Mrs. Phelps’s expression wasn’t encouraging, but she said, “Let me check with the other maid, my lady. She would know.”
Melissa signaled her agreement, and Mrs. Phelps departed.
They’d finished eating and were sipping coffee or, in Melissa’s case, tea when Mrs. Phelps returned.
Her expression the epitome of certainty, the housekeeper reported, “Amber was the other maid on room duty yesterday. She’s been with us since she was a slip of a thing and has no reason to lie, and what with Benton trying to poison you, my lady, I can assure you there’s no one below stairs with any love for her, either. Yet Amber says Benton was with her the entire time they were doing the rooms. They started about two and didn’t finish until after four. They were airing the sheets, which meant they were working together.”
Melissa nodded in understanding, then met Julian’s eyes. “It wasn’t Benton.”
Julian thanked the Phelpses and allowed them to return to their duties. He looked at the others. “Let’s go to the library and let the staff clear up in here.”
They rose and, all plainly cogitating, walked down the corridor to the library.
As soon as all four had sat in the armchairs before the fireplace, Melissa said, “None of the other women on our potential suspects list or the scullery boy would be able to lift the beam across the barn doors.”
Julian nodded. “That leaves us with Biggins, Walter, Richards, Cantrell, and Carter.”
“So,” Felix said, “our question now is which one of those five can’t account for his time around three o’clock yesterday afternoon.”
They decided to start with Carter, who, aside from being one of the outdoor staff, was one of the most recently employed.
Julian sent for Edgerton and, when the burly head groundsman arrived, explained their reasoning and therefore their need to know where Carter was around three o’clock the previous afternoon.
“Ah, that’s easy,” Edgerton replied. “He was with me.” He shifted his weight. “What with all the uncertainty going around, I decided to keep the lad close, and with all the cutting back we have to do on the borders at this time of year, that was easy enough.” He met Julian’s gaze. “So Carter was working right alongside me from lunchtime until we saw the smoke and heard the alarm raised and went running down to the barn.”
Julian sighed and inclined his head. “Thank you. And I’m glad you thought to keep Carter close. It helps to be able to feel certain in crossing people off our suspects list.”
“Aye. That was my thinking, too.” At Julian’s dismissal, Edgerton bowed and withdrew.
Once the door had shut, Julian said, “On the grounds our unknown attacker is more likely to be someone who had reason to be outside, let’s get Hockey in and see what he can tell us about where Biggins and Walter were at the critical time.”
Hockey was duly summoned, but like Edgerton, he, too, had been keeping a close eye on Biggins and Walter. “From soon after lunch, I had them with a group of others in the long field, exercising the carriage horses. I’d just come away and left them there when I saw the smoke rising and heard the fire bell start to ring. Then we were all running, and they were there with the others, bringing the horses in before we rushed to the barn.” He paused, eyes narrowing in thought, but then his expression cleared, and he shook his head. “I can’t see any way either of them could have set the fire. They were with me and the others at the time it had to’ve been done.”
Julian thanked Hockey and dismissed him.
As soon as the door shut, Damian said, “That’s Biggins and Walter struck off our list and in a comfortingly definite manner.”
“Indeed.” Lips thinning, Julian met Melissa’s gaze. “That leaves us with the footmen, Richards and Cantrell.”
“From what I’ve learned from the Phelpses,” Melissa said, “Cantrell is from one of the tenant families, one that’s been on the estate for generations. I went with Veronica when she visited old Mrs. Cantrell—our footman’s grandmother. I met his mother and sisters, as well. The idea that the son might put all the family at risk seems not just unlikely but far-fetched.”
“Hmm,” Felix said. “I can also add that yesterday morning, Cantrell brought up my shaving water. Hicks referred to him by name, so I got a good look at our youngest footman.” He met the others’ eyes. “Remember Phelps refers to Cantrell as a ‘junior’ footman? Well, there’s a reason for that. He’s young for the post and not yet fully grown. He’s tall and thin and weedy. I seriously doubt he’d have managed lifting that beam to bar the barn doors—not without a great deal of grunting and shuffling and staggering about.” He met Julian’s eyes. “But I was almost at the doors when the blighter dropped the beam into place. I was close enough to hear any hints of effort, but there weren’t any—the action was smoothly and efficiently done.”
Julian glanced at Damian and Melissa. “I haven’t come across Richards—or I might have, but didn’t know who he was. What does he look like?”
Damian promptly replied, “Like he’s more than capable of lifting that beam.”
Felix was nodding. “He’d manage that easily. He looks quite strong.”
“He does,” Melissa agreed.
His jaw firming, Julian nodded. “Right, then. Let’s have him in and ask him to tell us how he spent yesterday afternoon and who can vouch for that.”
Damian sprang up and tugged the bellpull.
Another footman, not Cantrell or Richards but an older man, Martin, arrived in short order, and Julian sent him off to ask Richards to present himself.
They waited, increasingly impatiently, but when a tap fell on the door, it heralded not Richard but Phelps.
