“Yes,” Meredith said, in as nonchalant a voice as she could manage, “I did. He sent for me right before dinner.”
The look on Essie’s face was almost comical. Her eyebrows arched in surprise, and her eyes opened so wide the irises looked startlingly blue. “How did he do that?”
Meredith frowned. “He sent a student to tell me he was in the library.”
Essie sat down heavily on the chair behind her. “Other people can see him and hear him? Oh, my!”
“Of course they can.” Only too well, Meredith added inwardly. “Whatever is the matter with you, Essie?”
Across the room, Felicity chuckled. “She’s talking about the ghost, Meredith.”
“Oh!” Feeling foolish, Meredith took her seat by the fire.
Apparently her meeting with Hamilton still weighed heavily on her mind. If she wasn’t careful, Felicity’s shrewd gaze would eventually detect that Bellehaven’s owner had more than a casual effect on Meredith’s composure, and she’d never hear the last of it.
Rumors could easily arise and reach the ears of Hamilton himself, and that would be utter disaster. She would never be able to face him again.
Doing her best to ignore Felicity’s knowing look, Meredith smiled at Essie. “I’m happy to say, Lord Stalham did not put in an appearance last night.”
Essie appeared disappointed at the news. “Really? Do you think he has given up on eliciting your help?”
“I certainly hope so. He’s not a pleasant fellow at all. Then again, if he has been hanged for a crime he did not commit, I can hardly blame him for being a tad testy.”
Felicity groaned. “Don’t tell me, Meredith, that you believe James Stalham did not kill his father after all.”
“I’m not sure what I believe.” Meredith paused, then added in a rush, “I would, however, like to get to the real truth of that matter.”
“The real truth is that James has been convicted and hanged for the murder. There’s little you can do about it now.”
Hearing a warning in Felicity’s voice, Meredith frowned. “I can certainly look into it. If someone else killed Howard Stalham, he should pay for the crime, for he would be guilty of taking the lives of not one person, but two.”
Essie looked confused. “How so?”
Meredith sighed. “The murder of Howard Stalham and the subsequent execution of his son, James.”
“Oh.” Essie’s brow remained creased. “So what are you going to do about it?”
Meredith glanced at Felicity, wincing at the look of disapproval on her friend’s face. “I’m going to pay a visit to the Stalham country estate. This afternoon. I shall give my students an assignment while I’m away.”
Felicity pursed her lips. “Are you sure that’s wise? Or even necessary? What if your ghost has given up the idea of asking for your help? Your investigation would be a complete waste of time.”
“It’s never a waste of time to see justice served on the guilty.” Meredith rose to her feet. “If a misjudgment has been made, then it should be put right, whether or not James Stalham returns.”
“Meredith is quite right,” Essie said, nodding her head. “After all, we could have a killer roaming around the village. Just think of the danger our students might face.”
“If there is another killer,” Felicity said, pushing herself up from her chair, “which I seriously doubt, he would most likely have departed these parts some time ago. Especially if he was well acquainted with the Stalhams, which I suppose he would have to be if he was not obliged to force his way into the house. The Stalhams’ main residence is in London, is it not?”
Meredith nodded. “According to the article, they only used the country estate for weekends. Apparently Lord Howard enjoyed hunting, and in fact, he had planned to join a hunting party the next day, had he not died. His wife, Lady Clara, had remained in the city, and was informed of his death the following day.”
Essie uttered a cry of distress. “How awful! The poor woman. To lose her husband and her son in such swift succession.”
“Indeed. It must be very difficult for her.” Meredith walked to the door. “Which is one of the reasons I feel compelled to ferret out what really happened. I intend to pose as a prospective purchaser and ask to look over the estate.”
“Don’t they have agents for that?”
Meredith smiled at Felicity’s frown of concern. “They do, but there is no reason why I shouldn’t act on my own. In any case, only a few members of the staff remain in the mansion. I’m sure someone will accommodate me.”
“I just hope you know what you are doing.”
Without bothering to answer her, Meredith opened the door.
