Pamela Sherwood (26 page)

“—Dowling’s got a bit more sense out of Enid, the lady’s maid.” Harry’s voice broke into her thoughts. “I don’t know how much stock to put in what she says, she was still half-hysterical at the time, but… she claims she heard a sound coming from her mistress’s chamber last night and got up to investigate.”

Sophie tensed in her chair, her attention now fully engaged. Beside her, Robin’s gaze sharpened. “She did?”

“She says,” Harry resumed slowly, “that she opened the connecting door, just a crack—and saw a tall, thin man standing behind Nathalie’s chair, throttling her.”

Robin’s breath hissed between his teeth. “Christ! Why didn’t she—”

“She fainted,” Harry said succinctly. “And she was unsteady on her pins as it was. Nathalie had dismissed her early because she had a toothache—Enid, I mean—and she dosed herself with some tonic that had laudanum in it. I’m surprised she could see straight at all, much less through a barely open door in the dark. When she came to, it was morning, and she thought she’d been dreaming or hallucinating, but—” He broke off, grimacing.

“Has she told the police any of this?” Sophie asked.

Harry nodded. “Once she was halfway coherent, Mrs. Dowling had her talk to the sergeant about what she saw—or thought she saw. Pity she only saw the fellow from the back, but it’s a start, I suppose.”

“Not much of one, though,” Sophie observed with a sigh. “Cornwall and the rest of the world are full of tall, thin men.”

Robin’s mouth crooked. “
I
see one whenever I look in the glass.”

“You’re not a suspect,” Sophie said sharply.

“Not yet, perhaps.” He set his now-empty plate aside. “But Inspector Taunton wishes me to come down to the police station tomorrow morning and give a statement.”

“Well, you should have all the proof you need to show you were elsewhere at the time,” she said bracingly. “And the word of others to back you up, including the Sheridans and myself.”

Much to her disquiet, his face had taken on that too-familiar shuttered look. “Thank you, my dear. But I hope they won’t require too much evidence to establish my whereabouts when—when Nathalie was killed.” He stood up abruptly. “I must go to Pentreath now, while there’s still some daylight left.”

“For God’s sake, take the carriage, Rob!” Harry ordered. “After today, the last thing you should be doing is making the trip on horseback. And if Sara needs you to stay, then do it.
I
can stop over at the hotel tonight—once I take Sophie home, that is.”

Sophie nodded at Robin’s questioning glance. “I’ll be all right with Harry. Go and see your daughter, dear heart.”

He could not kiss her, not with Harry present. But the warmth in his eyes, the faint smile he gave her, was all the caress she needed for now.

“Thank you. Both of you,” he added, including Harry in his gaze. “At times like these, it’s good to know how fortunate I am in my friends.”

***

James and Aurelia were sitting on the sofa together when their butler, Pelham, showed Robin into the family parlor at Pentreath. Aurelia rose to embrace him.

“James has just told me everything. I’m so sorry, Robin. What can we do?”

Fortunate in his friends, indeed. “You’ve done so much for me already,” Robin said, returning her embrace. “And for Sara. She hasn’t heard anything, has she?”

Aurelia exchanged a glance with James. “Not that we know of. After Harry gave us the news, I made a point of keeping the children at Pentreath today. We didn’t go into the village or any place where Sara might hear accidentally.”

Robin nodded tautly. “Thank you for having her—and for shielding her from this until I came. But I need to see her now.”

“I’ll go up to the nursery and bring her down at once.” Aurelia touched his shoulder in passing as she headed for the door. “You’re staying here tonight,” she added, in a tone that brooked no argument. “I’ll have a bedchamber made ready for you.”

Robin knew better than to resist. “Thank you.”

Once they were alone, James crossed to the sideboard and poured Robin a stiff whiskey. “Here. You look like you could use this.”

Robin tried to smile. “What, no cider?”

“A crisis like this requires something a good deal stronger.” James handed him the glass. “An ugly business, murder. How are you holding up?”

Robin took a gulp of whiskey, almost welcoming the burn. “As you see. Shaken but still standing. I have to be, for Sara’s sake.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to deny your own feelings,” James pointed out. “I know you and Nathalie have been living essentially separate lives, but she was your wife, after all.”

“And Sara and Cyril’s mother. I don’t forget that.” Robin took another drink. “I wanted to divorce her, James. But I never wished her dead, least of all murdered.”

James laid a hand on his shoulder. “I know you didn’t. Are the police giving you any trouble? They were still questioning people when I left the hotel two hours ago.”

Robin shook his head. “Not so far. But I’m to come down to the station tomorrow, for further questioning.”

“I should think you had an ironclad alibi, being in London all this time,” James observed.

Not
all
this
time
, Robin thought, remembering those four blissful days in Oxfordshire. But it was true he’d been far from Cornwall when Nathalie was killed. “Sophie thinks so too.”

“Sophie?” James’s gaze sharpened. “She’s in Cornwall?”

Robin chose his next words carefully. “I—saw her after a concert in London, and we spent some time together. She was with me when I received the news about Nathalie.” Was it really only this morning? “And she thought I shouldn’t make the journey alone.”

