Page 51 of Ambition (The Chaplain’s Legacy #6)

I t took a little more than an hour to arrange everyone in their starting positions, family and servants alike.

Michael had emphasised again that they should react exactly as they had done on the night of the murder, so if they were slow to wake up, they should be slow this time, too.

It would not be precise, for it was impossible to recreate the events exactly as they had happened, but there might be something, some clue that would point him in the right direction.

All those who were not present on the night in question gathered in the great hall, together with Sir Hubert Strong, as magistrate, and Lady Alice. Mr Alfred Strong had insisted on being with her, so that he could describe what was happening to her.

“Very well, but keep the sound very low when the murderer passes through. The great hall should be silent and empty, so please, everyone be as quiet as you can, and do not delay Mr Eustace. Now, Sandy, have you the axe?”

The Scotsman brandished it with a grin.

“Mr Eustace, sir, will you please deposit the axe in the left-hand urn?”

“Why me?” Eustace said.

“You are the murderer, Eustace,” Kent called out. “You have to know where the axe is.”

“Ah, so I can retrieve it. Of course.”

Confidently, he took the axe and ran lightly up the stairs to the half-landing where the two giant Chinese urns stood, and moved directly to the right-hand one.

“The left is the other side, Eustace,” Walter called out, as a murmur of laughter ran round the assembled crowd.

“Ah. Of course.”

“Heavens, Eustace, you make a terrible murderer,” Izzy said. “You should have let me do it after all, Captain.”

That brought more laughter.

“Now, sir,” Michael said. “Outside, as soon as you can. The light is fading fast.”

He led the way down to the basement and out through the garden door. Outside, the air was chilly and damp. “You know what you have to do, sir?”

“Through the door, up the service stairs to the great hall, retrieve the axe from the urn—”

“The left-hand urn.”

“Yes! Then on up the stairs to Nicholson’s room, murder the bolster, drop the axe and straight back down the stairs. Is that right?”

“It is, and as fast as you possibly can.” Michael pulled out his pocket watch. “At all costs, you want to get in and out without being seen. I shall be timing you. Right, off you go, sir.”

Eustace went. Through the garden door, and up the service stairs two at a time, straight along the narrow passageway, then erupting into the great hall.

Michael followed three paces behind. On the half-landing, Eustace hesitated, moved to the right, stopped, moved back to the left, and then to the urn.

He pulled out the axe, waving it triumphantly at the assembled watchers.

Then he set off up the left-hand stairs.

“Other stairs, sir,” Michael murmured behind him.

Down, across the landing, up the right-hand stairs to the very top, out onto the landing that ran round all four sides of the castle, and through the door directly opposite.

There was the bolster in the bed, a mop head representing Nicholson’s hair.

For a moment, he hesitated, axe held loosely in his hand.

“This is definitely a bolster, yes?”

“Definitely.”

Then, as Michael watched, Eustace set to with a will, releasing clouds of feathers into the air. For a moment he paused, then dropped the axe beside the bed where it fell with a thud, before brushing away the feathers that clung all about him.

He turned and left the room, closing the door softly behind him, and took two brisk steps towards the top of the stairs. Almost at once the bell clanged loudly behind him. That was quick!

Eustace swore with realistic fervour, and ran for the stairs.

He had not taken more than two steps down when there was the distant sound of a door opening.

Someone tripped over something, cursing, and passed by on the landing, as Eustace pressed himself against the wall and froze.

Walter Atherton, first on the scene because he had not stopped to light a candle.

Then more doors opened further round the upper level.

The wavering light of a candle appeared. Eustace stood, paralysed.

Michael said nothing, leaving him to work out what to do. Down below them, the great hall was in darkness, the fire extinguished and no candles lit. Only a dim gloom from the glass roof far above cast enough light to see the stairs.

The candlelight disappeared, hidden behind a pillar.

Abruptly, Eustace made a decision, and ran on down the stairs to the great hall.

There he would have stopped, but Michael urged him onwards, along the narrow passage, down the service stairs and out of the garden door.

Then and only then did Michael check his pocket watch.

“Seven minutes,” he said with satisfaction. “Thank you, sir. A very proficient performance.”

“Did it give you any new ideas?”

“New ideas? No, but it was interesting all the same.” And he grinned wolfishly. “Shall we go back inside?”

