The Murders of Richard III - Elizabeth Peters [33]
“Let’s not waste time denying the obvious,” Kent interrupted. “The connection is there. But I question your conclusion, Jacqueline. Alibis?”
“It seems equally obvious to me,” Jacqueline said. She looked so smug that Thomas wanted to throw something at her. “We cannot completely eliminate the possibility of an outsider. But in order to act, such a person would have to have access to the house as well as knowledge of the roles you are playing. The first is not impossible. Despite Sir Richard’s precautions, this place is not really secure. It is not a medieval castle with a moat and a drawbridge, but an open, modern house surrounded by a wall that I can guarantee to climb in ten seconds flat. As for the special knowledge required, that, too, might have been accessible to an outsider. The servants could have been bribed; none of them would feel they were betraying a trust by divulging such trivial information. Some of you may have talked to your friends. However—”
“But you’ve just contradicted your own suggestion,” Frank said, frowning. “You’ve proved that an outsider could have the necessary opportunity. As for the motive—obviously someone wants to make us look foolish. None of us would do such a thing.”
The rector made noises of enthusiastic agreement. Mrs. Ponsonby-Jones, whose slow-moving brain had finally grasped the situation, nodded her massive head. The others were silent; and gradually all eyes focused on a single object.
Percy giggled.
“I wish I had thought of it. I’d love to have seen Thomas in the butt of malmsey.”
“Now, young man,” Sir Richard began angrily.
He was interrupted by Mrs. Ponsonby-Jones, whose wits moved more rapidly in the face of a threat to her son and heir. With a piercing cry of indignation she gathered Percy to the maternal bosom.
“How dare you accuse Percy? Why, the poor boy hasn’t the strength, even if he were capable of imagining such nasty things.”
Thomas had to admit that the woman had a point. Most of Percy was fat, and he doubted that the boy had the muscle to overpower and move a grown man. Otherwise Percy was a perfect candidate. Childish, precocious, malicious…Malice. As he considered the word, Thomas understood why Jacqueline looked so grave.
A squeaky cough from the end of the table drew everyone’s attention. The American visitor cleared his throat.
“Must be an outsider,” he said, breathing agitatedly. “And I know who. Strangways! The man is capable of anything. Must be here. Look for him!”
“Do you know him, Mr. O’Hagan?” Jacqueline asked.
“Good gracious, no.” The suggestion seemed to infuriate O’Hagan. His moustache quivered. “Would I associate with such a scoundrel? Know of him, though. Capable of anything.”
“You said that before,” Philip remarked. “I’ve another idea. Some particularly enterprising newsman could have engineered these tricks. It would make a marvelous article—the mad Ricardians carrying their roles to insane extremes. If the chap carried a camera and took pictures of the victims…”
A low groan of horror issued from Thomas’s unguarded lips. Frank didn’t actually groan, but he looked as if he wanted to.
“My God, I’ll have to emigrate,” he muttered.
“Me, too,” Thomas said. “If my students ever saw a photo—”
“Nonsense,” Jacqueline exploded. “What’s wrong with all of you? Theoretically an outsider might have played these tricks, but he’d have to have had the luck of the Irish and the cloak of invisibility to play them without being caught. If this is not an inside job, I’ll—”
Liz said something under her breath. She seemed more shocked than any of the others; under the mask of makeup her face was pale.
“What?” Jacqueline asked.
“I think everyone is mad,” Liz muttered. “I’m tempted to pack up the whole business and clear out of here.”
“There’s no need for you to worry, darling,” Philip said. He was no longer smiling, and his handsome face looked hard and dangerous. “Elizabeth of York survived Richard for a good many years. I’m the one who ought to pack it up. Hastings was Richard’s next victim—if our comedian continues to follow the Tudor chronology.