“I shall miss Mr. Carter,” Sissy said. “He was kind to me and he didn’t treat me as if I was soft in the head because my legs won’t work.”

“It’s very unfortunate,” I agreed. “I suppose we can’t know what goes on in the head of someone who has been badly shell-shocked.”

“I’m so glad it wasn’t Jack.” Sissy’s eyes were on him, his blonde hair blowing in the breeze as he ran ahead of Nick and Kat. “I never believed he could do a thing like that.”

“I’m glad too,” I agreed.

We sat and talked together for a while. Sissy looked up at the crunch of tires on gravel below us. “Look, Georgie,” she said. “Mr. Carter has come back.” And indeed he was being escorted back into the house by a policeman. From Nanny we learned that he was still under suspicion and was being held in his room until he was formally charged. He had requested the presence of a lawyer. When I went downstairs for tea, I noticed that the mood had improved considerably. It wasn’t one of them after all. It was a stranger, an interloper. Life could go back to normal. Even Edwina ate two cream cakes.

It was a cold, blustery evening and we pulled up chairs around the fire. Edwina brought out embroidery. As we were a household in mourning, neither cards nor music were acceptable, so we sat, watching the flames dancing up the chimney. Suddenly there was the sound of running feet upstairs. Doors slamming. Raised voices. We all looked up as a young policeman came into the room.

“We’ve called for an ambulance, Your Grace,” he said. “Mr. Carter has tried to kill himself.”

Chapter 32

Chapter 32

Darcy was on his feet immediately and followed the constable out of the room. Edwina stood too, as if unsure whether to follow them. I wished that Darcy hadn’t gone because a disturbing thought had crept into my mind. What if Carter had not tried to kill himself? What if he was innocent and the true killer had tried to silence him?

We heard the bell as the ambulance arrived, the tramp of booted feet as Carter was carried out. Still Darcy didn’t come. Then one of the maids came up to Irene. “If you please, my lady,” she said, “but your daughter isn’t feeling well. I thought you should know.”

“My daughter?” Irene looked up. “Elisabeth is not well?”

“No, my lady. Katherine. She is vomiting, if you’ll pardon the expression, and she looks awful pale. I think you should get the doctor to her.”

“Oh, God.” Irene stood up.

“Don’t upset yourself, Irene.” Edwina reached out to her daughter. “The child has probably got herself into a state over what happened to her tutor.”

“No, Your Grace. She seems really ill,” the maid said. “Nanny is that worried.”