By the time they reached the great hall, arriving more slowly this time, there was a great deal of excited chatter amongst the watchers.

Michael left them to it, and went upstairs to Mr Nicholson’s bedroom.

The earl, Kent, Walter and Mrs Walter, together with several footmen, were milling about, while Neate and Sandy were making notes of who arrived when.

“Ladies all sent away,” Sandy said. “Everyone’s here who was here on the night.”

“Excellent,” Michael said. “Mr Kent, sir? Did you see the murderer running down the stairs?”

“I did, Captain, although… not so far down the stairs as the real murderer. I was looking for him, this time, so it was not just a glimpse in the corner of my eye. Alexander saw him, too.”

“Aye, I did. He was lucky to get away with it — the real murderer, that is. Mrs Walter came through as soon as she heard a noise, and because she raised the alarm so swiftly, we saw Mr Eustace running away. But Mr Kent saw the real murderer running away, so Lady Alice must have raised the alarm almost as swiftly.”

“That is true,” Michael said. “She must have been awake already. No doubt the murderer did not expect that. Mr Eustace responded well when he found the alarm raised so quickly. Hmm… not so far down the stairs. Well, we cannot expect everything to be precisely the same. Did anyone remember anything new?”

Neate and Sandy both shook their heads.

“What about you, Captain?” the earl said. “Did you gain any new insights from this exercise?”

“No, my lord. It has confirmed one or two matters which were uncertain before, but no more than that, I regret to say.”

“You have done your best,” the earl said. “No one could have done more.”

“But it was not enough,” Michael said sadly. “Now he will get away with it, and justice will never be done.” He sighed heavily. “You have been wonderfully patient, my lord, but we will importune you no longer. Tomorrow we will be gone.”

“What do you want to do with this?” Sandy said, proffering the axe.

“I suppose it can go back to Mr Eustace now,” Michael said disconsolately.

Downstairs, the candles and fires were lit, and the servants were busily handing round drinks and platters of pastries and cakes.

While the rest of those assembled in the great hall seemed to be in celebratory mood, Michael’s spirits could not be lifted. He stood glumly at the bottom of the stairs, gazing up at the two Chinese urns and the armoury display between them.

Luce tucked her arm into his. “Stop thinking about it.”

He chuckled ruefully. “That is difficult, when I have thought of nothing else for six months.”

“You have to let it go, Michael. It does no good to keep fretting over it like this.”

“But I am so close! There is but one piece of the puzzle missing, if I could only see it.”

“I see it more like a maze,” she said. “However long we spend wandering about, we can never find the centre, and if we could, it would be just as difficult to find our way out again. Probably we should have turned left instead of right at the first branch and then— Michael, are you listening?”

“Oh… of course!”

“Michael?”

“The belt was broken,” he murmured. “Laudanum… the saddle… and the painters… Of course! The painters ! It must be so!”

He stood as if in a trance, eyes far away, mouth slightly open.

“Michael?” Mrs Edgerton said, puzzled. “Michael, what is it? Oh! You know! You know who killed the chaplain.”

The captain turned astonished eyes on his wife.

“Yes, I know. Actually, I have known who it was for a while now, but the rest… It is like one of those images one sees… it is a vase, you think, but there are supposed to be faces there. You cannot see it no matter how hard you try and then suddenly… there it is. The answer. It all makes sense now. Oh, but I have been so unbelievably stupid. Why did I not think—? But at last I know, and not only who killed Mr Nicholson, but why . That is what has puzzled me all this time, which has kept me gnawing away at it like a dog with a bone, but now I know , and it is so clear… so blindingly obvious.”

His voice was loud enough to drown out the other conversations rumbling round the room, and everyone drifted nearer.

“Well, you had better tell us at once,” the earl said gruffly. “Is it someone here this very minute? We have Sir Hubert with us to effect an arrest. Come, man, do not keep us in suspense.”

“No, I will not,” the captain said distractedly, “but I must check my notes first… and the plan! The plan of the castle that Mrs Walter was so good as to label for me.” He dashed away, was halfway up the stairs before turning and racing down again.

“My lord, would you be so good as to gather everyone into… the library would be best. I shall be back in five minutes.”

And then he dashed off again.

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