Richard met Penelope’s eyes and half glared at her, then gave his attention to assuring Rosalind that he wasn’t about to bleed to death from a relatively shallow cut.
Mrs. Hemmings arrived, supported by Lady Carville, and Penelope handed Regina into their care.
As she did so, something beside the apple tree’s trunk caught Penelope’s eye, and forever curious, she went to see what it was. She peered into the grass at the base of the trunk, then turned, waved to catch Stokes’s attention, and beckoned. “You need to see this.”
Stokes and Barnaby ducked beneath the branches and, followed by Richard and a slowly calming Rosalind, walked to where Penelope stood.
She pointed at the coil of strong rope half hidden by the grass. “This proves what his plan for Regina was.”
When, after taking stock of the rope, the others looked at her, patently waiting for her to expound, she obliged. “I believe he intended to partially strangle Regina, enough to render her unconscious, then he was going to hang her from this tree.” With her gaze, she measured the distance between the thicker branches overhead and the ground. “There’s just enough clearance to imagine that she might have done it herself, and the bruising from the rope would have obscured the marks of strangulation.” After pausing to allow that to sink in, she added, “I suspect he would have then ‘found’ her, no doubt claiming that he’d seen her safely back to the house, but that when he’d left her inside, she’d appeared ‘troubled.’ Something along those lines.”
His voice low so only they would hear, Barnaby filled in, “He’d read Monty’s black book and knew Regina was one of Monty’s victims. He meant us to see the evidence of Monty’s own record of Regina making a payment that morning—and somehow, Leith had guessed that she was the one who was supposed to have left a payment in the tree’s hollow, and that was what Monty was looking for when Leith struck him.”
“Leith saw how unsettled Regina was when the conversation turned to everyone’s whereabouts at the time Monty waskilled.” Richard looked at Rosalind and lightly hugged her. “Remember?”
Rosalind nodded. “During the picnic yesterday, especially.” She looked at the others. “Regina was obviously uncomfortable when the discussion touched on that subject.”
“Right.” Stokes kept his voice down. “So he was going to string her up as if she’d taken her own life because she was guilty of murdering Underhill.” He looked at Penelope. “That’s diabolical.”
She nodded. “He intended to use her as his scapegoat. The one thing he failed to realize was that Regina’s too short to have landed the blow he had.” She glanced at Leith, drooping between O’Donnell and Morgan. “That simply wouldn’t have occurred to him.”
Stokes huffed. “It wouldn’t have occurred to many at all.” He, too, directed a steely look at Leith. “Few would have doubted his word.”
“At least at first,” Penelope said. “And really, that’s probably all he would have needed to walk free, unsuspected of any crime. Monty’s evidence of his misdeeds, which we’ve discovered but have yet to share, would likely have remained hidden, possibly for decades.”
Leaning heavily on her mother’s arm, Regina took careful steps toward them. “Inspector?”
Stokes turned and, instantly solicitous, walked to her side. “Yes?”
Regina drew in a deeper breath and managed to rasp, “He said something. When he started to…” She weakly waved at her throat, where the white skin was mottled by deepening bruises. “He said, ‘You, my dear, are the perfect scapegoat.’”
Eyes still reflecting the shock of her ordeal, Regina looked at Stokes. “I thought you should know.”
“Thank you.” Gravely, Stokes inclined his head. He hesitated, then, no doubt judging that it might help Regina to hear it stated, he added, “We believe he intended to use your death as his ticket to freedom.”
Regina’s lips quivered, but then her chin firmed, and she nodded. “I thought it must have been that.”
Vincent approached. His expression severe, he stared hard at Leith, then turned to Stokes. “Inspector. Do you and your men need any assistance?”
Grateful for the offer, Stokes arranged to have Leith temporarily held in a cellar storeroom.
At Stokes’s nod, grim-faced, O’Donnell and Morgan marched Leith out of the orchard. The entire company and many of the staff had gathered in one large crowd on the lawn. They parted, creating an avenue to the forecourt, and the policemen steered Leith, with his hands now bound, his head hanging, and his gaze on the ground, to the house as comprehension, disbelief, and scandalized horror appeared on every face as the reality sank in that the Earl of Leith was Monty Underhill’s murderer.
“Hold still!” Rosalind glared at Richard as, shirtless, he leaned back against one of the raised benches in the conservatory.
Pots of greenery had been moved aside to provide space for the bowls and balms and bandages Rosalind and Lady Pamela had deemed necessary to tend Richard’s wound.
Using a damp cloth to firmly dab at the inches-long cut, Rosalind flicked a glance at Richard’s face. “You’re distracting enough without moving.”
Richard grinned. “I’m relieved you’ve noticed.”
Rosalind colored faintly but, her eyes on the wound, murmured, “I’m not blind.”
Richard decided to let that comment pass unchallenged.
Several minutes later, after she’d dabbed ointment on the wound and bandaged it neatly, Rosalind stepped back and raised one hand to her temple to push aside a dangling glossy brown curl.
She met Richard’s eyes, studied his subtly amused, dark-blue gaze, then rather waspishly insisted, “This is not funny! I don’t find seeing you hurt amusing in the slightest!” Unbidden, the shock of realizing he’d been injured and was bleeding rolled through her again, and she swatted at his shoulder. “You didn’t need to let him cut you.”
