Ashworth Hall - Anne Perry [44]
“One of those?” Pitt suggested. “Perhaps that pink one. It looks about the right size.” He stood up and went over to it, leaving Tellman still holding the corpse. He looked at the jar closely without touching it. As far as he could see, there was no mark on it, no smudges of soap to indicate it had been picked up. He put his hand around it experimentally. It was quite easy to grasp. It was also heavy. It would have made an efficient weapon, if wielded with a swing and any weight behind it.
He took it back to the end of the bath and held it carefully against the back of Greville’s head. It was the right width, and it was straight.
“Murder?” Tellman said dourly, pursing his lips.
“I think so. Let him down slowly, and I’ll see if there is any way the edge of the bath could fit the wound.”
Tellman obliged awkwardly, his shoulders hunched to take the weight, his sleeves getting even wetter. “Well?” he repeated sharply.
“No,” Pitt replied. “He didn’t fall onto the edge of the bath. It was either this jar or one very like it”
“Anything on it?” Tellman asked. “Any blood? Any hair? He’s got a good head of hair, poor devil. Not that I liked him!”
Pitt turned the jar over very slowly, pulling a wry face at Tellman’s remark.
“No,” he said at last. “But this is a bathroom, it wouldn’t be very difficult to wipe it clean. And no one would find soap or water odd on ajar of bath salts. Plenty of people must reach for them with wet hands.”
Tellman let the body go and it fell back, stiff and clumsy, sliding under the water again, feet sticking out.
“Someone came in an’ hit him from behind?” Tellman thought aloud.
“He’s facing the door,” Pitt pointed out. “So whoever it was, he was not afraid. He didn’t cry out, and he allowed the person to pick up the jar of salts and walk behind him.”
Tellman gave a sharp little bark of derision.
“Can’t imagine it! What kind of man lets someone walk in on him in the bath? Isn’t decent, apart from dangerous.”
“Gentlemen aren’t as prudish as you are,” Pitt said with bitter amusement. He saw the look of incredulity in Tellman’s face, and the beginning of total confusion. “Who do you think brings the hot water to add to the bath when it gets cold?” he went on.
“I don’t know! A valet? A footman? You’re saying one of the servants killed him?”
“I think as often as not it’s the maids who carry the water or the hot towels,” Pitt replied. Then, seeing Tellman’s expression, he went on, “Not for me. I am as big a prude as you are. I’d sooner sit in cold water. But Greville may have been used to being waited on by the maids.”
“Some maidservant came in with a bucket of hot water and hit him over the head with ajar of salts?” Tellman said in patent disbelief.
“People don’t look at the faces of servants, Tellman,” Pitt said seriously. “One servant looks pretty much like another, especially in livery, or in a plain black dress, white apron and white lace cap. In some houses the junior servants are even trained to turn their faces to the wall if one of the family passes by.”
Tellman was filled with too much anger to speak. His eyes were dark. His lips compressed.
“It could have been anyone, dressed in livery,” Pitt concluded.
“You mean an assassin from outside?” Tellman’s chin jerked up.
“I don’t know. We’ll need to ask a lot of questions. At the time Greville had his bath, this house should have been locked up. And the outside staff were watching the grounds.”
“I’ll speak to all of them,” Tellman promised. “You going to tell them who we are?”
“Yes.” He had no choice.
“And it’s murder?” Tellman went on.
“Yes.”
Tellman squared his shoulders.
“We’ll have to take the body out of here,” Pitt went on. “There’ll be an icehouse. Have one of the valets help you carry him