They both made short work of stripping off their damp clothes, drying off, and getting dressed in suitable attire. She found and donned a lightweight summer gown, then combed out her damp hair before twisting it up into a knot and anchoring it. She looked in the mirror, decided that was good enough, and went out to join Julian in the sitting room.
He was standing by the window, looking out.
She walked up and halted beside him. “Now what? How can we learn who scuppered the punt?”
“Do you have that list of the staff?”
She crossed to her escritoire, opened the panel, and extracted the list from the drawer into which she’d put it. After closing the desk, she returned to his side and held out the list.
He took it and scanned the names. “I think we can leave the women out of our calculations. Drilling a hole through such seasoned wood wouldn’t have been easy, and they would have needed to find and fetch the right tool and in such a way that no one saw or suspected them, all of which seems unlikely. For the same reasons, I think we can excuse the scullery boy as well. With Mitchell definitely out of contention, we have six possible suspects—Biggins or Walter from the stable, Carter the groundsman, Richards or Cantrell, the footmen, or Manning, Damian’s valet.”
She folded her arms and narrowed her eyes on the horizon. “Did your mother and Frederick definitely take the punt out late yesterday afternoon?”
From the corner of her eye, she saw him nod.
“I met them coming in,” he said. “They were exclaiming over a kingfisher they’d seen as they punted back to the boathouse.”
“So the punt was watertight at that time. Yesterday at about…?”
“Six o’clock,” he supplied. “We were all on our way upstairs to dress for dinner.” He paused, then went on, “No one mentioned punting during dinner, but after dinner, you and I spoke about taking the punt out while we were on our way to the drawing room. I can’t recall who might have been around to hear us. Can you?”
She shook her head. “That’s the trouble with being constantly surrounded by staff. They fade into the paneling.”
He snorted. “Regardless, I think we can be certain someone heard us, and that would have been about nine o’clock yesterday evening.”
“So the deed must have been done between then and when? Two o’clock this afternoon?” She glanced at him and saw his eyes narrow in thought.
“No. I don’t think so.” He looked at the list of staff again. “Yes, it’s Sunday, but they all still have various duties. Finding time during the day to fetch a drill—and all such tools are kept in a cupboard in a room off the carriage barn—going down to the boathouse, and spending at least half an hour down there, all without anyone seeing them, would have been difficult. The chances of being noticed would have been ridiculously high—indeed, almost a certainty. I can’t believe any would-be murderer would have risked that.”
He glanced at her. “Yesterday evening, when we spoke of going out in the punt, did we say ‘tomorrow’ or ‘tomorrow afternoon’?”
She reviewed the moment in her memory. “Just ‘tomorrow.’ We didn’t specify.”
“That’s my memory of it, too. And if whoever it was didn’t know when we would go out—morning or afternoon—he would have done the deed between nine o’clock last night and, at the latest, ten o’clock this morning.” After a moment, he added, “And ten o’clock is stretching it.”
She tried to imagine what it must have been like for the perpetrator. “It’s not really something that could easily be done in the dead of night, is it? Not without a decent source of light. Even getting down to the boathouse at night wouldn’t be easy without a lantern.”
He huffed. “The boathouse is open to the water. A lighted lantern down there shines on the river and reflects up into the trees.” He caught her eye and faintly smiled. “I know because we tried it once—Felix and I. The light show is rather significant. Felix’s, Damian’s, and Uncle Frederick’s rooms face that way, and in this weather, Felix and Damian sleep with their windows open—one or other would likely have noticed.”
She frowned. “If our perpetrator didn’t do the deed at night, when did he manage it?”
“First thing in the morning.” He paused, then increasingly certain, went on, “I’ve just remembered—Hockey’s been locking the carriage barn overnight. That means from about nine in the evening until dawn, which currently occurs before six o’clock. So unless as soon as he heard or learned of our plans, our perpetrator rushed straight down to the barn to fetch a drill…” Lips setting, he shook his head. “That’s unlikely as well. That leaves us with the early morning hours. Hockey opens up the stable and barn at dawn, then most if not all of the grooms and usually Hockey himself are busy taking the horses out to the paddocks before mucking out the stalls. There’s a window of time when getting into and out of the barn undetected would be possible, and of course, our perpetrator didn’t have to return the drill—he could simply have hidden it.”
“Anywhere at all.” She nodded. “From his point of view, that would have been the least risky plan.”
“And given that, to date, our attackers have been very careful, that’s most likely the plan he followed.” He glanced at the list. “That means we’re looking at which of these six men could have gone down to the barn and the boathouse between dawn and ten o’clock this morning.”
“That’s a relatively short window.” She cocked her head and looked at him. “So how do we go about learning where Biggins, Walter, Carter, Richards, Cantrell, and Manning were during that period?”
“It’s not Biggins or Walter, because over those hours, Hockey would have them running hither and yon. We can ask, but it won’t be them. For much the same reason, I doubt it will be Carter. Edgerton and his men come in early, but we can ask.” Julian looked at Melissa, then strode to the bellpull, tugged it, and turned back to face her. “I’m going to have the Phelpses, Hockey, and Edgerton come up here. They already know about the attacks, and I’m sure they’ll have been keeping an eagle eye on all the staff.”
He dispatched the footman who responded to the bell to find and send up the senior staff.
While they waited, Melissa sank into the armchair she favored angled before the hearth, but Julian couldn’t settle enough to sit. A restless energy crawled beneath his skin. He paced, trying to make the action seem absentminded rather than agitated.
The tension that had vanished after they’d caught Mitchell had returned in full force, indeed, ratcheting tighter, more demanding than before. Having been free of it for three days made its return all the more noticeable and compelling. More disturbing.
When a knock fell on the door, he forced himself to halt before the fireplace and, clasping his hands behind his back, in an even tone, called, “Come.”