The truth was, she had never been confident in her ability to investigate a crime. It was largely by luck that she had solved the previous two cases, with perhaps just a little perceptive thinking thrown in. She could only hope that her luck held in this event. Just in case the ghost of James Stalham decided to return.
Having ordered Reggie Tupper, her loyal, if somewhat capricious handyman, to bring around the carriage, Meredith waited on the steps for him to arrive. She had dressed conservatively in a black skirt, white lace waist, and black velvet jacket to guard against a cool wind that still bore traces of a departed winter at times.
Her gloves were showing signs of wear, she noticed, as she fastened her silk scarf more securely about her throat. Soon she would have to purchase more. The wide brim of her hat shaded her face, and she tilted her chin at the sound of horse’s hooves.
Reggie’s face glowed with excitement as he climbed down to open the door for her. Leaning toward her, he whispered hoarsely, “Are we going after another murderer?”
She tried to look surprised. “Goodness, Reggie, whatever makes you think that?”
“You don’t usually go out without Miss Cross and Miss Pickard, do you. I thought you might be off on one of your investigations.”
“I’m merely going to look at some property that’s for sale.”
She climbed up onto her seat. “So you can stop speculating about my intentions.”
Reggie looked disappointed. “Very well, m’m.”
To her relief he closed the door and climbed up onto his seat. She’d had to take the maintenance man into her confidence more than once, but only as a last resort, when she was unable to explain her activities. She saw no reason to enlighten him this time, unless it became absolutely necessary.
The new horse always seemed anxious to be on the move, and at the slightest flick of the reins, lunged into action. The first time or two she had traveled with him, she had been taken unawares and had been thrown back against the back of the seat, dislodging her hat so that it fell over her eyes.
Most annoying, since she had to reset the pesky thing on her head without the benefit of a mirror. She’d spent one entire afternoon shopping in Witcheston with a ribbon dangling down her back and a hat pin swinging on the end of it. No wonder she’d received so many odd glances.
Reggie had named the new horse Spirit, a name she had to admit suited his rambunctious nature, but personally she would rather have had a horse with a little less spirit. She missed the steady plodding of Major, who had been retired once Spirit had taken over the reins.
Watching the fields rush by, Meredith sighed. It seemed that everything nowadays depended on more and more speed. The motorcars that clogged the streets of Witcheston moved so fast these days that she barely had time to cross the road before one was upon her, honking that dreadful horn and spitting out nasty, smelly smoke.
In no time at all, it seemed, Reggie was heading up the driveway to the grand entrance of the Stalham estate. Meredith gathered up her handbag and prepared herself for the jolt when the carriage halted. Even so, she slid forward and had to right herself before Reggie opened the door.
“Here we are, m’m,” Reggie sang out, and held out his hand to help her down.
There was a time when she would have thanked him and dismounted without his aid, but the rapid pace of their journey had made her somewhat unsteady, and she accepted the firm support of his arm.
“Goodness,” she said, when her feet were solidly planted on the ground, “we certainly kept up a good pace today.”
“Yes, m’m.” Reggie grinned. “That Spirit really knows how to charge ahead.”
“Yes, well, I just hope he doesn’t charge us right into a hedge. We were going around the bends a little too fast for comfort.”
Reggie’s grin widened. “Don’t you worry yourself, m’m. I’ll make sure we stay on the road.”
“I certainly hope so.” Meredith glanced up at the main doors. “Wait for me here, Reggie. I shan’t be long.”
As she mounted the steps, a tumult of raucous barking broke out, from what were obviously very large dogs. They kept up the din while she tugged on the bell rope, and didn’t cease their protests until the door opened. A tall, gaunt man stood in the doorway, dressed in a black morning coat and gray striped trousers. His gray hair was swept back from a high forehead, and his nose jutted out at a fierce angle. Dark blue eyes regarded her with just a hint of hostility, beneath sparse eyebrows raised in question.
This, apparently, was Smithers, the Stalhams’ butler. “Good afternoon,” Meredith said, doing her best not to feel intimidated. After all, the man was nothing more than a servant, though she doubted very much that he’d see it that way.
