Snobbery with Violence

∨ Snobbery with Violence ∧

Eight

A woman feels so tremendously at a disadvantage if her hair is untidy. She cannot even argue until it is neat again!

– MRS. C.E. HUMPHRY, MANNERS FOR WOMEN

Rose felt a surge of dislike for her host as the car drove through the poor village and up to the folly of a castle. The architect had not put much imagination into his plan, she thought. It was nothing more than a giant square box with towers at each corner. She was sure the moat kept it unhealthily damp.

As they cruised over the drawbridge and into the courtyard, Rose felt depressed and frightened and very young. Why not leave, go home to her parents and the comfortable surroundings of her family home?

But somehow the very awfulness of the castle inside with its fake armour in the hall and its overstuffed and over-draped furniture in the rooms reassured her.

By the time she went down to dinner, she had persuaded herself that it did not matter whether Mary had been having an affair with someone or not. She had either committed suicide or accidentally taken an overdose of arsenic.

She chatted about trivia to her dinner companions and listened politely to their tales of shooting and fishing.

In the drawing-room, the Peterson girls, Deborah and Harriet, were anxious to know where she had been that day. Rose said she had gone for a drive with Captain Harry, who wanted to show off his new car. She refused an invitation to try the ouija board again.

She retired to her room with relief and sat down at the dressing-table. Daisy began to remove the pins from her hair.

“Any more news?” asked Daisy.

“Nothing,” said Rose. “You know, Daisy, I’m suddenly weary of the whole business. Let Captain Cathcart deal with it.”

“That’s not like you!” exclaimed Daisy.

“Yes, it’s very much like me,” said Rose wearily. “I have come to the conclusion that I’m a coward. Yellow as custard. I was all for supporting women’s rights, but when the scandal of my photograph in the Daily Mail blew up, I caved in and never had anything to do with any of them again.”

“Surely there was not really so much you could have done,” said Daisy, “what with your parents planning your season and being so against women’s rights, like everyone else in society. If you’d gone on, they might have had you locked up.”

“I’ll finish undressing myself, Daisy. You may go. I’m tired. I was so sure Quinn would answer all questions and the mystery would be resolved.”

“Maybe things’ll look more hopeful in the morning,” said Daisy soothingly.

Daisy left and Rose wearily finished undressing and went to bed. There was a note pinned on her pillow.

She slid out the pin and opened it.

It read:

If you wish to know why Mary Gore-Desmond died, meet me on the roof of the castle tomorrow at 1 P.M. Do not tell anyone, even your maid. A friend.

The message was printed in block capitals.

Rose held the little note with trembling fingers. She should tell the captain. But if someone else joined her on the roof, the author of the note might just fail to appear.

She stayed awake for hours, tossing and turning, and then at last fell asleep with the note clutched in her hand.

When she awoke, she found she had slept until ten in the morning. The memory of the note flooded into her frightened brain. Perhaps it was just that wretched pair, Tristram and Freddy, planning to play another joke on her. And yet, most guests would be at lunch at one o’clock. It would be broad daylight.

She dressed in a plain divided skirt and shirt blouse and serviceable boots. She looked out of the window. It was a cold, blustery day, with great ragged clouds streaming across the sky.

“I will go. I am not a child anymore,” she admonished herself out loud.

“What’s that?” asked Daisy, who had quietly entered the room.

“Oh, I was thinking about letting the suffragette movement down,” said Rose hurriedly. “Do my hair and then leave me, Daisy. I won’t be needing you for the rest of the day.”

♦

Rose had not wanted to ask for instructions as to how to get to the roof of the castle, but assumed if she kept on walking upwards, she would come to some sort of a door.

She walked up the main staircase and kept on walking up, ignoring the corridors which branched off to the towers. The stairs became narrower and uncarpeted. She found herself in the servants’ quarters, which stretched out on either side of her at the top landing.

A footman appeared from one of the rooms and stared at her in surprise. “May I help you, my lady?”

“I wanted to get up on the roof to look at the view,” said Rose. She had been told not to tell anyone, but surely that meant any of the guests, or Daisy.

“You go along to the right, my lady,” said the footman, “and you’ll find a door at the end. If you open it, there is a stone staircase which will take you up. Would you like me to escort you?”

“No, no, that will not be necessary. I’ll go on my own.”

