Page 119 of Death at a Highland Wedding
“There’s one other obvious murder suspect,” I say. “If it was Ezra who got Violet pregnant.”
“Archie,” Gray says.
“Is he, though?” McCreadie says. “The pregnancy seems to have been over a decade ago.”
“Fair point,” I say. “Also, does Archie strike you as someone who would murder his best friend for sleeping with his sister? For dishonoring his family?”
McCreadie snorts. “If that were the case, he would have killed me long ago for ending the engagement. He didn’t speak to me for years, but he eventually admitted that he would not have wished his sister to marry anyone who did not want her. A man concerned with family honor would have forced me to the altar at gunpoint.”
“Okay, so shifting the motive back to Lenore makes more sense. Yes, Ezra probably got Violet pregnant, but it seems to have arisen from an actual romance. He reserves his mistreatment for the maids. We’ve thrown Lenore’s brother into the suspect pool, but we also need to throw her fatherandher mother.”
“Mrs. Hall,” McCreadie murmurs. “What if shedidknow what happened to her daughter? She is a sturdy woman who knows her way around the estate grounds and also had access to the shillelaghs.”
“She’s been staying at the house,” I say. “While the guests are here, she hasn’t been going home to her family at night. She could have seen Ezra leaving to meet Violet that night, grabbed a shillelagh and followed.”
“Lenore will be here soon,” McCreadie says. “I believe we need to hear what she has to say.”
The rest of the morning passes quickly. Having Cranston back changes the tenor of the gathering. They are no longer guests at a canceled wedding, held captive by the investigation. Their host is free, the wedding plans will be renewed—if possible—and there is nothing to feel guilty about if they indulge in whimsical party games.
Cranston himself doesn’t participate in those games. He’s taking action to fix his mistakes, and Fiona insists on helping him through the social quagmire. Mr. Hall must be told that the gamekeeper position is his if he wishes it. The cottage must be thoroughly cleaned, as if to scour away any miasmic stain left by Müller. Cranston wishes to pay a visit to the Glasses, to personally extend his sympathies on the death of their daughter, and, on Fiona’s advice, he wishes to ask Mrs. Hall who they should contact in the village to negotiate a reopening of the grounds to locals.
I rest some more while Gray, Isla, and McCreadie play the party games. Or “resting” is my excuse. Yes, I’m sore and tired, but mostly I want time alone to think about the case.
I’m still missing something. I know I am.
Finally, Lenore and Gavin arrive. They slip in the staff entrance, but their mother brings them straight to McCreadie, who takes Gavin with Gray while Isla and I speak to Lenore.
This conversation requires absolute privacy, so Isla and I take Lenore to that bench by the lake. She seems to expect we’re going to walk and talk, but we only ask about her trip.
We’re prepared to walk slowly, given her clubfoot, but she clips along. I’m the one who slows us down, still achy. When we reach the bench, I motion for her to sit and she seems to consider standing, but lowers herself onto it. Isla sits beside her while I move closer to the water, gazing out at it before turning.
“We know you were having an affair with Ezra Sinclair,” I say.
Lenore flinches so hard it’s practically a convulsion, but she quickly smooths her features and fixes me with a stony gaze. “I don’t know what you mean, miss.”
“You had a romantic entanglement while he was here seeing to Mr. Cranston’s interests and you were working as a maid. That ended—badly, I suspect—shortly before you quit.”
“I don’t know what you mean, miss.”
“I believe it ended with Mr. Müller.” I lower my voice. “With something Mr. Sinclair coerced you into doing with him.”
She goes pale, the pulse at her throat trembling as hard as her hands. She tries to clench them into her lap, but even there, they shake.
“I don’t know what—”
“Were you coerced? If you weren’t, that’s fine. No one will judge you either way.”
Her gaze rises to mine, but it’s flat, calling me a liar.
“Let me rephrase that,” I say softly. “Wewill not judge you.”
“We truly will not,” Isla says. “I have endured… treatment from a man that many would blame on me. At the time, I did not speak of it, though my family would not have judged me. I refused to tell them because I wanted to pretend it never happened.”
Tears spring to Lenore’s eyes.
“Now that they know,” Isla continues, “I wish I had confided in them sooner. As with you, the man who mistreated me is dead, but I still find solace knowing that those I care about realize what he was. No matter how highly others held him in their esteem, my family and my dearest friends know the truth and will never speak kindly of him in my company.”
“Or outside it,” I say firmly. I look at Lenore. “Mr. Sinclair cannot be punished, but if he is guilty of what we suspect, he should not go to his grave with his good name intact.”
