‘No sign of it,’ she said once the door was closed behind her.
‘So either the inspector has it and isn’t letting on—’
‘—or it was gone by the time he searched the room,’ she said, finishing the thought for me. She sat down at the writing desk and waved me into the armchair.
‘I wish we’d pinched it ourselves now,’ I said. ‘We could do clever things with the handwriting. Or something.’
‘Or something,’ she said with a laugh. ‘Its absence tells us something, though, don’t you think? I’d say that makes it odds-on it was sent by the murderer.’
‘As opposed to . . . ?’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she said airily. ‘Some sort of red herring placed there by the Fates to throw us off the scent.’
‘The Fates go in for that sort of thing, do they?’ I said. ‘Don’t they have more important matters to concern themselves with?’
‘Contumacious and capricious are the Fates. One never knows where they’ll turn their mischievous attentions.’
‘Right you are, my lady,’ I said. ‘It’s still no real help, though. Anyone could have taken it.’
‘Anyone?’
‘We strolled nonchalantly in and out of the room without being noticed. We might have a little more experience at furtivity than everyone else in the house, but it didn’t tax our skills even a tiny bit. Anyone who could find their way to Herr Kovacs’s room could have filched the note, with no one else the wiser.’
‘I’ll concede that. But did anyone have an obvious opportunity?’
‘Evan Gudger is supposed to be in and out of there all day if he’s serving as valet. We met that housemaid in the passage, too.’
‘With Mrs McLelland giving her stern instructions not to go in,’ she said. ‘And then, of course, there was . . .’
‘Mrs Beddows?’ I suggested.
‘Roz Beddows, yes . . . R B.’ She had been doodling on a page of her journal as we spoke. Now she stared pensively at the ceiling, tapping her mechanical pencil against her teeth.
‘It might not be someone’s initials,’ I suggested. ‘It could stand for anything. A coded instruction, maybe. Or some familiar signature between friends.’
‘“Rule Britannia”, perhaps?’
‘Or “Rubber Bananas”. Or “Reluctant Baboons”. Or “Reheated Beetroot”? The possibilities aren’t limitless, but they’re huge. So it doesn’t have to be a person’s initials.’
‘It doesn’t,’ she said, ‘but it’s the most commonplace way of ending a letter, to sign it with one’s name or initials. Would someone who was close enough to have a secret sign-off also be likely to bludgeon their friend to death?’
‘I suppose not,’ I said. ‘What I’ve seen of Mrs Beddows over the past few days hasn’t endeared her to me, and I’ve not heard much from Betty that would change my opinion. Nevertheless, I’m reluctant to believe that she’s the sort to smash a man’s head open with a big spanner.’
‘Technically, I think it was a wrench. Adjustable, do you see? But I concur. The idea of her being a murderer doesn’t sit well.’
‘Someone else using her initials as a ruse, then?’ I said. ‘For all her character flaws, she’s a strikingly attractive lady. An offer of a meeting with her might tempt any man.’
‘And your pal Betty says she was on manoeuvres. Perhaps Viktor was the lucky recipient of her attentions. They were thick as thieves during the croquet match.’
‘And if the murderer knew that, what easier way to lure Herr Kovacs to his doom.’
‘It’s all possible,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure I’d be overly thrilled by the offer of an assignation in a dusty, oil-stained coach house, mind you.’
‘That would never have occurred to Herr Kovacs. He loved oil and machines. It would have been his own romantic paradise.’
‘The question, then,’ she said as she put down her pencil and stood up. ‘Is who on earth had motive enough to lure him out there and do him in?’
There was a knock at the door.
‘Yes?’ called Lady Hardcastle.
The door opened and Miss Titmus poked her head in.
‘Ah, Emily,’ she said, ‘there you are. Would you mind awfully if I came in?’
‘Not at all, dear. Pull up a . . . Oh, there are no more chairs. That’s a bit of an oversight.’
I rose from the armchair.
‘Please, miss,’ I said, ‘take the armchair. It’s surprisingly comfortable.’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to push you out if you two are busy.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘She can sit on the bed.’
‘Actually, my lady,’ I said, ‘I was thinking of popping down to the kitchen to see if they were doing anything for your lunch. With the inspector doing inspectory things, and everyone all of a twitter, lunch seems to have been overlooked.’
‘This is why you need a lady’s maid, Helen, dear,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘I’m sure I’d starve to death without her.’
‘I’ve said the same thing myself, my lady,’ I said.
‘Often,’ she said. ‘Off you trot, then, dear. To be honest, I’m not ravenous. See if you can scare up some sandwiches or something. Would you care to join me, Helen? We ought to take advantage of this wonderful weather and take them out on to the lawn for a picnic.’
I set off in search of food.
The servants’ hall was, as I’d suggested, all of a twitter. Beneath the usual chit-chat that accompanied the hustle and bustle of daily life, there was a tense, murmuring hubbub. Two deaths within a week, and the second was most definitely deliberate murder. The staff were rattled.
A couple of housemaids looked round guiltily as I came in, but quickly resumed their gossiping when they saw I was only one of the visiting servants.
Mrs Ruddle was busy supervising the production of sandwiches in the kitchen.
‘Afternoon, Mrs Ruddle,’ I said. ‘Hello, Patty. Are those sandwiches intended for upstairs by any chance?’
‘That’s right, m’dear,’ said Mrs Ruddle. ‘His lordship said as how he didn’t want no lunch. But I said, “You got to eat, my lord.” Didn’t I, Patty?’
‘You did, Mrs R,’ said Patty.
‘So Lady Lavinia said we should send up a tray of sandwiches to the dining room and people could help themselves. I said, “That’s no substitute for a proper lunch, my lady.” Didn’t I, Patty?’
‘You did, Mrs R,’ said Patty, with a little smile.
‘But I suppose it’ll have to do,’ said Mrs Ruddle resignedly. ‘If that’s what they wants, that’s what they gets.’
‘They look scrumptious, Mrs Ruddle,’ I said. ‘Would you think me awfully cheeky if I were to divert some of them to Lady Hardcastle and Miss Titmus? They say they fancy a picnic on the lawn.’
‘If you can carry it out yourself, m’dear,’ she said, ‘you can take whatever you think you need. I’ll get Patty to make you up a tray. We’re short of footmen with Evan gadding about goodness knows where, so the less we have to get to the dining room the better.’
‘You’re a marvel, Mrs Ruddle. Thank you.’
‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ she said. ‘I said the other day—’
‘You did, Mrs R, you did,’ said Patty, without looking up from her work.
Betty appeared in the kitchen doorway.