Rose made her way along the corridor to the right. She came to the door the footman had mentioned and opened it. There was the staircase leading to the roof. There was still time to go back down to luncheon and tell Harry.

On the other hand, there would be the pleasure of solving the mystery and telling him she had done it all by herself.

Squaring her shoulders and wrapping the thick shawl she had brought tightly around her, she walked up. Another door. There was a large key in it and the lock looked as if it had been recently oiled. She unlocked the door and swung it open. A blast of cold air hit her face.

Rose stepped out onto the roof and shut the door behind her.

She looked around. No one in the immediate vicinity. The roof was flat, with four banks of chimneys sending out snakes of smoke which whirled about the roof.

Perhaps someone was on the other side of the banks of chimneys. She walked around them, peering through the sudden downdraft of smoke from the whirling cowls of the chimneys. She gasped and choked. Wiping her streaming eyes, she walked to the edge of the roof and took in a gulp of fresh air.

A low crenellated wall surrounded the edge of the roof. She was at the back of the castle, where the walls plunged down, sheer into the black waters of the moat.

Rose turned and looked around. The smoke from the many fires seemed to be performing some mad snake-like dance, first bending this way and that, then running along the top of the roof, sent down by the chimney-cowls.

He would have to have modern chimneys, thought Rose. If he had put in tall, fake Tudor chimneys, the smoke would be carried away from the roof and into the air.

She turned back. There was a view of the village huddled near the castle like some poverty-stricken peasant seeking warmth.

Beyond the village, near the woods, she could see the puffs of smoke from the shotguns of the men after pheasant and hear the cracks of shot. So the men would not have been present at lunch anyway. Then through the village came Harry in his car, the car looking like a toy.

On impulse, she stood at the edge and shouted and waved.

An almighty shove in her back sent her hurtling over the edge. Rose screamed and screamed as she hurtled down past the sheer walls of the castle and straight down into the moat.

♦

Becket was seated beside his master in the open car as they drove along the winding road which approached the back of the castle. He was gazing gloomily at the castle when he saw to his amazement a tiny figure up on the roof, waving and shouting.

“Sir,” said Becket, raising his voice to be heard over the noise of the engine, “there is someone on the castle roof. Oh, my God, they’ve fallen.”

“Where, what?”

“Back of the castle, sir.”

Harry drove as hard as he could, over the drawbridge, under the portcullis, through the courtyard and sped along the tradesman’s route which ended at the side of the castle.

He switched off the engine, jumped out, and started to run to the back. There was a figure struggling in the moat.

“It’s Lady Rose,” gasped Becket.

Harry stripped off his long overcoat, his jacket, hat and motoring goggles, tore off his shoes, and dived in.

When he surfaced it was to find that Rose had gone down again under the icy waters.

He dived and groped around until his hands grasped clothing. He pulled the body to the surface and found himself staring at the bloated features of an unrecognizable dead female.

There came a faint, “Help!” as Rose surfaced again. He abandoned the horror he had found, and swam to Rose and put his arms around her.

“Relax,” he ordered. “And let me tow you in.”

He swam with Rose to the bank and Becket pulled her clear. “Get Lady Rose back to the castle, and then come back here with some help. There’s a dead body down there.”

Rose was shivering and spluttering. Then she turned away and vomited. “That’ll get some of that filthy water out of you,” said Becket. He tenderly wrapped her in his master’s coat and assisted her to the car.

He drove quickly round to the front of the castle. The butler appeared on the doorstep.

“Get Lady Rose’s maid,” said Becket, “and send for the doctor.”

The butler went back into the hall and shouted orders. The marquess appeared. “What’s going on?”

“You must get the police immediately, my lord,” said Becket.

♦

“Oh, Daisy, help your mistress to her room. She fell in the moat from the roof.”

“Why should I get the police?” demanded the marquess testily. “There is no need to get the police because one of my guests was playing on the roof and fell over.”

“My lord, Captain Cathcart dived in to rescue Lady Rose and found a dead body in the moat.”

“Where? What?”

“At the back of the castle.”

The marquess strode out of the castle followed by his butler, two footmen, and the hall-boy.

When he reached the back of the castle, it was to find more staff there, who had seen the drama from the windows, clustered around the captain.

Harry was kneeling by a body laid out on the grass at the edge of the moat. He looked up and saw the marquess. “You had better call the police,” said Harry.

