“And I had never spoken with them before.” She met Neil’s eyes as he turned, and there was no shame in hers, just renewed anger. “They were only there for a moment,” she added.
“Damned swift, then? Must have disappointed you no end.”
“Shut up, Neil,” Lindy barked. “Have done with your bickering or I’ll do this in private!”
Neil stiffened with surprise. Lindy never used that tone with him. “Next you’ll have me defending her honor, I suppose!”
“Watch your mouth, my lord, or I’ll rearrange your teeth for you, and don’t think I can’t do it. This arm can bloody well pack a punch, thanks to you. Now sit down over there and mind your manners.” The inspector jerked his head toward the bed.
Lindy was right. Neil sat. Why was he acting such a bastard about this? What right had he to judge Elizabeth just because he was enamored of her and mad as hell about it? He almost wished Lindy had made good the threat and planted him a facer. He admitted he deserved it.
Lindy kept at her, but at least his voice was kind. “The incident with the boat—how many saw you then?”
“Lots, I suppose. Maybe ten or twelve people, but I was bedraggled as a drowned cat and I still…had my hair.” She fingered the short tresses just above her ear. When she saw Neil watching the gesture, she quickly pocketed her hand and lifted a defiant chin. “I don’t recall speaking to any of the guests Colin invited down. Twice I was accosted in the hallways, but it was rather dark. After that, I mostly kept to my room.”
“Accosted?” Neil certainly wanted to follow that up.
“Shut up!” the others said in unison, turning on him with eyebrows raised as though he’d said something out of turn. Neil held up his palms in a mute apology that he in no way meant.
“Have you attended any public events during your stay here or kept company with anyone else?” Lindy asked, as though Neil hadn’t interrupted.
She lowered her head and answered softly, “No. You see, we’ve never gone about much in society and have done no entertaining since my mother died. I was thirteen then. My friends, or the few I claim, are of rather modest means and live in our village.”
“A veritable recluse,” Neil muttered sarcastically, clamping his mouth closed when Lindy shot him another warning look.
“Well then!” MacLinden summed up her revelations. “We have nothing much to worry over, do we? Keep well away from Colin Marleigh and Lady Smythe and there should be no problems. Needless to say, do keep a sharp eye out for anyone who looks familiar and avoid him or her at all cost.”
He turned back to Neil. “You and your” assistant’ should begin to frequent Terry’s haunts, I think. Perhaps Boodle’s and White’s would be good places to begin. Men talk freely at the clubs, don’t they, and who knows what you might glean? I have no entrée to either place so you two could assist me greatly in the investigation. You might do the theater a few times and see if you spot or overhear anyone who resembles the man who approached Terry. You can manage all that, eh, Betts?”
“My pleasure, Lindy,” she said, her good humor apparently restored by MacLinden’s show of faith. The challenging tilt of her head dared Neil to object.
He nodded at Lindy. “Wednesday night,” he suggested. “Terry always went to White’s for cards on Wednesdays.”
“Very well, then. But first we have to get through the funeral,” Lindy said. “I’ll be with you, of course, both out of respect and in the event that anything untoward should happen. If Betts is unmasked, you see, I can Lake her into custody immediately and whisk her away.”
The three of them looked at each other wordlessly. Neil knew Elizabeth felt every bit as apprehensive as he did about her appearing in public dressed as a man. How she could put up such a courageous front was beyond him. Lindy must be terribly worried about the effect on his new position at the Yard if the truth came out. And as for himself, he thought it would take an act of God to get through Terry’s funeral under the best of circumstances. Dread didn’t begin to describe his current state of mind.
Later that afternoon, Trent MacLinden handed his favorite bowler to the same aging excuse for a butler that he’d interviewed at Marleigh House only hours after Terry Bronwyn’s murder. He carefully hid his surprise at finding the man now established at the country estate of Colin Marleigh.
He supposed it wasn’t that unusual, though, come to think of it. As far as Thurston knew, Lady Marleigh had disappeared, and the vacant Marleigh town house hardly needed a butler. Where else would the old man be expected to go but to her cousin, the earl?
“Good afternoon, Mr. Thurston. I’ve come in hopes of a word with Lord Marleigh. Do you remember me?” Lindy asked.
“Of course, Inspector. His lordship’s meeting with his steward at the moment. If you’ll follow me?”
Lindy measured his steps to the butler’s rather dragging gait. Light from the clerestory window above the front door threw reflections off Thurston’s hairless pate. The man’s sour odor and rumpled appearance must be anathema to his new employer, Lindy thought. He might look like an unmade bed, but he had a voice any actor would envy. The gnarled hands shook as the old man reached for the door handle and pushed it downward. The heavy portal swung open without a sound.
“Inspector MacLinden, Scotland Yard, milord,” Thurston announced in his well-modulated baritone.
“Oh very well,” Marleigh mumbled absently, his attention still on the papers he was folding away. “That will be all, Hinkley,” he said to the man Lindy assumed was the steward. “While I’m away I’ll expect reports at least every other day, as usual. You have my itinerary?”
“Of course, milord.” The steward bowed himself out, and Lindy watched Thurston follow and quietly close the door behind them.
Lindy waited patiently while Colin Marleigh busied himself locking away record books and the other paperwork he’d apparently been discussing with his man.
True to his training, Lindy used the time to observe the young lord, who appeared to be in his late twenties. Marleigh was short and rather stocky, tending toward portliness around his middle. Straight blond hair lay in thin, pomaded strands across an extremely high forehead. A virtually lipfess mouth was compressed into a nearly perfect horizontal line.
His nuse might be noble, Lindy thought, but the ears were doubly so. They protruded outward from his head like clam-shells. Some effort went toward disguising them by employing bushy dundreary whiskers in front and longish, fluffed-out hair behind them.
Given the stick-straight hair on top, Lindy suspected the man’s vanity had bowed to using curling tongs for the locks at the back. The thought prompted a laugh, but he neatly squelched it by clearing his throat. It solved two problems. He got his lordship’s notice.
“Scotland Yard, you say? Then you’re here about my cousin,” Marleigh said, looking up at last through cold, green eyes.
“Lord Marleigh.” Lindy gave a curt nod and what might be construed as a bow if one were generous. He didn’t like the concept of obeisance to anyone, even royalty, though he recognized the need to play the game. It had proved a hard object lesson in his early army days. “Good
