Barchester?” Megan asked. “Exactly.”
“They quarreled. And Raine…” His eyes flickered uneasily over to Deirdre again. “Well, Raine killed him.”
“How?”
The man looked startled by Megan’s blunt question. “What do you mean?”
“How did Lord Raine kill Dennis? Did he shoot him or—”
“He stabbed him.”
A hush fell on the room. Megan had heard many sad and wrenching stories in her line of work, but she was unprepared for the stab of pain that went through her at Barchester’s words.
“I’m sorry,” Barchester said, looking wretched. “I should not have said that so bluntly.”
Megan shook her head, shoving down her sorrow. “’Tis not your fault, I assure you.” She paused, struggling to put herself back into her reporter’s role. “You said they quarreled. About what?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t—” He paused, again with an anxious glance at Deirdre. “I didn’t hear it.”
“Could it have been over something Dennis had found?” Megan asked.
Barchester frowned. “Found? I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Well, you said that Mr. Coffey came upon some artifacts. Had Dennis found anything? I don’t know—some sort of object? An artifact? Even a jewel or something like that.”
“Oh, well, yes, I suppose he could have. But if he did, I never knew of it.” He paused, frowning. “But you know…now that I think of it, there was something in Raine’s possession that he was rather secretive about.”
The Mulcaheys glanced at each other, then back at Barchester, their interest clearly aroused. “Something?” Frank repeated.
“Yes. A pendant of some sort, I believe. I didn’t really get a good look at it. As I said, Lord Raine was secretive about it. But as we were traveling back, I noticed that he was wearing something around his neck. It lay beneath his shirt, and I saw him pull it out once or twice to look at it. I never saw it up close. He didn’t offer to show it to me, and I did not ask. I—we—well, obviously things were quite strained between us at that point. We did not speak much beyond what was necessary.”
“Didn’t you talk to him about the murder?” Megan asked in disbelief. “Didn’t you ask him why? Didn’t you put him in restraints or anything?”
“Of course we talked to him!” Mr. Barchester looked shocked. “Theo claimed it was an accident. And I, well, at first I believed him. I mean, I had never seen anything to indicate that he would do something like that. I thought surely it must have been an accident. It was only later that I began to realize the story didn’t quite add up. Raine was evasive in his answers, and I could see that he was not telling me the truth. He was clearly uneasy, and he wouldn’t meet my eyes. His story didn’t really make sense.”
Again sorrow tinged Barchester’s features. “It was very hard for me, for both Julian and me, to accept that Lord Raine had murdered Dennis. We had grown to like him so, to think that he wasn’t like other aristocrats we had met. But, finally, I could not deny any longer that he was lying. Julian and I talked about it. We didn’t know what to do. As I said, we were miles from civilization, not even sure where we were. It was a matter of our word against his, and the Morelands are quite powerful. I—there was nothing to do but return.”
His gaze went from Frank to Megan, then lingered on Deirdre’s face. “I pray you will not think too badly of me. If I had had any idea what would happen, if I could have done something to stop it…”
“It wasn’t your fault, Mr. Barchester,” Deirdre assured him in her usual kind manner.
Megan was not quite as forgiving as her sister, however.. It seemed to her that Barchester had given up all too easily in the face of Moreland’s denial. However, she could scarcely afford to take him to task over it. His account of the events was the only proof they had against Theo Moreland at the moment, and she did not want to antagonize him. Besides, she reminded herself, it would have doubtless been unwise for Barchester to confront Moreland with his knowledge, given that he had already killed a man. Moreland could have done in the other two men also, and returned to civilization with no one the wiser.
“This other man who was with you—Julian Coffey? I’d like to talk to him. See if there is anything he can add.”
“Oh, yes, I am sure that he could give you more details,” Mr. Barchester agreed. “Capital fellow, Coffey.”
“Is he still the curator at the Cavendish Museum?”
Barchester nodded. “Yes. Julian makes regular trips to South and Central America to acquire new pieces for the museum. He has built up quite a collection over the years. Lord Cavendish died a few years back, but he endowed the place amply in his will, and his widow still supports it, as well. In fact, Lady Cavendish is holding a ball to benefit the museum in just a couple of weeks, I believe. I could talk to him, if you’d like,” he added helpfully. “Set up something for you.”
“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary,” Megan assured him quickly. She preferred to talk to the man without his being influenced beforehand by Barchester. “I should set up an appointment myself. I’m not sure exactly when I will be able to see him. In the meantime, I would appreciate it if you didn’t mention any of this to Mr. Coffey.”
He looked surprised. “Naturally, if that is what you wish.”
“I find I get better results if I have the first thoughts out of one’s head,” Megan said by way of explanation. “You know, without their thinking it over a great deal. It’s no longer fresh then.”
“Of course,” Barchester agreed politely, though he still looked faintly confused.
And well he might, Megan thought, since her glib response was not precisely the truth. She had found that the more witnesses to an event discussed it, the more alike their accounts of the event tended to become, but she had also found that telling people that fact often insulted them. In the same way, she also suspected that Mr. Barchester’s story had probably been somewhat different than it would have been if Deirdre had not been present. The man had been clearly smitten by her sister. Megan wasn’t sure how his story might have differed, of course; no doubt it was subtle. But she had also found that men were not inclined to be entirely honest when they were speaking in front of a woman they admired. She intended to arrange her visit with Coffey so that her father and sister were not present.
They stayed for a little longer after that, making polite chitchat with Mr. Barchester. He offered them tea and inquired about their trip across the Atlantic and their lodgings here, offering to help them in any way possible. He seemed a nice enough man, Megan thought, though a trifle bland. Her sister, however, seemed not to notice this defect, for she smiled and even, Megan realized, flirted with him a little.
For her part, Megan was barely able to sit still and be polite. She wanted only to go back to the house they had rented and talk over the tantalizing possibility of “treasure” that Mr. Barchester had raised. She could see, glancing at her father, that he was fairly twitching to discuss it, too.
Indeed, they had barely bade Mr. Barchester goodbye and walked a few feet from his front door before Frank burst out, “I
