Melissa glanced at him; he doubted she was fooled.
Phelps looked in, then stepped past the door. “You wished to see us, my lord?”
“I did.” He waved the four into the room. “Please, come in, all of you.”
The Phelpses were more confident than Hockey and Edgerton, who hung back, clearly uneasy as they stepped onto the polished boards and glanced around at the luxurious furnishings.
Melissa smiled reassuringly. “We just have a few queries regarding members of the staff.”
Julian caught the questioning look she flashed him. How open did he want to be?
He considered the four lining up at an angle so they faced both him and Melissa and decided secrecy would be counterproductive. “The countess and I had another close call an hour ago.” Briefly, he explained how the punt had sunk and why.
That all four were deeply shocked—that, like him, they’d believed Mitchell to be the only rotten apple in their barrel—was written plainly in their faces.
Melissa leaned forward. “Mrs. Phelps, please do sit down.”
The housekeeper had grown distinctly pale. She dithered—her instinct over what was proper intervening—but then she dipped her head and murmured, “Thank you, my lady. I do think I had better.” She sank down to perch rigidly upright on the edge of the armchair opposite Melissa’s.
Julian looked at Phelps, Hockey, and Edgerton. “Consequently, we’re trying to determine who might have holed the punt.” He explained their reasoning regarding the period of time in which they thought the deed must have been done, and why they were focusing on the six recently hired men other than Mitchell. “So the question we have for you is whether you noticed where Biggins, Walter, Carter, Richards, Cantrell, and Manning were during the hours between dawn and ten o’clock this morning.”
Edgerton was quick to say, “It can’t have been Carter. He lodges with the Brinks family on the estate, and he and Fred Brinks walk into work together every morning. This morning, they were in as usual, about seven, and that means they would have set out around sunrise—you know how far the Brinkses’ cottage is from here. And once they’d arrived, I had them working together all morning, alongside several other lads, clearing up the west border. I saw them all there, on and off, and none of them, Fred or the others, said anything about Carter sloping off.”
Julian nodded. “So Carter is vouched for.” He looked at Hockey, who had been frowning.
Hockey met his eye. “I’ve been trying to think if I saw anyone about the barn who shouldn’t have been there.” He grimaced. “But I was out with the horses for much of that time. It was my morning for checking hooves. But as for Biggins and Walter, they turned up as usual with the others for orders at sunrise. Both had chores, and I saw them in the fields where they should have been on and off over those hours, and neither of them missed completing their tasks. Given what I’d set them to do, if either had gone down to the boathouse, I doubt they’d have managed to it all get done.”
Julian dipped his head, accepting that. “So Biggins and Walter are accounted for.” He turned his gaze to the Phelpses.
Mrs. Phelps cleared her throat. “I remember seeing Richards at his usual time. They’re all in the kitchen by seven, and Richards looked to be his usual sleepy self. It takes a good strong cup of tea to wake him up most days. But he was there, as usual, joking with Cook, and then, as far as I know, doing his regular chores.” She seemed to puff up a little and sat even straighter. “As for Bobby Cantrell, he came in from his parents’ farm as usual at six, on the dot. Never a minute late, that boy.” It was obvious Cantrell was a favorite with her and a local to boot.
She looked questioningly at her husband, but Phelps was faintly frowning and staring absently at the rug.
Mrs. Phelps reached out and tugged his coat. “Hugh?”
When he blinked and looked at her, she asked, “Were Richards and Bobby Cantrell there for their usual duties this morning?”
“Heh?” Then Phelps shook himself and glanced sheepishly at Julian and Melissa. “Sorry.” He glanced at his wife. “Yes. Richards and Bobby were both busy with their usual tasks, and Manning was about as well.” He frowned and looked at Julian. “But Master Damian doesn’t rise until late, so for the early part of the morning, Manning is left to his own devices.” Phelps straightened, raised his head, and more formally reported, “This morning, I happened to be in the west wing, fetching one of the lamps there to refill it, when I encountered Manning coming in through the side door at the end—the one the family use when going to the boathouse.”
Julian appreciated the distinction; if the staff went to the boathouse, they would leave via the kitchen door and walk around. Phelps didn’t approve of Manning using an entrance the staff would not normally use, and that meant that the incident had stuck firmly in Phelps’s memory. “When was this?” Julian asked.
“Just on seven, my lord. As you might expect, I asked Manning what he’d been doing. He smiled and said he’d just been out to take the air—that it was a wonderful morning and it had seemed a shame not to enjoy it.” Phelps snorted. “You may be sure I explained to him that, wonderful morning or not, staff were to come and go via the kitchen door.” Phelps all but sniffed in disparagement, then his frown deepened, and he added, “That door is half glass, so I saw him as he came toward it.” Phelps met Julian’s gaze. “I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but he was brushing some sort of dust from his sleeves as he walked up the path.”
Julian held back a sharp-edged, predatory smile. “Thank you, Phelps. That’s most helpful.” He nodded to the other three. “And our thanks to you as well. You’ve helped us winnow the guilty from the innocent. It seems it’s Manning we need to speak with, but please, leave him to us.”
Mrs. Phelps rose, and at Julian’s nod of dismissal, the four bowed and filed from the room.
“Well.” Julian blew out a breath and looked at Melissa, only to see her frowning. “What?”
She raised her dark-blue gaze to his face. “Damian mentioned to me that Manning had been recommended to him by Gordon.”
Julian’s smile grew grim. “Indeed.” He paused, then tipped his head toward the door. “Let’s find Damian first, then we’ll hunt down Manning and see what he has to say for himself.”
They found Damian and Felix relaxing in the library. One look at Julian’s and Melissa’s set faces and Julian’s brothers came alert.
“What?” Felix demanded, his gaze searching Julian’s face.
“Don’t tell me Mitchell’s escaped from the dungeon.” Damian was equally concerned, but cloaked his worry in flippancy. “Well, he can’t have—no one’s ever managed that.”
