Bedford Square - Anne Perry [120]
“Good morning, Woods,” Pitt said gravely. “I’m sorry for Mr. Cadell’s death. Is Mr. Barstone in the withdrawing room?”
Woods recollected himself. “Yes sir.” He swallowed, moving his neck as if his collar were too tight. “The … the study is locked, sir. I assume you will be needing to go in?”
“Is that where Mr. Cadell is?”
“Yes sir … I …”
Pitt waited.
Woods searched for words. He was obviously troubled by profound emotions.
“I don’t believe it, sir!” he said gruffly. “I’ve been with Mr. Cadell for nearly twenty years, and I don’t believe he’d take his own life. It has to be something else, some other answer.”
Pitt did not argue. Denial was the natural response to something so ugly, and from this man’s point of view, so utterly inexplicable. How could it make any sense to him?
“Of course we’ll investigate every possibility,” he said quietly. “Would you let me into the study; Sergeant Tellman has gone to speak with the rest of the staff. Who found Mr. Cadell this morning?”
“Polly, sir. She’s the downstairs maid. Went in to dust and make sure the room was clean and tidy. I’m afraid you can’t speak to her yet, sir. She’s taken it terribly hard. Awful thing for a young girl to find.” He blinked several times. “She’s usually very sensible, good worker, no trouble, but she just fainted clear away. She’s in the housekeeper’s sitting room, and you’ll just have to give her time. Can’t help that, sir.”
“Of course. Perhaps you can tell me most of what I need to know to begin with.”
“If I can, sir,” Woods conceded, perhaps helped in the immediate moment by the fact that he was able to be engaged in doing something. He fished in his pocket and produced a small brass key. He stood with it in his hand, waiting.
“What time was that?” Pitt asked him.
“Just after nine, sir.”
“Was that the usual time for Polly to go into the study?”
“Yes sir. Things sort of fall into a routine. Best way. Then nothing gets forgotten.”
“So everyone would know that Polly would go into the study at that time?”
“Yes sir.” Woods looked deeply troubled. It was easy to understand, and his thoughts were plain in his face. Cadell himself would have to have been aware of the almost certainty that a young maid would be the one to find him.
“And the door was unlocked ….” Pitt stated the obvious, but with surprise. People who intended killing themselves very often ascertained that they would have privacy.
“Yes sir.”
“Did anyone hear the shot? It must have made a considerable noise.”
“No sir, not that we realized, if you know what I mean?” Woods looked embarrassed, as if he had been at fault; if they had heard it they might have prevented the tragedy. It was irrational, but grief and incomprehension had numbed his faculties. “You must understand, sir, most of the staff were busy about their duties that hour of the day. The kitchen was full of comings and goings. There were tradesmen’s boys in the yard with deliveries and the like, wagons and carts and things clattering up and down the road, and with the windows open to air the house, there was a certain amount of noise anyway. I expect we heard it but never realized what it was.”
“Did Mr. Cadell have breakfast this morning?”
“No sir, just a cup of tea.”
“Wasn’t that unusual?”
“No sir, not lately. I’m afraid Mr. Cadell was not himself as far as his health was concerned.” He blinked again, stirring to govern his emotions. “He seemed very preoccupied, if you understand me. I daresay there is some foreign business that gives cause for concern. It is an extremely responsible …” He tailed off, suddenly remembering again that his master was dead. His eyes filled with tears and he turned away, embarrassed to lose such control of himself in front of a stranger.
Pitt was used to distress. He had been in situations like this countless times. He affected not to have noticed.
“Where did Mr. Cadell take his tea?”
It was a moment before Woods replied. “I believe Didcott the valet took it up to his dressing room, sir,” he said at last.
“And then he went down to the study?”
“I believe