CHAPTER TWO
Constable Gallagher reacted in a similar fashion when he was shown the corpse of Mr. Fraser. “ Lord Almighty ,” he moaned as the groundskeepers carried the gentleman’s pallid cadaver down the stairs and out into the garden toward the chapel. “You must excuse me to fresh air for a moment—I believe I may cast up accounts.”
“Certainly,” Mr. Burton, the steward replied. Mr. Burton was typically a man of little emotion, though he had been observed dabbing at his eyes throughout the morning. Over the course of ten or twelve minutes, he waited patiently as maids and footmen passed to and from, all with red eyes cast down. When the constable reappeared, Mr. Burton was taken aback by the drastic change in the pallor of his appearance. “Are you unwell, Constable?”
“Very much so.”
“May I fetch you water or—?”
“No, no, I thank you.” The two men stood in silence for a moment as the Constable pressed his handkerchief over his mouth.
“If you will grant me the courtesy, may I ask what are your impressions of the crime?”
“My impressions ?” Gallagher answered. “I have never seen such carnage in the whole of my life.”
“Nor have I, sir.”
“Of course not.”
“Did it appear to your eye a crime of passion?”
“How could it not? His throat sliced from ear to ear; more blood let than I was aware was contained within the human body.”
The steward nodded quietly. “Is there any chance that this heinous deed might have been committed—and I shudder at the very thought—by a member of this household?”
“I would not think it so, Mr. Burton,” Gallagher replied, patting drops of sweat from his brow. “Have we established that all workers were accounted for last night, and are at this moment accounted for?”
“Aye.”
“Then it would follow that the horse thief is the culprit, and as the horse is unaccounted for, the—” he struggled with the very word, “—the murderer , is also unaccounted for.”
“In one sense, I must say, I am relieved. Mr. Fraser was not—” this time the steward grasped for precise words, “—he was not the easiest master to appease.”
“It appears clear to me, Mr. Burton, this abhorrent crime was most certainly not perpetrated by a member of this esteemed household.”
“You are most kind to declare it so, Constable,” Mr. Burton answered with a bow. “It is still difficult to imagine that any person might murder a gentleman in such a savage manner only to abscond with his horse, fine as Sully may be. Particularly with such considerable difficulty—climbing to the second storey, breaking the latch on a window, and subduing a man such as Master Fraser, able-bodied and strong himself.”
“To my mind, Mr. Burton, the very circumstances of this event surely point to a more personal motive—a vendetta of some sort. Though Sully may have been the prize, Mr. Fraser was the object.”
Two footmen carried the blood-sopped mattress past them. Constable Gallagher mumbled something like a prayer under his breath. Mr. Burton wiped his eyes.
“And upon such a fine horse, may I ask, Constable, what are the chances that this murderer will ever be apprehended?”
“Sully may yet be our best hope, Mr. Burton,” Gallagher answered. “A pure white steed of his stature and beauty will not be easy to conceal. I have already sent post riders ahead to all inns and taverns within twenty miles with a detailed description. Any rider atop Sully will be stopped and detained on sight.”
“That is a most comforting notion, indeed, that the savage might still be brought to justice.”
“I assure you Mr. Burton,” Gallagher continued with growing confidence. “When Sully is found, the perpetrator of this most barbaric deed is found, as well—”
“Mr. Burton!” called Dingham from the courtyard. “ Mr. Burton! ”
“Yes, Dingham?”
“Sully has been found!”
The steward and the constable gazed at each other, the first in astonishment, the second in self-assured conceit.
“Allow me to venture a conjecture—he was found in Buxton?”
“Buxton?” answered Dingham. “That’s nearly ten miles.”
“That would have been my first estimate, being a larger village where the fiend could presumably hope to blend in with the locals, but as I said, find the horse and you’ve found your—”
“No, not Buxton, sir,” Dingham continued. “Sully was found not two hundred yards from the gate.”
“ What? ” the steward and the constable replied in unison.
“He was in the grove some twenty yards from the road, tied to a tree. Even had a bucket of water left for him.”