son, so his heir isn’t his brother, Connell, so the inheritance can’t be a motive in these murders.”

“There are two sons,” Antonia put in. “Cecilia mentioned they were at boarding school.”

“Poor tykes. They haven’t been told yet,” Crawford said. “Sir Humphrey is getting Ennis’s solicitor down tomorrow, and we’re hoping he can take on the estate for the moment. Until we free Connell Boyne of suspicion in his brother’s murder, no matter the motive, it isn’t appropriate for him to take up the reins.”

Crawford looked at Sebastian, then at Antonia. “Sir Humphrey and I would appreciate it if you both could keep your eyes on our three prime suspects. It’s possible that our villain will let something slip when he’s in what he deems less threatening company.”

Antonia added her agreement to Sebastian’s, then Crawford nodded politely, and they parted—the inspector heading back down to the stable while, arm in arm, she and Sebastian continued to the house.



* * *



Sebastian and Antonia entered the house with just enough time to bathe and dress for dinner.

They met in the corridor outside their rooms and descended to the drawing room side by side. Once inside the room, they halted. Both surveyed the subdued company, then they met each other’s eyes and, in wordless accord, separated.

Antonia strolled to join the ladies gathered on the sofas before the fireplace. A roaring blaze sent heat into the room, but seemed unable to lift the chill from the company’s collective spirits. Mrs. McGibbin and Mrs. Parrish looked much older tonight; they sat with their heads together, conversing in murmurs. Amelie Bilhurst, quiet but holding her own, sat beside Melinda Boyne and was patently attempting to keep Melinda’s spirits up, a task at which she wasn’t succeeding all that well; Melinda looked…spooked.

Antonia wondered if Melinda—a Boyne, after all—knew anything about the murders. Or anything that might shed some light on who the murderer might be.