“It seems that the knight who originally held residence there disowned his second son for marrying beneath him. There was apparently some sort of scandal and the young gentleman disappeared. The oldest son was a captain in the army, and his bones are somewhere in France in an unknown grave. The illness that carried away your mother in the same year that your father was killed in that hunting accident, also took the youngest son, who was the heir presumptive.”
“So the estate stands without a tenant?” Percival asked.
“As nearly as anyone can tell. No one has been able to find the second son, the wife he took in defiance of his father, or any children from the union.”
“How did Old Elizabet come to be there?”
“It seems she was daughter to a stableman who worked at an inn that burned about eight-and-ten or nine-and-ten years ago. With the manor house unattended, and no one to pay wages, such of the servants who remained slowly took over, letting it appear to be a ruin.”
“Interesting,” Percival commented.
“Yes, isn’t it?” the constable agreed. “However, I am not sure that brings us any closer to our goals. I can tell you that there is some possibility that the old game-keeper’s cottage was turned into an inn. Possibly, it was the inn where Tiffany’s parents lost their lives.”
“Now, that is even more interesting,” Percival said. “Do you think there is a connection?”
“I am unsure, My Lord. Parts of this trail are twenty years old, more or less. Even the freshest parts of it are two or three years old. Even the sharpest memories dim with time. Else how could we deal with grief?”
“Indeed,” Percival agreed. “I have often wished that I had gone with my father that day. But I felt that Mother needed me more.”
“You were scarcely more than a boy, My Lord. I am not sure you would have been able to make a difference.”
“I know, but it does seem to me . . .” Percival sighed. “But that is idle speculation. Tell me, have you found any evidence for or against Miss Bentley?”
“My Lord, I am virtually certain that she was not your attacker. She is too short for the angle of the blow to your head, nor does she seem to be the sort of person who would be inclined to follow up with further harm.”
“It has occurred to me to wonder why I survived,” Percival commented.
“Indeed, My Lord, I believe it was the weak catch on that old knife that saved you. Although the blade was sharp, when the tip encountered your ribs it folded up instead of penetrating.”
Percival frowned, digesting that idea. “So,” he said slowly, drawing the word out, “perhaps the attacker was not familiar with the knife, and might not have known its weakness?”
“Indeed, My Lord, I do believe that might have been the case. However, that begs the question of how the attacker got hold of that particular knife, and why it was used when the kitchen is full of far more serviceable knives. Indeed, your own letter opener would have done the job nicely in a knowledgeable hand.”
Percival shuddered. “Now there is a frightening thought.”
“Oh, aye, it is.” Constable Brooks said. “But do not be in great haste to rid yourself of it, especially if it is a favorite. It has been my understanding that a hatpin through the ear will do a sovereign job of dispatching a victim. Therefore, the goal must have been to associate the knife with the murder.”
Percival gave a shudder. “Pardon me if that does not fill me with great confidence. For if Tiffany was not the culprit, then there must be at least one, if not two, people on my staff who treacherously planned my demise. What I cannot understand is why.”
Mr. Quentin spoke up. “That would certainly seem to be the question of the day. We have at least one of the weapons used, but not the other. Or did you find the object used to raise a knot on the back of Percy’s head?”
Constable Brooks shook his head. “I have not. Nor is there any explanation for why Miss Bentley would have been at that door. She says that another of the servants told her that she was wanted. But that hardly followed the timeline of how and when the Marquess was injured.”
Mr. Kenault drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “Which means that either someone is lying, or that Miss Bentley was lured to the study so that she would be the one to discover Percy.”
“Exactly,” Constable Brooks said, settling back in his chair.
Percival looked around the table, soberly. “None of this is making me feel precisely secure, gentlemen.”
“Nor should you, My Lord. You are well advised to keep your friends by you in case the dastard makes another attempt.”
“We will stand watch for you,” Mr. Quinten said stalwartly.
“Yes, we will,” Mr. Kenault confirmed.
Percival looked around the table and wondered if he was putting his friends in danger.
Chapter 44