Since he seemed disinclined to answer, she said briskly, “My name is Mrs. Llewellyn, and I understand this estate is up for sale. I would be very interested in viewing the property, if I may?”
Smithers’s nose tilted upward. “You have an appointment?”
Meredith curbed her resentment. The man knew very well she didn’t have an appointment. He was, however, entitled to ask for one. “I am visiting the area,” she said, placing a pleasant smile on her face. “I happened to hear of the sale, and since I won’t be here long, I thought I’d take a chance on this being a convenient time to view the property.”
The butler was obviously concerned about losing a possible sale. Of course, he could prefer that the mansion not be sold, thus ensuring he stayed in residence there. On the other hand, no doubt the heirs would keep him employed elsewhere, which could be what he favored.
With all the alternatives running through her mind, Meredith anxiously watched the butler’s face. After a long pause, he stepped back and held the door open wider. “I will have Mrs. Parker, the housekeeper, show you over the premises,” he announced, after ushering her into the library.
His obvious disapproval of her presence made her uneasy, and she was relieved when he left her alone. Until she remembered that this was the very room in which Howard Stalham had died.
It was a large room, with tall French windows that overlooked a lawn bordered by trees. Seated on a blue satin settee, Meredith stared at the carpet. Lord Stalham had lain there, bleeding profusely no doubt, with his son standing over him.
Had James shot his father in order to avoid being cut off from the family fortune, or had he been telling the truth? Had someone else pulled the trigger and left a dying Howard for his son to find? Meredith suppressed a shiver, and glanced over at a dark corner of the room, half expecting to see a red mist forming with an enraged ghost in the center.
Reassured to see no such thing, she surveyed the room, her gaze coming to rest on the gun cabinet on the opposite wall. Again a shudder rippled down her spine.
Steeling herself, she got up and walked over to the cabinet. The killer must have taken the gun from the cabinet. How easy would it have been for James, in the heat of an argument, to seize the gun from the case and fire at his father? Curious, she took hold of the knob and twisted it.
The door swung open. Surprised, she frowned at the contents. Had it been kept unlocked? If so, it would have been all too easy for James to snatch up the gun. Perhaps she had been hasty in doubting his guilt.
The light tap on the door made her jump. When it opened, a young woman entered carrying a large tray. She appeared to be far too youthful to be entrusted with the tasks of a housekeeper. Though not too young to be with child, affirmed by the swelling in her belly.
“Good afternoon, m’m,” she said, coming to a halt a few feet away. “Mrs. Parker sent me to tell you she’s been delayed but will be with you shortly. Meanwhile she hopes you will enjoy a cup of tea.”
“Thank you.” Concerned that the heavy tray might be too much for the maid in her delicate condition, Meredith was tempted to take the load from her. She remembered, just in time, that she was supposed to be a wealthy client looking to buy the mansion, and would never dream of coming to the aid of a lowly servant.
She waited for the maid to put down the tray, then murmured, “So kind of Mrs. Parker.” She moved to sit down, while the maid poured a small amount of cream into the fragile china cup.
“One lump or two, m’m?”
“One will be sufficient, thank you.”
“Yes, m’m.”
Meredith waited another moment or two while the maid extracted a sugar lump from the bowl with a pair of silver tongs, and dropped it into her cup. “Forgive my morbid curiosity,” she said, as the young woman poured out a stream of steaming tea, “but I understand your master was killed in this room not too long ago.”
The maid jumped, spilling the dark brown liquid into the saucer. With an exclamation of dismay, she put down the teapot, fished a handkerchief out of her apron pocket, and carefully mopped up the puddle before replacing the brimming cup on the saucer.
“Pardon me,” Meredith said quickly. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Oh, that’s all right, m’m.” The young woman gave her a nervous glance. “I’ve been really jumpy lately. Dropping all sorts of things. Mrs. Parker says it’s because of the baby.” She laid a protective hand on her belly. “It messes up me nerves.”
“So I remember.” Meredith smiled. “What’s your name?”
“It’s Winnie, m’m.”