Page 64 of A Matter of Murder

“I know,” he said. “But it does us no good getting ourselves worked up. Let’s go downstairs and see if anyone has found anything. Perhaps...”

“Perhaps what?”

“Perhaps, if it is she—and I am not saying it is—then there is another letter with her demands.”

Rather than scaring her—Lizzie was already terrified—that prospect strengthened her resolve. They’d turned to head back down the stairs when something made Lizzie stop suddenly.

“What’s the matter?” Darcy asked.

“Shh! Do you hear that?”

Darcy went still as well, listening. The house was quiet and absorbed sound surprisingly well. They could hear distant voices downstairs, but then...

A very distant, sad yip.

“Guy!” Darcy’s eyes lit up as he looked around. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know!” Lizzie clutched at his hand as hope surged through her. “Guy! Here, boy!”

They went quiet and waited. But then... yes, another sad yip.

“Where’s it coming from?” Darcy asked as he climbed the rest of the stairs.

“I can’t tell!”

He was barking now, she was sure of it, but she couldn’t trace the source. Mr. Grigson came down the guest hall after hearing the commotion. “Have you found him, miss?”

“No, but listen!” Lizzie tilted her head and... there it was again. “Did you hear that?”

“Yes,” the butler confirmed, sounding relieved.

“Where is he?” Darcy asked. “Somewhere upstairs, but...”

Mr. Grigson walked to the door on Lizzie’s right and pressed an ear against it. Lizzie stared at him, uncomprehending, and then the butler said, “Call him again, miss.”

“GUY!” both Lizzie and Darcy shouted, drawing the others from downstairs in the marble foyer, where their voices echoed.

Lizzie closed her eyes and concentrated. There it was—Guy’s distinctive yip. She opened her eyes just as Mr. Grigson straightened up, a grim expression painted across his face.

She knew it without him having to say a word.

Guy was somewhere in the east wing.

Sixteen

In Which Lizzie Questions Her Prime Suspect

The key was fetched and the door to the east wing was opened, but no one could agree on who was to cross the threshold.

Lizzie wanted to run toward the sound of Guy’s barking, but her memory of falling through the floor was too fresh. She could see the splintered floorboards from where she stood and recalled the terror she’d felt as she realized that the only thing between her and a potentially fatal fall was a bunch of rotting wood.

A small crowd gathered, including Jane, Charlotte, and half a dozen servants. They all took turns calling for Guy, but no matter how much they shouted and cajoled, the dog never sounded as if he were coming any closer. After nearly twenty minutes of this, his barks subsided into unhappy whines and cries that pierced Lizzie’s heart. “What if he’s stuck? Or hurt? He clearly can’t justcome. I have to go retrieve him.”

“You’re not going back in there,” Darcy said, eyeing the floor as if plotting his own path.

“Neither are you! You’re more likely to fall through the floor than I!”

“If I may, sir.” They all looked to find Mr. Grigson at Jane’s elbow. “I took the liberty of fetching Sally. Of everyone belowstairs, she knows the house best.”