“He has, and has performed his duties with admirable efficiency and kindness,” Percival replied. “Thank you, Smithers.” With that he extended his hand for the flask, and drank the overly sweet, lukewarm tea with gratitude.
“Now then, gentlemen, if you will all accompany me—you, too, Smithers—let us go down to the dining hall and see what sort of surprise Constable Brooks has prepared for us.”
As they descended the main stair, they could hear the murmur of the gathering in the dining room. At first it sounded like a swarm of bees, and then almost like the swell of an ocean tide.
They entered the dining room, Percival walking slowly on his own, flanked on either side by his faithful friends, with Smithers hovering behind in case of need. As they traversed the distance between the door and a trio of chairs that were obviously set up for them, a hush slowly fell over the assembled crowd.
“No doubt,” Lord Nevard’s well-trained speaking voice washed over the crowd as the general conversation subsided to a murmur, “you are all wondering why you are gathered here. Some of you are here only to serve as witnesses to the proceedings of this inquiry. Others have a role to play in the testimonies that will be given.”
There was a general murmur of “Hear, hear,” “Say on,” and “Do, tell.” Lord Nevard allowed the susurrus to die down before he spoke on. “At the center of this inquiry is Lord Northbury. He was recently injured by parties unknown. But that is not the whole of what we shall learn. No, it is only the very tip of this iceberg of fact in an ocean of obfuscation.”
Old Elizabet rose from her seat. “With all due respect, Lord Nevard, some of us got places to be an’ things to do. So if it would not be too much trouble, could we kindly get on with it?”
There was a ripple of laughter at the old charwoman’s question. It had a nervous edge to it because for a commoner to speak so boldly to a Lord was a dangerous thing.
Fortunately, Lord Nevard did not take offense. “Forgive me, Madam,” he said. “I have been told from time to time that I do like the sound of my own voice. Consider my discourse the appetizer before the main meal. The real man of the hour is Constable Brooks.”
Lord Nevard paused, took a sip of something from a cup, and looked about the room. He held everyone’s rapt attention. “Constable Brooks was commissioned by Lord Northbury to look into the background of one Tiffany Bentley, formerly apprentice to Baker Bentley, and subsequently bound in service to the widowed Mrs. Bentley.” He paused again.
“Yes, yes, we know all that,” called out the gentleman who was seated with Mrs. Bentley. “But if you would not have us all perish for want of food and drink, to say nothing of curiosity, would you please, as Miz Elizabet said, kindly get on with it?”
This time the laughter was more general, but Lord Nevard lifted one hand and said, “I would but give you the background for what is to come. Instead, I will turn this podium over to Constable Brooks.”
“I thought the Constable was retired?” someone called out.
“So he had been,” Lord Nevard replied. “But it would seem that we cannot do without him, especially in this case. Therefore, he has been reinstated. Without further ado, I present to you the most estimable, indefatigable, and trustworthy Constable Brooks.”
So saying, Lord Nevard turned toward Constable Brooks and began to applaud. So it was that the good constable took up his position to a general round of cheering and applause.
He waited for a few minutes for the tumult to die down, then he lifted his hand for silence. In just a few moments, an expectant hush fell over the crowd.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he said, “some days ago, Lord Northbury did, indeed, commission me to look into the past of one Tiffany Bentley, adopted daughter and apprentice to Henry Bentley. Mr. Bentley was a baker of some renown, and taught his craft to Tiffany. Tiffany proved an able and willing student. Upon his death, this young woman began running the bakery shop completely on her own, supporting herself and her adoptive mother. All of this might be known to most of you, but the real story began some years before she was adopted.”
“But what about Lord Northbury?” someone called out. “Why was he hurt? Does some’un have a grudge against him?”
“Those are very good questions,” the constable replied. “And they shall be answered. But the resolution has to do with the history of this resourceful and talented young woman. I beg your patience and indulgence, for many of you will have a part in the telling of this tale.”
Percival could only stare at Constable Brooks. What could the fellow’s investigation into Tiffany’s past have to do with the attack on him?
Chapter 57
Constable Brooks looked around the room. “Time,” he began, “is a curious thing. It heals old wounds, and sometimes it opens new ones. One thing it does very well is to obscure the motives and sometimes even the actions of people from the past. To satisfy the curiosity of all those assembled, and perhaps to clear the names of a few of them, we shall begin with the most recent events and begin to work backward.”
There was a general murmur, since this was a most unusual way of beginning a story.
“Lord Northbury was attacked in his own study, not even a fortnight ago. He received a nasty whack on his head and was stabbed in the back with an old folding knife. The knife is crudely made, nothing like the modern cutlers that are being crafted in Sheffield. His Lordship was saved from death because the catch that keeps the knife open is faulty. It folded when it encountered resistance rather than penetrating between the ribs as it was intended.”
There was a soft murmur around the room. Lord Ronald stood and announced, “I can tell you where that knife came from.”
“Can you, Lord Ronald?” Constable Brooks turned to face him. “Since we are beginning at the end, perhaps you would be so kind as to clear it up for us.”
“Gladly. But I would ask the maid, Sophie, to do that for us.”
Sophie, who had been sitting on a low stool beside Grace, looked more than a little panicked.
“It will do you no good to attempt to run away,” Constable Brooks said. “The doors to this room have all been closed and barred. I have armed men guarding them from within and without. Nothing short of a fire will allow anyone to exit from it.”
“What do you want to know?” Sophie’s voice trembled with fear.