“Who is she?” asked the marquess.

“I fear it is Colette, the missing lady’s maid.”

“Can’t this be kept quiet?”

“I am afraid not. I do not know what Lady Rose was doing on the roof, but it looks as if there might have been one attempted murder and one murder of this maid.”

♦

Rose had told Daisy the whole story of how she came to be on the roof. Changed into a night-dress, she lay in bed surrounded by hot-water bottles.

“Shh, now,” said Daisy. “The doctor will be here soon.”

“But there is something I want you to do for me, Daisy. It’s urgent. You remember how to use a telephone?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Try to get into Lord Hedley’s study and phone the Daily Mail and tell them about me and about the body in the moat.”

“Yes, I’ll do that. But why?”

“I don’t want this hushed up in any way. I don’t want Hedley to wriggle out of this one. And phone my parents. I want you to tell them I am all right. I don’t want them to read about it in the newspapers first.”

Daisy left and Rose leaned back against the pillows and closed her eyes. At least there would have to be a proper investigation now. She would show them the note…

She opened her eyes and sat up. The note? Where had she left it? Then she remembered she had left it on her dressing-table. She got out of bed and went to the dressing-table but there was no sign of any note.

Rose got slowly back into bed, her teeth beginning to chatter with fright. The door to her bedroom opened and she let out a faint scream.

“It’s only me,” said Harry. “I came to see how you were.”

“Frightened.”

“What happened? What were you doing on the roof?”

So Rose told her story again, ending with, “And the note’s gone. I left it on the dressing-table.”

“I got Hedley to phone the police. The silly man thought it could be covered up. I don’t think his servants and guests are going to keep quiet about a dead body in the moat.”

“Maybe…maybe she fell in.”

“She was probably pushed.”

“But why Colette and not Quinn?”

“I really don’t think Quinn knows the identity of Mary Gore-Desmond’s lover, but somehow Colette must have found out. Perhaps she tried to blackmail someone. Where’s Daisy?”

“I sent her to phone the Daily Mail.”

“Why?”

“Because I did not want this to be hushed up. Also, do you remember how the scandal of the bombs at Stacey Magna brought so many press and sightseers to the village? The villagers here could do with some money. I think they are starv-ing.”

“They are abysmally housed but they are not starving. Country people grow their own vegetables and most keep a pig and, if I am not mistaken, a lot of food from the castle kitchens will find its way down to the village. But there is no school and a lot of illness due to the insanitary conditions they live in.” He laughed. “I am sure the Daily Mail will point that out.”

“Daisy is also phoning my parents.”

“I should think the other ladies will be contacting their parents. Lord Hedley had better expect more guests.”

Daisy entered the room. “I did like you said, my lady. But ma and pa are coming as soon as possible. I told that butler to prepare a room for them.”

There was a knock at the door. Daisy opened it and the marquess and the doctor walked in. It showed that the marquess had finally realized the gravity of the situation that he should allow the despised Dr. Perriman back in the castle.

“A word with you, Cathcart,” he snapped. “We’ll leave the doctor to get on with it.”

Dr. Perriman was a small neat man with bright intelligent eyes. He listened carefully while Rose told him what had happened.

“I am glad, in a way,” he said. “It means the death of Miss Gore-Desmond might be investigated again. Now, let me examine you. Did you swallow a lot of water?”

“I did, but I think I got rid of most of it by being sick. Oh, Captain Cathcart rescued me and I never even thanked him.”

“Later will do.”

He examined her, sounding her chest and feeling her pulse. Then he said, “I think you have come out of it remarkably well, Lady Rose. But I shall leave a sleeping draught with you because you have been through a great ordeal.”

Rose looked uneasily at the green glass bottle he placed on her bedside table. She had no intention of swallowing any and leaving herself vulnerable to a prowling murderer.

“I did not think arsenic was used much these days as a cosmetic,” she said.

“Perhaps not. But there is a great deal of arsenic around. Fly-papers contain arsenic. There was a case recently where a woman had soaked fly-papers to get the resultant crystals and killed her husband. Then a lot of old houses still have arsenic paste in the wallpaper, called Paris Green. It is also used as a treatment for syphilis – I do beg your pardon. I should not mention such a thing in front of ladies.”

When he had gone, Rose said, “I might sleep. Stay with me, Daisy. Oh, someone at the door.”

