Death at Dawn - Caro Peacock [123]
She didn’t believe me, of course.
I sat with the children for a while then went up to wake Mrs Martley, taking her a glass of water and some bread and butter I’d saved from the children’s dinner. She was awake already and nervous.
‘I couldn’t eat it. Not a crumb. The thought of being in the same room as that fat devil turns my stomach over.’
‘You won’t have to be in the same room as him. All you need do is look at him through a crack in the door and confirm that he’s the same person.’
I managed to calm her and get her down the back stairs. The house was humming with preparations for the ball, all the servants so busy that nobody gave us a second glance. Daniel met us at the back door, in his performance clothes of black breeches, silver-grey stock, black frock coat, blue-and-silver brocade waistcoat. I think his impressive appearance helped calm Mrs Martley’s nerves. He offered her his arm and she clung to it on the cobwebby journey along some seldom-used passageways, dimly lit by an occasional narrow window. Now and then our indirect progress took us round the back of the great hall and we heard the buzz of social conversation, the occasional muted laugh, a Haydn string quartet.
Daniel winced, ‘They always get the timing wrong without me.’
We turned into the last short passageway leading to the door behind the orange tree. The music and conversation were almost as loud as if we were in the same room. I signed to Daniel to wait with Mrs Martley, then went on ahead and opened the door a few inches. There were more people there than the evening before and it was some time before I saw Kilkeel. I looked first towards the big fireplace. Sir Herbert was there, sipping his wine and frowning, with Mr Brighton beside him, glowing like a comet in stripes of purple and gold. There was no sign of Lady Mandeville – presumably grief, drink or both had confined her to her room – but Celia was standing by her stepfather in her silver-and-white dress, hair glinting with diamonds, face blank. Kilkeel wasn’t with them.
I’d begun to think that he had decided not to come down to dinner and our work had been wasted when I caught the smell of him. In a room banked with flowers and delicately scented people, it was a waft of something foul and brought a vivid and unwanted memory of being close to him in his carriage. My eyes followed the smell and found him just on the other side of the orange tree, in profile to me and so close that I could almost have reached out an arm and touched him. Two men were with him, one with his back to me. The other one, facing me, was Celia’s brother. From his strained look, Stephen was doing his social duty as best he could, talking to Kilkeel and the other man. Kilkeel was listening with a bored droop of the eyelid and Stephen may have sensed the boredom, because his voice had the loud over-animation of a man trying to hold a reluctant audience.
‘… so I said to him, fifty guineas he loses by ten lengths at least …’
I closed the door quickly. This was far too close for comfort. I’d hoped Mrs Martley would have to do no more than look at Kilkeel across a crowded room. Still, we were too far gone to draw back now and would have to trust to her nerve. I went back to them.
‘He’s quite near. It will only take one glance.’
She clung to Daniel’s arm as we went quietly along the passage. We stopped by the door. Even with it closed, Stephen’s voice came faintly through.
‘… asked me how I knew. Well, it was obvious to anybody who could tell a horse from a jackass, only …’
Mrs Martley was trembling like seaweed in a strong current, leaning on Daniel. Now or never. I beckoned them forward, opened the door a few inches. Kilkeel was three-quarter face to us now, unmissable. I hadn’t the slightest doubt that she’d identify him. It was no more than a necessary formality. Still, I wasn’t prepared for what happened. She hardly even seemed to glance, then she said loudly, ‘It’s the same man.’ It was almost a scream. If it hadn’t been for the noise of the party, it might have drawn