Murder at Locke Abbey (2 page)

They had arrived at her room and the hole made with the axe was still there.

“We called for another key, the butler has a master set of keys for every room in the house, and he found the correct one as quickly as he could. The key wouldn’t go in however, and when I bent down to examine the keyhole, I saw that it was blocked, with the key still in the other side of the door.”

He ran his hand idly over the splintered wood.

“I called for an axe and hacked at the door until I had enough room to put my hand through, but it was too late.” Cole opened the door and they stepped inside. “I can't promise that everything will be the same but the room is largely untouched,” he assured them.

Thea went into the room but her father stayed by the door, so Cole stayed beside him.

“What did she say, when you called to her?” Lord Copley asked. “Do you remember?”

“I doubt I’ll ever forget. I called her name and asked if she was all right, and she said, ‘
Help me, please, he’s killing me
’.”

“Anything else?”

“One of the other guests, I’m not sure who as I was trying to open the lock, but they asked ‘
who
’. She answered, I think, but it might have just been a cry or groan as I couldn’t make out what she said.”

“Did you hear anyone else inside the room?”

“No.”

“How long, would you say, between hearing the thud and getting the door open?” Thea asked, she was crouched down by the blood stain on the rug.

“Ten minutes, at most,” Cole answered. “Probably less, time seems to slow down during a crisis. Why?”

“Every detail is helpful,” Thea explained. “You neglected to mention that you had kicked at the door as well.”

“While I was waiting for the axe, Mr Buchan and I both tried to kick it in while we waited.” Cole looked to the door and could now see the slight dents their heels had made in the wood, although they weren’t deep and could have been easily missed.

“Has anyone tried to clean this
blood?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“With Mr Garwood still in residence, it seemed rather inconsiderate, as if we were trying to erase his wife. It’s silly, I know, she has already been buried, but… well.”

She looked up and gave him a small smile. “I think it’s very considerate of you,” she assured him. “Many people would care more for their expensive Persian rug than the feelings of a guest.”

H
er smile made her look incredibly beguiling, and he had to remind himself that she was here to help him, not to be courted. There were at least three young women here who would welcome his attentions, while this was slightly inappropriate.

Thea stood up and looked to
a nearby table.

“There was a vase on that table,” she stated rather than asked.

“Yes, it must have been broken in the scuffle.”

She nodded absently and moved to the writing bureau.

“Her letters and an ink well were knocked from the bureau as well,” he explained before she could ask. “One of the maids must have put them back on the desk.”

“Yes, the papers seem hastily gathered
,” she replied, although she sounded distracted.

She picked
up the empty inkwell from the slot in the desk set, then she knelt down beside the desk to look at the ink stain on the wood. An effort had been made to clean the ink up but it had stained the waxed floorboards.

A small frown creased the skin between her eyes.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“Not wrong, unusual,” she answered, but she didn’t elaborate. After a few moments, she stood up
and placed the inkpot back in its slot and leafed through the papers that had been collected. She stopped at a page that had an uneven line of ink but nothing else, then she picked up a half-finished letter, that was sitting towards the rear of the desk and hadn’t been among the fallen sheets.

“What is it?” Copley asked.

“The inlay for the ink well to rest in is quite secure,” Thea answered. “It seems more likely that a struggle would have knocked the whole desk set off, not just the ink well, unless she removed the pot for some reason.”

“And the letter?” her father prompted.

“Stops mid-sentence, which is unusual. It’s possible she was composing it when this happened but if so, why is the letter neatly placed aside, where it wouldn’t be knocked off? And this,” she held up the sheet that had only an uneven line on it. “What was she trying to do? If shock or surprise made her quill slip, it would surely slip on the letter she was writing, which seems to be this missive to her sister. Also, the writing on this letter gets untidier as it goes on, why?”

“Perhaps she was growing tired,” Cole suggested.

“Perhaps,” she repeated. “There is also more ink on the floor than blood.”

“Which tells you what?” Copley asked.

“I don’t know yet.” She replaced the letters on the desk and walked to one of the large windows, checking the locks.

“They were both closed and locked,” Cole told her. “That was the first place we checked for an intruder.”

“Both windows were locked?” she asked, turning to him and raising a quizzical eyebrow.

“Yes.”

“You’re sure?”

“Quite sure.”

“Which window did you look out of?”

“The one you are at.”

“Then how can you be sure the other window wasn’t unlocked?”

“Because Mr
Grady-”

“Mr
Grady could be lying or simply mistaken,” she cut him off. “The only thing you can be certain of is your own actions.”

Despite having been admonished by a woman, he admired her forthright attitude and had to respect her intellect. She was also, of course, correct.

“Understood.”

“How many people are staying at the moment?” Copley asked.

“Nineteen, well, now seventeen.”

“Perhaps you could give me their names and tell me a little about them?”

Thea opened the window and looked down and to either side, before closing and locking it.

“Of course. Mr and Mrs Garwood
; she is from a wealthy trade family while he is the youngest son of an Earl. It’s a marriage of convenience, her family’s wealth in exchange for his family’s status in society.”

While they talked,
Thea turned the bed covers down and examined the sheets and pillows.

“Did they have children?”

“Just one, he is in school and didn’t accompany them.”

Thea held the pillow to her nose in turn and inhaled. Then she leaned over the mattress and sniffed, crawling on it to examine both sides.

