Chapter Ten #3
Unfortunately, everyone’s hopes of departure in the morning were endangered by the return of another downpour immediately after tea. Which prevented further solitary walks and any chance of garden games like pall-mall.
Although she didn’t harbor much hope of discovering anyone alone enough to be questioned, Kate was lucky to eventually find Mr. Otteridge snoozing by the library fire. And for once, no one else was present.
Kate walked across the room, humming, ready to beg Otteridge’s pardon when he woke. Unfortunately, he was not easily disturbed—according to Gilbert, he quite frequently slept his way through even quite acrimonious debates in the House, and had to be shaken awake to vote.
Kate did not feel she could shake him awake. However, she did gather together a few large, illustrated books about art and travel and dropped them with a slap on the table nearest her quarry.
To her relief, Otteridge jerked up his head with a vast bluster of harrumphs, throat clearings, and “What? What?”
“Oh, I do beg your pardon, sir,” Kate said. “I carried too many books, and they landed with rather a smack! I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Wasn’t asleep,” Otteridge said with blatant untruth.
“Oh well, that’s fine, then.” Kate smiled brightly and sat down at the table, drawing the books toward her. “I see it is raining again. I do hope this doesn’t make the flooding worse.”
“Bound to,” Otteridge said gloomily. “Not sure how much more I can take of that fellow, Nye.”
“I like his sister,” Kate offered. She drummed her fingertips on top of the book pile for a couple of moments, as though unsure, and then said, “May I ask you a question in confidence, sir?”
Otteridge at once donned a serious, paternal expression. “Of course, my dear. You must miss your husband’s guidance.”
“What?” Kate said, temporarily baffled. “Oh. Yes, indeed I do. But what I wanted to ask you was about Tuesday evening. The night we arrived. Did you happen to see anyone wandering around the house?”
“What, during the night? Of course not!”
Kate smiled. “I mean earlier. Before or just after Lord Chadbon was called away from the drawing room.”
“About the collapsed maid,” Otteridge said, nodding wisely.
“That’s right. So…did you?”
“Did I what, my dear?”
“See anyone wandering about the house at the time?”
“Bless you, I only went to the retiring room.”
“Really? What a shame. The footman told me you went downstairs.”
“So I did. Went to the retiring room there.”
“Oh.”
Perhaps she sounded doubtful rather than disappointed, for Otteridge added with a hint of anxiety, “Newman kept edging toward the drawing room door, as if he were heading for the same place, and then I lost sight of him. I assumed he was in the retiring room, and to be honest, I wanted to avoid him. Can’t abide a damned toady.
I know the fellow wants to get ahead, but it won’t be on my coattails. ”
“Indeed not, sir,” Kate soothed. According to Lewis and Miss Nye, Newman had left the drawing room after Otteridge. Was the man making excuses? “Did you pass the orangery then?”
“Must have done.” He frowned. “Actually, I think there was somebody in there. Heard voices talking very quietly.”
Kate tried not to look guilty. “What about elsewhere on the ground floor? Any servants around?”
“Didn’t see them, though I heard them well enough, clattering away behind the baize door. Chadbon wants to re-cover that door. Terrible racket.”
“What about the passage to the east wing?” Kate asked casually. “Did you see or hear anyone there?”
“Can’t say I did,” Otteridge replied. “But then, wasn’t really paying attention.”
“Was there a footman at the front door?”
“No, don’t think so. Not at that time of night.”
So Otteridge could easily have gone through the baize door, or the side door, and found his way around to the courtyard garden, while Kate had been talking to Rupert in the orangery. By the time she left, Otteridge could have hidden himself behind the tree, lying in wait for Dinah.
Only…why?
Kate moved on. “Have you seen Lord Chadbon’s collection of antique weapons, sir?”
“Oh yes. Poor things, if you ask me. His Lordship is not a serious collector like some. And it’s getting smaller.”
“Smaller?” Kate repeated.
“Well, yes. He used to have a pretty dagger. No jewels or anything ostentatious like that, but very finely wrought steel hilt, glinted like silver. Very fine, sharp blade, too. Florentine renaissance. Best thing he had.”
“You didn’t see it on this visit?” Kate asked, trying to control the beating of her heart.
“I did not. Nothing in its place, either.”
“When was this, sir? Before dinner?”
“Well before. Before tea, actually. Had a conference with Chadbon when I first arrived. How to best deal with Nye, how to keep Newman—and his wife—in line. That sort of thing.”
Excitement soared. So the dagger had vanished before Rupert was even in the house—he was innocent!
Kate beamed upon Mr. Otteridge. “Sir, you have been most spectacularly helpful!”
“I have?” Otteridge smiled back with surprised pleasure, although his eyes darkened in a way she didn’t quite care for. But he was laughing as Kate all but danced out of the library.