It was Margaret Bryce-Cuddlestone, followed by Frederica Sutherland and the American sisters.

“What’s been going on?” asked Margaret. “All this running to and fro and the constabulary are here again.”

Rose told her story again and then said, “They believe the body in the moat is that of Colette.”

Margaret swayed and the American sisters thrust her down into a chair and put smelling salts under her nose.

“I’m leaving today,” said Frederica.

“Won’t be possible,” said Harriet Peterson. “We’ve all to be interviewed by the police. I phoned my aunt in London and she’s coming down here. You’d best phone your parents, Miss Sutherland.”

“They’re in Marienbad,” wailed Frederica.

“Then send them a wire. There’s been something odd about this horrible place from the beginning. No proper protocol observed. All of us changed around at meals. Bad form. Auntie’s from Virginia. She won’t stand for any of that nonsense.”

Despite her shock and distress, Rose found herself mildly amused that an aunt from the home of democracy should be such a stickler for protocol.

With her usual forthrightness, Deborah said, “There’s a murderer amongst us. Which one of us do you think it is?”

Daisy stepped forward. “Ladies, you must remember Lady Rose has had a frightening experience. I think she should rest now.”

Murmuring apologies, they headed for the door. But Margaret had the last word. “If you had left well alone, none of this would have ever happened.”

“What a bitch!” exclaimed Daisy when the door had closed behind them.

“Daisy!”

“Well, what a thing to say. My money’s on her. Just think! If you had hit the castle walls on your road down, you’d be as dead as Colette.”

“I would rather not think about that. Run along and see what else you can find out.”

“I’m not leaving you! You said not to.”

“Now that nothing can be hushed up, I am sure no one will dare to try anything. Oh, the door again. Get rid of whoever it is.”

Daisy opened the door. “It’s Lady Hedley.”

“Let her come in,” said Rose wearily.

The little marchioness came up to the bed and peered anxiously at Rose. “How are you, my dear?”

“I think I am going to be all right.”

“Such a silly thing to do! Playing about the roof of the castle.”

“I was not playing. I was lured up there by some murderer.”

The marchioness shook her head. “The trouble with you young gels is that you will read cheap romances.”

“But it happened!”

“Now, you don’t really know what you are saying. There is no reason for you to burden the police with silly stories. That awful Kerridge person is on his way.”

“I will tell him exactly what happened,” said Rose firmly.

“This house party was a mistake,” said Lady Hedley, half to herself. “But he thought it would be amusing.”

“Lady Hedley,” ventured Rose, “could you not possibly prevail on your husband to do something for his villagers? Their living conditions are dreadful.”

The marchioness looked at Rose as if she had just dropped in from another planet. “God puts us in our appointed stations, my dear. God put the villagers there. I heard you were intelligent. You appear very silly.”

And with that parting remark, Lady Hedley left the room.

Rose’s next visitors were Maisie Chatterton and Lady Sarah Trenton. Lady Sarah said she was very sensitive and had felt a frisson about the time that Rose was falling off the roof.

“Lord Hedley is saying that it is nothing but a theries of accidents. You were playing on the woof and fell off, Colette twipped and fell in, and Mary took too much arthenic,” lisped Maisie.

“Are the police here?”

“Yes,” said Sarah, “asking questions and questions.”

“I thought they would have been to interview me,” said Rose.

“That local inspector from Creinton, he wanted to,” said Sarah, “but Hedley told him you weren’t fit.”

“I am not a child!” said Rose. “What is all this nonsense about me playing on the roof?”

“Well, you do do such odd things,” said Maisie. “Some of us think you are thweet on Captain Cathcart and you fell in so that he could wescue you.”

“What balderdash! Please leave me. My head is beginning to ache.”

When they had gone, Rose said, “No more visitors, Daisy, unless it is the police.”

♦

Superintendent Kerridge arrived from London that evening and asked to see Harry after he had endured Lord Hedley’s tales of how innocent eveiything was.

This time, the detective superintendent had commandeered the marquess’s study.

Kerridge had received a report from Posh Cyril about Harry’s skill in solving the problems of the aristocracy.

“Sit down, Mr. Fix-It,” he said grimly. “Begin at the beginning and go on to the end.”

