The Lady By His Side(84)

But Claire, Melissa, and Georgia, all with somber expressions on their faces, were waiting to draw Antonia down to sit on the arm of the sofa the three shared.

“Where did you get to today?” Georgia asked.

Antonia hid a grimace. “I went with Sebastian to check on nearby farms for Sir Humphrey and the inspector, asking if they’d noticed any strangers about. Sebastian didn’t want to leave me here alone—well, without him.” A twist on the truth, perhaps, but essentially true.

“Well, it’s been deadly here,” Melissa whispered. “They—Sir Humphrey and that inspector—questioned us all, one by one.”

“Not that any of us have been able to tell them anything,” Georgia said.

“Have you heard any word on when we might be allowed to leave?” Claire asked.

“With two murders to solve, I don’t think Sir Humphrey and the inspector are yet ready to allow anyone to depart.” Antonia glanced across the room and saw that Sebastian was surrounded by the men—no doubt being questioned much as she was.

Other than glum rumblings of discontent, nothing of note was said in her hearing before Blanchard appeared and announced that dinner was served.

Sebastian came to give her his arm, a signal for others to adhere to the social habit and pair up, which they did. As a company of couples, they trooped into the dining room and claimed seats as they would.

No one made any move to sit in the carvers at either end of the table.

Blanchard surveyed the company, then proceeded to serve the meal with butlerish imperturbability, as if not having a master or mistress present was an irregularity he was determined to ignore.

The meal was consumed largely in silence—a sober, even somber, and exceedingly weighty silence—broken only by occasional murmurs as people commented desultorily on this or that.

At the end of the meal, Mrs. Parrish and Mrs. McGibbin exchanged a glance, then both rose—bringing the rest of the company to their feet. With nods, the ladies departed for the drawing room, clearly assuming the gentlemen would want their port.

But after exchanging glances themselves, the gentlemen—led by the married men, who seemed to feel a need to remain within sight of their wives—fell in and trailed in the ladies’ wake into the drawing room.

Sebastian was only too happy to stroll with Hadley to where the younger ladies had gathered at one side of the room. He gained Antonia’s side as Georgia Featherstonehaugh, looking longingly out of the window at the front drive, murmured, “I wonder how long we’ll be stuck here?”

Hadley caught her hand and squeezed it. “I’m sure they won’t keep us much longer, not once they’ve gathered all the information they need.”

Georgia summoned a weak smile and trained it on her husband.

Sebastian exchanged a look with Antonia, but neither of them said anything. Informing the company that they might well be held there for days yet—or until the murderer was caught—wouldn’t raise anyone’s spirits.

Claire Savage shook herself, then raised her head and somewhat bravely said, “I heard there’s a new play in production at the Theatre Royal. Has anyone heard more?”

After an instant of something akin to shock, Melissa Wainwright leapt in to share what she’d heard.

Gradually, minute by minute, although the atmosphere remained strained, it became clear that the general consensus was to carry on as best they could and ignore—as best they could—the pall the murders had cast. Difficult given the company was lacking both host and hostess, but they gamely soldiered on.

But when Blanchard wheeled in the tea trolley, he was greeted with an undercurrent of relief. Mrs. Parrish and Mrs. McGibbin shared the honors, and all the gentlemen leapt to assist by ferrying the cups around.

As soon as the tea had been consumed, the company—still moving as if with one mind—rose, and everyone stated their intention to retire. En masse, they moved out of the drawing room and started up the stairs.

Following at Antonia’s heels, Sebastian detected a certain watchful wariness, arising, no doubt, from latent yet unspecific and undirected suspicion that seemed to have afflicted everyone.

“Anyone for billiards?”

Along with all the other men, Sebastian glanced down to see Connell Boyne hovering at the foot of the stairs.

Boyne scanned the faces in a half-hearted way; his tone hadn’t suggested any real enthusiasm. More as if he thought he ought to offer the invitation.

Murmurs in the negative came from all the other men. Sebastian briefly shook his head and continued climbing in Antonia’s wake.

On gaining the gallery, he looked down into the hall and saw Connell, left alone on the tiles, vacillating—clearly debating whether to come upstairs or head for the billiards room. In the end, Connell thrust his hands into his trouser pockets and slouched slowly off—toward the library or the corridor to the billiards room, Sebastian couldn’t tell which.