“When did you first see that knife?” Lord Ronald demanded in a booming voice.
Sophie’s voice was thin, like the wind in reeds. “It was the night that I was introduced to Tiffany Bentley. She had been caught stealing, and was to work in the kitchen as penance. She had the knife under her pillow.”
“What did she tell you about it?” Constable Brooks asked gently.
“She said that it was her father’s, the only thing she had left that had belonged to her real parents.”
“Indeed.” Constable Brooks looked around the room. “Lord Ronald, why is it that you know about the knife?”
“My dear constable,” Lord Ronald stated unctuously, “When I learned that my nephew had hired a guttersnipe thief as a cook, I was immediately concerned. I slipped Sophie a few coins, and promised her more if she would keep an eye on Tiffany Bentley, letting me know what she learned about that young woman’s actions inside the manor.”
“I see,” Constable Brooks tapped his fingers on the edge of the table. “Miss Turner, how were you able to keep watch over Miss Bentley?”
Sophie looked as if she had bitten into a pickled lime. “I was her designated roommate. I had a room to myself before she came.”
“I see,” Constable Brooks commented. “How did you feel about that?”
“How do you think I felt?” Sophie burst out. “I was an upstairs maid, with a bedroom of my own before she came. Then she was foisted upon me, and worse than that, Grace and I were instructed to work in the kitchen as assistants to her. The cook, with whom I was beginning to develop an understanding, was turned off. She turned my entire life upside down.”
The constable made some notes. “A most unfortunate set of circumstances from your point of view, then?”
“Very,” Sophie agreed, her face drawn into an ugly scowl.
“The knife,” Lord Ronald prompted.
“Yes, the knife. She had not been in our room even an hour when she pulled the ugly thing out and told me about it.”
Percival, who had been listening with a sense of growing astonishment to this line of inquiry now asked, “Were you frightened?”
“Yes!” Sophie responded. “Would not you have been, if someone started waving a bloody great knife about? I scarcely slept a wink that night or any night thereafter.”
“Amazing,” put in Mrs. Twitchel. “That must have been why you were so hard to rouse for your duties in the mornings.”
There was a general twitter of laughter throughout the hall. Sophie flushed, turning her pretty pink and white complexion an unbecoming mottled red.
Constable Brooks clicked his tongue against his teeth but made no comment about this byplay. Instead, he turned his attention to Tiffany. “How did you find this arrangement, Miss Bentley?”
Tiffany swallowed. “A bit odd, but since the alternative was to be turned over to the Watch, I found it expedient not to make objection.” There was a ripple of laughter at that comment.
“Is there a purpose to all of this?” Lord Ronald demanded. “You cannot hold us here all day, you know.”
“I have no intention of it,” Constable Brooks replied. “Still, I am sure you agree that it would be unfortunate if a miscarriage of justice was created just because one of our star guests decided to leave early.”
Lord Ronald shrugged. “I can see no likelihood of that. You have the responsible party in hand. Her knife was found in Lord Northbury’s back. What more could be asked?”
“For one,” the constable said, “Why would she do such a thing? She had the Marquess’ favor. He had provided her with an excellent position and had made it possible for her to learn a great many things that would lead to her advancement. No, I am not at all convinced that ownership of the weapon amounts to a sure indication of guilt. It would seem that there might be other considerations.”
“Such as?” Lord Ronald snapped back.
“Such as why Lord Northbury was prompted to conduct an investigation into Miss Bentley’s background. At first, I thought he was simply exercising due diligence for the safety of his house, having hired a thief off the street. But as I delved into Tiffany Bentley’s past, some interesting things began to come to light.”
“Such as?” Lord Ronald sneered.
“A story that is twenty years old, Lord Ronald. A sorely difficult time I had locating anyone who knew anything about the matter. But I have here, one Mr. Ironholder, to share with us a story from that long ago time. Curiously, most of the principles are dead and he had thought his granddaughter lost, as well.”
“Granddaughter?” Tiffany shot to her feet. “What are you talking about?”
“Please be seated, Miss Bentley. All will be made clear in good time. Will someone give Mr. Ironholder a hand up to this chair in the front?”