Harry talked steadily for half an hour, leaving nothing out. When he had finished, Kerridge said, “So you aren’t trying to help Lord Hedley hush this up?”

“I can’t,” said Harry. “There is a dangerous murderer loose in this castle. If he is not caught soon, there will be another murder.”

The door burst open and Lord Hedley strode in. “This is disgraceful!” he spluttered. “There’s a reporter and photographer from the Daily Mail trying to gain access. Who told them?”

“Not anyone in Scotland Yard, I can assure you.”

“You can’t keep anything like this hushed up,” said Harry. “You’d better give them a statement.”

“Damned if I will.”

“They’ll talk to the villagers.”

“Anyone who speaks to the press will find himself without a roof over his head.”

“And that would make a good story,” said Harry wearily. “‘Wicked Aristocrat in Castle of Death Punishes Innocent Villagers’.”

“I am not talking to the gutter press, and that’s that!”

The marquess stormed out.

“To get back to business,” said Kerridge. “I have men dragging the moat.”

“For the maid’s suitcase?”

“Yes, I think it was probably thrown in after her. The preliminary examination seems to indicate she did not die from drowning but from a severe blow to the head. To speed things up this time, I have a squad of detectives interviewing the guests and the staff.”

“I think a policeman should be put on guard outside Lady Rose’s door. I don’t think our murderer will try anything with all of you in the castle, but I would like to be sure.”

Kerridge turned to Inspector Judd. “See to that, Judd.” He turned back to Harry. “I am told Lady Rose is too ill to be questioned.”

“I think you will find, on the contrary, that she is anxious to see you. There is a rumour circulating that she was so enamoured of me that she threw herself in the moat so that I would rescue her.”

“Only a cloth-head would believe that!”

“Oh, you’ll find plenty of those.”

Kerridge got to his feet. “I’ll see Lady Rose now.”

♦

In Rose’s bedroom, Kerridge pulled up a chair next to the bed and sat down. “I must say, you look remarkably well, considering your ordeal,” said Kerridge. Harry, who had insisted on accompanying him, sat on the other side of the bed.

Rose told her story and ended by saying, “I know you must think I am stupid not to have told anyone. I thought it might turn out to be one of the servants.”

“Have you any impression of the person who pushed you?” asked the superintendent. “Height?”

“No, it all happened so quickly. I was lucky. If I hadn’t been pushed so violently, I might not have dropped clear of the castle walls, and if Captain Cathcart hadn’t arrived to rescue me, I would have drowned.” She held up her small white hands. “Useless,” she said bitterly. “Utterly useless. I can’t swim. I can’t do anything. I am weary of dressing and undressing. That is all I am expected to do. Spend hours at the dressing-table preparing for the next lavish meal.”

“Now, my lady,” said Kerridge. “You have been very brave. It must be difficult for you.”

“I always feel as if I am outside of them all, surveying some elaborate play and I do not know my lines,” said Rose.

“I think Lady Rose really needs more rest,” said Harry anxiously. “I think she is suffering from delayed shock.”

“Sounded to me like a burst of intelligence,” said Kerridge. “men I think…”

“Yes, yes,” said Harry impatiently. “Long live the revolution. But Lady Rose really needs to recover.”

“You come with me,” said Kerridge to Daisy. “Won’t,” said Daisy. “I’m not leaving her!”

“There’s a policeman on duty outside the door,” said Harry. “It’s all right, Daisy. The superintendent won’t keep you long.”

♦

Kerridge led Daisy into the study. He began to ask questions but then just sat back and listened, enthralled, as Daisy told him everything that had happened since she had arrived at the castle with Rose – the hauntings, the ouija board, Margaret’s affair with Lord Hedley, her belief that Colette knew something, the journey to see Quinn – all the little bits and pieces neither Rose nor Harry had told the superintendent.

When she had finished, he said, “What amazes me, Miss Levine, is that there is no atmosphere of fear in the castle. No one, apart from yourself, Lady Rose, and Captain Cathcart, seems in the least concerned.”

“You’re right,” said Daisy. “Lady Sarah will faint given the opportunity, but it’s all an act.”

“But why aren’t they frightened?”

“Because they really think it will turn out to be a series of accidents. Because violent things only happen to the lower orders. The murderer must be feeling uneasy.”

“I hope so. Take good care of your mistress. She’s a brave girl.”