“Her husband hasn’t shared her bed while here,” she proclaimed.

“How the devil can you tell that?” h
e asked, disliking the images his brain was providing him with. Surely such a genteel women (and unmarried, he had checked for a ring) didn’t know the odours of sex?

“Her side of the bed smells of lavender and jasmine, perhaps a few other scents. The other side has no trace of scent at all. Most well-bred gentlemen wear cologne and I have no reason to assume he is the exception, especially no
w, while socialising. I’ll confirm my suspicions when I meet him, of course, but considering that they have only one child, I don’t think it a huge leap to assume that marital relations have all but ceased.”

“
What a clever observation, I hadn’t even considered cologne. You clearly have an exceptional mind.”

S
he blushed, and he wondered if perhaps she liked him. She had given no indication of it but then, nor had he.

Of course, she could just be blushing because women weren’t supposed to show much intelligence, but he hoped it was because
she had enjoyed his compliment.

“Yes…
well...” She loosely turned the sheets back and made her way to the other window, and he was compelled to watch her as she worked.

“Have there been any injuries recently?” she asked.

“What kind of injury?”

“Hurt wrists, arms or shoulders, painful ankles, knees or legs. They might not have asked for help, just have been holding themselves stiffly, or winced
in pain, perhaps brushing any enquiries aside.”

“Nothing that I can recall.” Cole answered.

“Who are your other guests?” Copley asked, and reluctantly he turned to her father. Rather than seeing censure in the other man’s expression, for flirting with his daughter, he instead saw pleasure.

“Right, well next would be
Lord and Lady Small and their daughters, Flora and Emily. They are seventeen and nineteen respectively, and are here primarily to husband hunt. Lord Grady is a widower and is here with his son and daughter. His son is of age to find a wife but this is his daughter’s first foray into polite society, she is only sixteen and hasn’t been presented at Court yet.

“
Mr and Mrs Buchan are here with their daughter, Eliza. Mr Buchan’s brother, Lord Buchan is here with his sons, Peter and Simon. The late Lord Lanning and his wife; after he passed, their son came to visit and tried to take Lady Lanning home with him but she refused. By that time, my step-mother had already announced her intention to call in a mystic and Lady Lanning refused to leave; I think she wants one last conversation with her husband. When she refused to see reason, her son left. He’s staying in at the coaching inn until the funeral.”

“When did he pass?” Thea asked.

“Four days ago.”

“How awful. She must be suffering dreadfully,” Thea said with feeling.

“When is the funeral?” Copley asked.

“Tomorrow afternoon.”

“And the body?”

“The wake is being held in the great hall, the guests are taking turns to stay with the body.”

“That’s a long time to keep a body in state.”

“We’re having daily ice deliveries, which we’re using to keep the room and coffin cool.”

“Good idea,” Copley nodded. “Any other guests?”

“Just one, Mrs Dale, a friend of my step-mother. Her husband chose not to accompany her, although he has come to visit her on the weekend.”

“Anyone else?”

“We have local families to dine and a few occasional weekend or week long guests, but they were not here when Mrs Garwood was attacked.”

“Isn’t it unusual to have guests for such a long period?” Thea asked, although her head was out of the
other window as she examined the sill to either side.

“Yes, but my step-mother is a very social creature and organised a week long gathering. It was
only supposed to last a week for most guests, although the Smalls and Mrs Dale were supposed to stay longer. The local constable and magistrate asked everyone to remain for a while and to be honest, most seem to be enjoying the scandal and are in no hurry to leave.”

“They aren’t worried for their safety?” Copley asked.

“A few of the women are, secretly I think a few of the men are too, but they don’t show it as much. Everyone, even the rational minds, seem caught up on a supernatural explanation, which I think is why they stay. Were there an actual murderer present, I suspect people would be much more mindful of the dangers.”

“Surely not everyone believes these crimes to be supernatural in origin?”

“What other explanation is there?” Cole asked. “As much as I don’t want to believe it, whoever killed Mrs Garwood managed to escape from a locked room.”

“Or rather, so it appears,” Thea corrected them, closing the window and
opening the dressing room door.

“How do you mean, appears?” Cole asked. “What other explanation is there?”

“That the killer escaped by means as yet unknown. Possibly he hid in here and when the room became thronged with people, he blended in and left with them.”

“We did check the
dressing room.”

“I’m sure, but I’m equally sure that whoever did this did not
, magically or otherwise, walk through walls. It may seem impossible, Cole, but I assure you, there is a rational explanation and I intend to find it.”

“I hope so,” he said with sincerity.

“I don’t suppose your family has a history of Roman Catholicism?” she asked as she closed the dressing room door.

“Not as far as I remember, why?”

“Because some families had Priest holes, built to help hide Catholic priests when they were being persecuted during the reign of Queen Elizabeth. This house is certainly old enough for that and I’m assuming from the name of your house, that a religious order originally inhabited the land; it’s possible that Catholic sympathisers lived here. I’ll have to measure the adjoining rooms to be sure there are no secret passages, rooms or closets, but that can wait. This room is east facing, correct?”

“Uh, yes, I believe so.”

“Then I’ll give the room a more thorough investigation tomorrow morning, when the sunlight is at its brightest. What happened next?”