Jane and the Unpleasantness at Scargrave - Stephanie Barron [61]
“Very well,” Sir William said, “the Countess lost her handkerchief by the savaged body of her maid, who had accused her of the murder of her husband. We shall attempt to draw no conclusions from the fact.”
“It is possible that another obtained the handkerchief, and placed it where it might be found, with the intent of throwing suspicion upon Isobel.”
“It is possible, yes.”
“There were but two sets of footprints leading to the body, and one of those was the maid's,” I continued. “The other was formed by a man's boot.”
“Perhaps the Countess wore her husband's shoes,” Sir William said mildly, “the better to counterfeit her appearance.”
“It is absurd!” I cried.
“It is as acceptable as the notion that someone dropped her handkerchief by the gate,” the magistrate rejoined with equanimity. “You must own it to be at least possible, my dear Jane. Now, tell me of the finding of the maid, with your usual sense and power of organisation.”
I related all that I could remember of the grim scene in the shed, though the images it recalled were of so vivid a nature as to cause me to pause now and again in my search for composure. I did not except to recount my first exit from that gruesome place, nor my return; and upon closing my recital, I handed to the magistrate the bloodstained slip of paper retrieved from the maid's bodice.
Sir William settled his spectacles on his nose with a frown, and looked at me over their rims. “This is most singular, my dear, most singular. Two items of evidence, removed from the scene of the crime? I would advise you in future to leave such corpses as you may encounter, completely untouched.”
“But I found the handkerchief before I had reason to wonder at its presence,” I said, “and I foresaw that the body should be brought to the house. In preparing Marguerite for burial, the note might have been lost—by accident or design.”
“By design? You would have the murderer a member of the household?”
“How can it be otherwise?”
He shook his head. “One might perfectly see how it could be otherwise, my dear Jane. A penniless servant girl, abroad in the depths of winter, may readily fall prey to any number of misfortunes, and none of them at the hands of her employers.”
“You do not credit such coincidence, Sir William.”
He smiled at me in submission. “No, Jane, I do not. It is too much to believe that Marguerite should be found dead upon the very morn that her last missive was received.”
“Her last missive—” I began, but was silenced by his raised hand.
“We shall talk of that in good time. For now, I would read this scrap of foolscap.”
I knew the words by heart, though the hand was unfamiliar to me; it was a fragment of paper only, with a fragmentary sentence, let us meet in our accustomed place was all it said, without salutation or farewell. Its author had not been foolish enough to sign his name, so much was certain.
“It tells us little enough,” Sir William said gruffly, “but that the paper is of excellent quality, and so small as to be passed from one hand to another without notice in public. The fragment lacks a watermark, but it is clearly of pure rag, and purchased at some expense.” He tucked the note into his waistcoat and stroked his chin, his gaze distracted.
“It is an elegant hand, as well,” I observed, “and for my part, I would judge it to be masculine. The diction would suggest a person of higher station than the maid's.”
“I am in agreement, my dear.”
“And now for the maid's final letter,” I reminded him.
Sir William reached into his waistcoat once more and handed me a folded sheet. “This was nailed to the door of the Cock and Bull sometime before dawn,” he told me. “Half the town has read it, and the other half has heard the news. I trust you to make as much sense as I of its meaning.”
To the good Sir—
I have been disapoynted in my hopes of yore justice. And so I must speke out right. Evil is at work at Scargrave Manor. Look among the things of the Lord, and you will find the things of the Devil! Perhaps then you will beleve that Murder has been done,