♦

The Earl and Countess of Hadshire arrived the following day. Maisie Chatterton’s mother came, then the Petersons’ aunt, and so the arrivals continued. A harassed Lady Hedley was glad that it was only the girls who had summoned parents and relatives.

Servants were run ragged trying to find accommodation for the new guests and for their servants.

“We should never have let you come here,” said Rose’s mother, Lady Polly. “Most weird. I learn there has been no proper protocol with regard to the seating at the dining-table. And when that poor gel was found dead, not even a bit of half mourning.”

“Did you pay Hedley to invite me?” asked Rose.

“Pay? Why should we do that?”

“I learned that he had charged the girls’ parents – the ones that were failures at the last season – for the invitation, promising to find them husbands. The men were charged for a chance at getting their hands on the Americans’ dowries.”

“We must leave at once!”

“We can’t,” said Rose. “The police are not letting anyone leave until everyone has been thoroughly questioned.”

“My maid tells me a story about the deaths is in the Daily Mail and that the village is crawling with reporters from other papers. The castle servants must be very disloyal. The Mail has printed the names of all the people here.”

“I am sure some of the castle servants have relatives in that run-down village,” Rose said, “and one of the villagers saw a way to make some much-needed money.”

“Shocking! And why didn’t Hedley do something about the housing of his tenants? There is republicanism afoot, not to mention Bolshevism, and bad landlords just play into their hands. Your father has had strong words with Hedley about it.”

“I am glad you are here, Ma, but I am not an invalid. I cannot stay in bed the whole time. I am going to rise and go down for luncheon.”

Lady Polly listened in horror as Rose gave instructions to Daisy to find one of her divided skirts and a plain white blouse. “You must dressl” wailed Lady Polly. “These are trying times. And what on earth is that disgraceful garment?”

“It’s a corselet.”

“Where is your long corset? A woman should be properly boned”

Rose decided to he. “The doctor said my clothes should be as loose as possible.”

“Oh, in that case…but not a blouse and skirt for luncheon. The tea-gown, Daisy. The pink one. No padding, Rose? You will look most odd. Still, I am sure they will excuse your appearance. Perhaps a little rouge, Daisy.”

“No rouge,” said Rose. “And Daisy, just brush my hair and tie it back with a ribbon. I am, just for once, not going to have the weight of those pads on my head.”

♦

Luncheon was a fairly silent affair. The Petersons’ aunt, a Miss Fairfax, had been overheard to say loudly and forcefully that her nieces should never have been allowed to visit such a monstrous place and the men were hopeless and dilettante. She was a large, raw-boned woman with square hunting shoulders, a prominent nose and sharp grey eyes. Her voice had an American twang, which might have been pleasing to the ear had she not used her voice to condemn everything in sight. Hers was practically the only voice raised at the table, where everyone was now seated in correct order of precedence.

Rose was seated on the marquess’s left:and her mother on his right. At the other end of the table, her father was on the marchioness’s right and Lady Sarah Trenton’s father, Viscount Summertown, on her left. Harry was with the least-distinguished in the middle of the table. He had Maisie Chatterton on one side and Mrs. Jerry Trumpington on his other.

At last, over the pudding, Margaret Bryce-Cuddlestone raised her voice. “Is there no end to this?”

Everyone looked at her. Her voice was high and strained. “Questions, questions, questions,” she raged. “Tin sick of policemen. Lord Hedley, can’t you use your influence and get rid of them?”

“Fve tried,” he said heavily. “But now the press are baying for blood, there’s no way of removing Kerridge. I phoned the Prime Minister several times but his secretary keeps telling me he’s busy.”

Rose found her voice. “Don’t you think it would be better to help the police all we can? I mean, it looks as if the maid was killed and we don’t know about Mary Gore-Desmond.”

Inspector Judd appeared in the doorway. He whispered something to the butler, Curzon, who approached Lord Hedley and inclined his head, murmuring in a low voice.

“Tell Kerridge I’ll be with him shortly,” said the marquess. “This is all I needed.”

“What’s happened?” asked Lady Polly.

“The maid’s suitcase has been dredged up from the moat. Her belongings were all in it and it had been weighted down with bricks.”

Looking down the table, Rose saw that the enormity of the situation they were in had struck all the guests at once.

And Mrs. Fairfax made matters worse. “So someone here’s a murderer,” she said.