James regarded him narrowly. “Am I to infer that you and Sophie are…?”

“It wasn’t planned, James,” Robin said quickly. “We weren’t together by design. Before Nathalie—did what she did, I’d no plans to go to London. I’d half forgotten about Sophie’s concert when I arrived. My sole thought was how to be free of my marriage at last. But once I knew… I had to see her. I had to know if there was any kind of future for us.”

James’s expression softened into compassion. “I know how much the two of you cared for each other. And how hard it was to separate, when Nathalie came back.”

“I never dreamed she’d give me another chance,” Robin confessed. “When I saw her again, I half expected her to tell me it was finished between us. That she’d found someone else, or that she preferred to concentrate on her career. But I couldn’t let it be, James. I had to know, one way or the other.”

“Hope is a very different thing from expectation,” James observed. “But from the sound of it, you forgot the family legacy.”

“Not for long.
Swans and Tresilians mate for life
,” Robin quoted. “And God bless them for it.” He sighed. “I just wish I could protect her from this. When I first heard the news, I tried to persuade her to stay in London. She wouldn’t have it.”

“Of course not. If I know her, she’s trying to work out how to protect
you
.”

Robin raked a hand through his hair. “She shouldn’t have to. This is my disaster. If I’d handled things differently four years ago—”

“You did what you thought best at the time. And I know it couldn’t have been easy to choose between Sophie and your children. Perhaps you made the wrong decision, perhaps not, but you have another chance to get it right. Not everyone is so fortunate. And don’t underestimate Sophie,” he added. “She’s always been much stronger than she appears. So is my Aurelia, and I couldn’t have got through what happened five years ago without her support.”

For a moment, their thoughts sped back to that fateful summer, when they’d both faced ugly slanders implicating them in the violent death of James’s cousin and predecessor.

“If Sophie wants to stand by you, let her,” James told him. “You ignore women at your peril, especially when they’re as determined as
ours
are.”

Ours
. So James had accepted that he and Sophie were together. Robin feared the rest of her family would be less receptive when they heard. He might no longer be a married man, but being a possible suspect in his wife’s murder was hardly an improvement in his circumstances.

“As you may remember, I’ve been in your shoes,” James continued, as though reading his mind. “And Aurelia’s faith in me then meant the world.
All
of my in-laws were supportive, and I thanked God for them before the end.” He paused. “Harry and Aunt Isobel will be on your side, Robin. Whatever reservations they may have about you and Sophie resuming your relationship, they would never believe you capable of murdering Nathalie.”

The door opened then, and Aurelia came in, leading Robin’s daughter by the hand.

The girl’s face brightened when she saw him. “Papa!”

Robin knelt at once, and Sara flew into his arms. “I missed you so much, Papa!”

“I missed you too, sweetheart.” He stroked her hair, the same dark brown as his own, but with a natural wave that was entirely hers. “Have you been a good child?”

“Sara’s always good as gold,” Aurelia told him.

“It’s been ever so nice here.” Sara smiled up at her father. “We go down to the beach almost every day, and I picked up some beautiful new shells. And Jared and I found a sand crab, but we let him go. And I started reading
Through
the
Looking-Glass
—could you teach me how to play chess someday?”

Robin sighed inwardly, wishing he didn’t have to shatter his daughter’s newfound contentment. This was the most animated he’d seen her since Cyril’s death. “Of course, sweetheart, though I must admit, I’m not very good at it.” He stroked her hair again, as much to comfort himself as her. “I’m—very glad you’ve been enjoying your stay here. But… there’s something I need to tell you now.”

By this time, James and Aurelia had withdrawn discreetly, leaving father and daughter alone together. They wouldn’t have gone far, Robin knew—they’d be lurking just out of earshot, ready to help in any way they could.

“What, Papa?” His daughter’s gaze was infinitely trusting.

“Sara, sweetheart.” Robin swallowed, hating what he had to do. “I’m afraid I have some very bad news.” He tightened his arms around her. “It appears that there was a robbery at the hotel, while I was in London, and your mother was killed.”

She paled, her eyes going wide and frightened. “
Maman
is—dead? Like Cyril?”

Her slight body was trembling like a sapling in a gale. “I’m afraid so.”

Sara’s breath caught, tears welling in her eyes, but her gaze was fixed on his. “Was it—was it quick?”

Oh, God
. For a moment Robin saw Nathalie’s congested face, the livid marks on her throat. “I don’t know, my darling. Let us hope it was, and that
Maman
didn’t suffer.” Although he knew that she must have, fighting for breath, struggling against her attacker. But he would not burden Sara with the image.

Tears spilled down Sara’s cheeks but she brushed them away, almost absently. “Do you think she’s in heaven now, with Cyril?”

Robin forced the words past the tightness in his throat. “I am sure of it, my dear. If heaven is what it is meant to be, then your mother and brother must be together. And you and I are here, together, and we must be strong and comfort each other.”

