The William Monk Mysteries_ The First Three Novels - Anne Perry [397]
“The dining room,” Monk interrupted. “The second footman was in the dining room. Surely he would have heard the armor go over?”
The butler flushed with annoyance. He had been caught out.
“Yes sir, I suppose he would,” he said grudgingly. “If he’d been in the dining room when it happened.”
“And you said he fetched up coal. Where from?”
“The coal cellar, sir.”
“Where is the door to it?”
“Back of the scullery … sir.” The “sir” was heavy with irony.
“Which rooms would he bring coal for?”
“I …” The butler stopped. “I don’t know, sir.” His face betrayed that he had realized the possibilities. For the dining room, the morning room, the library or billiard room the footman would have crossed the hall.
“May I speak with him?” Monk did not say please; the request was only a formality. He had every intention of speaking with the man regardless.
The butler was not going to put himself in the position of being wrong again.
“I’ll send him to you.” And before Monk could argue that he would go to the man, which would give him an opportunity to see the servants’ area, the butler was gone.
A few minutes later a very nervous young man came in, dressed in ordinary daytime livery of black trousers, shirt and striped waistcoat. He was in his early twenties, fair haired and fair skinned, and at the moment he was extremely ill at ease. Monk guessed the butler had reasserted his authority over the situation by frightening his immediate junior.
Out of perversity Monk decided to be thoroughly pleasant with the young man.
“Good morning,” he said with a disarming smile—at least that was how it was intended. “I apologize for taking you from your duties, but I think you may be able to help me.”
“Me sir?” His surprise was patent. “’Ow can I do that, sir?”
“By telling me, as clearly as you can remember, everything you did the evening General Carlyon died, starting after dinner when the guests went to the withdrawing room.”
The footman screwed up his face in painfully earnest concentration and recounted his usual routine.
“Then what?” Monk prompted.
“The withdrawing room bell rang,” the footman answered. “And since I was passing right by there, I answered it. They wanted the fire stoked, so I did it.”
“Who was there then?”
“The master wasn’t there, and the mistress came in just as I was leaving.”
“And then?”
“Then I—er…”
“Had another word with the kitchen maid?” Monk took a guess. He smiled as he said it.
The footman colored, his eyes downcast. “Yes sir.”
“Did you fetch the coal buckets for the library?”
“Yes sir—but I don’t remember how many minutes later it was.” He looked unhappy. Monk guessed it was probably quite some time.
“And crossed the hall to do it?”
“Yes sir. The armor was still all right then.”
So whoever it was, it was not Louisa. Not that he had held any real hope that it might be.
“Any other rooms you took coal for? What about upstairs?”
The footman blushed hotly and lowered his eyes.
“You were supposed to, and didn’t?” Monk guessed.
The footman looked up quickly. “Yes I did, sir! Mrs. Furnival’s room. The master doesn’t care for a fire at this time o’ the year.”
“Did you see someone, or something, when you were upstairs?”
“No sir!”
What was the man lying about? There was something; it was there in his pink face, his downcast eyes, his awkward hands and feet. He was riddled with guilt.
“Where did you go upstairs? What rooms did you pass? Did you hear something, an argument?”
“No sir.” He bit his lip and still avoided Monk’s eyes.
“Well?” Monk demanded.
“I went up the front stairs—sir …”
Suddenly Monk understood. “Oh, I see—with the coal buckets?”
“Yes sir. Please sir …”
“I shan’t tell the butler,” Monk promised quickly.
“Thank you, sir! I–thank you sir.” He swallowed. “The armor was still there, sir; and I didn’t see the general—or anyone else, except the upstairs maid.”
“I see. Thank you. You have helped me considerably.”
“Have I sir?” He was doubtful, but relieved