Her smile deepened to one of genuine warmth. “Do not be like that. We got on well enough, didn’t we? I am fond of you, my lady, for all your money and fancy ways,” she said pertly.
I returned her smile and inclined my head. “Mrs. King, I will wish you a pleasant journey.”
She gave a short, sharp bark of a laugh. “I am sure. But go I must. I would rather not meet your lover again.”
Her expression was bland, but her eyes were sharp with malice and anticipation. She was waiting for me to sputter in outrage, to deny, to throw her out of the house in my fury.
And in a flash of blessed inspiration, I realised why. The Tear of Jaipur.
I turned to Aquinas. “Fetch Morag. Tell her to come at once.” He withdrew and I smiled sweetly at Charlotte. “I shall be only too happy to permit you to leave, as soon as your bag and your person have been searched.”
The following minutes were not wholly pleasant. In spite of her ladylike demeanour and her delicate looks, she raged, she spluttered and cursed us all. She scratched and kicked and Aquinas sustained a rather nasty bite on his thumb. But at last we managed to lock her in the boot room with Morag. There were ominous sounds, bumps and thumps and all manner of swearing. After a very long interlude, Charlotte emerged, hair straggling down her back, clothes askew, clutching her portmanteau.
“Nothing, my lady,” Morag advised me, rolling down her cuffs and pinning them neatly into place. It was a testament to her efficiency and her brutality that she had not a hair out of place.
“In that case, you are free to leave, Mrs. King. Farewell,” I told her pleasantly.
By way of reply she turned on her heel and fairly ran from the Abbey. Aquinas slammed the door behind her and the three of us stared at one another in bemusement.
I glanced at the tall case clock. “Lord, I must fly. I shall be late for luncheon as it is. Thank you both. I know Mrs. King was a trial, but she is gone now and we need not think on her again. She is a thief and a liar and we are well rid of her.”
“And she didn’t even leave a tip,” Morag put in bitterly.
THE TWENTY-EIGHTH CHAPTER
And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe, And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot, And thereby hangs a tale.
—As You Like It
If that day was one of partings, the following was one of homecomings. Father and Brisbane returned just after tea, exhausted and in identically vile moods, although they seemed to have made up their quarrel after a fashion. They made straight for Father’s study and the whiskey bottle in spite of the hour. Father poured out a large measure for them both, a daintier portion for me.
“Aquinas informs me we have lost four guests,” Father said mildly.
I bristled a little at the implied criticism. “They were determined to go, Father. I had no authority to hold them.” Brisbane’s mouth opened and I held up a hand. “And I took the precaution of having Charlotte searched. The Tear of Jaipur was nowhere to be found, and I am certain Morag was painfully thorough. She must have cached the stone somewhere before she came to the Abbey.”
“And now I have missed the opportunity to follow her whilst she retrieves it,” he said sourly.
“Then you ought to have stayed with her,” I returned. He raised a brow at the tartness of my tone, but said nothing.
Father wagged a finger. “Enough. The fault is indeed ours, Brisbane. If we meant to keep everyone here, we ought to have seen to it before we went haring off to London.”
Brisbane’s only reply was to take another deep draught of his whiskey. I turned to Father.
“Where is the inspector? I thought he would return with you.”
Father smiled thinly. “He is warming his bottom by his own hearthside, my dear. He was pleased enough to take the body and the villain into custody and to take our word for which was which.”
“That cannot possibly be right. He ought to have come here, investigated properly, taken statements, asked questions,” I trailed off, too indignant to finish.
“Yes, he ought,” Father agreed, draining the last of his whiskey. “But he did not. He is content to accept what Brisbane and I told him and leave matters at that. Ludlow confessed again, this time to the inspector. Our involvement is not required. The boy will swing for it at his own request.”
I said nothing. Father was pleased because it meant there would be little in the way of repercussion as far as the family were concerned. But it seemed deeply unsatisfying to me that it should all end thus. Ludlow was a murderer and deserved to be punished to be sure, but to be dispatched with so much haste and so little concern for his motives struck me as unjust. I could not like that Lucy had escaped so easily from bearing the consequences of her role in this tragedy. Then I thought of her life with Cedric and realised the consequences to her could hardly be worse.
I left them then with their black moods and whiskey. They would be drunk as lords by dinner, I thought, and appropriately so. I turned the corner toward the staircase and nearly collided with Aquinas. He was coming from the direction of the kitchens, holding a festively wrapped box in his hands.
“What have you there?” I teased. “My Christmas present?”
He smiled. “No, my lady. It is a Christmas pudding. When Mrs. King stirred up the puddings for the family, she made one for each member of the house party, including herself. Before she left she asked Cook to send hers on.”