She nodded, then buried her head in his shoulder and wept as she clung to him. Not in the same passion of grief with which she’d received news of Cyril’s death, but in confusion and bewilderment that were no less real.

“I’m here, darling. Papa is here.” He heard his voice crack, felt the hot press of tears in his own eyes. Not so much for Nathalie, whom he’d lost long ago, but for the pain their child, the last link between them, was suffering now.

After a time, her sobs eased, and he gave her his handkerchief. Obediently, she wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and asked in a quavering little voice, “Am I to—to come home now, Papa?”

“Not just yet, sweetheart,” he told her. “I want you with me, of course, but the police are going over the hotel to see if they can find anything that might help them catch whoever killed
Maman
. So I would like you to stay here with Lord and Lady Trevenan until it’s quite safe for you to return to Pendarvis Hall.”

She nodded. “Will you stay here too?”

“I’ll be here tonight, certainly,” he promised. “And perhaps a few nights beyond that, if the Trevenans are willing to have me. But in any case, I shall visit you every day and make sure to kiss you good night—even in the middle of the afternoon.”

She gave a small watery giggle, then looked a little shocked at herself for having done so. Robin dropped a kiss upon her head for reassurance. “There’s my brave girl.”

Her answering smile was still a faint, trembly thing, but genuine enough for all that. Hugging her close, Robin vowed silently that he would do all he could to find Nathalie’s killer and see him brought to justice. Their daughter deserved nothing less.

In all the woes that curse our race

There is a lady in the case.

—W. S. Gilbert,
Fallen
Fairies

The police station at St. Perran was small—no more than two or three rooms, Robin estimated, including the holding cell—and sparsely furnished: chairs, desks, and not much else.

Taunton appeared uncomfortable here, as though accustomed to a greater space to work in, which was probably the case, as Newquay was a far larger town.

The inspector looked younger this morning than he had the previous afternoon: Robin’s age or perhaps even a few years younger. His sandy hair was untouched by grey, his face youthful and unlined, and his slate-blue eyes round and deceptively guileless. Deceptive because Robin suspected the mind behind those eyes was fairly keen—or Taunton wouldn’t have reached his present position so young.

Sergeant Jenkins—dark, greying, and stocky—had a good ten years or so on the inspector but showed no resentment at taking orders from a man a decade his junior. He sat stolidly at his desk, taking down Robin’s statement and letting Taunton ask the questions.

“So, Mr. Pendarvis, you left for London two weeks ago—is that correct?”

“Close enough.” Robin kept his voice steady. Had it really only been a fortnight since he’d found Nathalie in bed with Nankivell? It seemed so much longer… another lifetime.

Nathalie’s lifetime. The thought chilled him to the marrow. Just two weeks ago she’d been alive: laughing as she writhed under another man, diamonds winking at her throat, meeting his eyes defiantly from across the room. And now she lay, white and silent, in the mortuary, that tinkling laughter forever stilled, bruises instead of diamonds encircling her neck.

Forcing that morbid image aside, he made himself concentrate on the task at hand. “I left Cornwall twelve days ago. And did not return until yesterday morning, when I received the news of my wife’s death.”

Taunton leaned against the desk, his gaze on Robin. “And for what purpose did you travel to London, Mr. Pendarvis?”

“On personal business,” Robin replied, careful to show no hesitation even as his thoughts stuttered slightly over the answer. “I often go up to London to consult with my banker or solicitor. On this occasion, I met with both.”

“Over a period of twelve days?” Taunton raised his brows. “It must have been an important matter to require so long a stay. Weren’t you concerned about your business?”

“The matter concerned my daughter’s future, so yes, it was indeed important,” Robin said evenly. “As for the hotel, I had every confidence that my partners, Sir Harry Tresilian and Lord Trevenan, would handle things capably—more than capably—in my absence.”

Taunton’s eyes narrowed and he inquired, almost too casually, “And how did Mrs. Pendarvis react to the prospect of your absence?”

With
great
glee, most likely
, Robin thought. But surely there was no need to mention Nathalie’s indiscretions or the divorce papers he had never collected from his solicitor. Aloud he said, “I don’t believe it affected her one way or the other, Inspector.”

“Indeed?” Taunton’s brows rose again. “Your wife did not object to your being so long away from home?”

“Not to my knowledge. You will doubtless discover this, if you have not already done so, but Nathalie and I led mostly separate lives—and have for some years,” Robin informed him. “Our children, Sara and Cyril, were our main point of communication.”

“Ah, yes—you mentioned your daughter? Who, I understand, is presently staying with Lord and Lady Trevenan at their estate, Pentreath,” Taunton added. “Any reason she was not left at the hotel with her mother?”

Steady
, Robin reminded himself.
Steady
and
calm
. “Sara has been much distressed by her brother’s death in January. And Nathalie was perhaps too preoccupied with her own concerns to pay her sufficient attention. I had thought staying with friends would be good for Sara, especially as they’ve children of their own to be companions for her.”

“My condolences on your loss.” The response was automatic, but Robin thought he detected some genuine sympathy in the inspector’s tone.

“Thank you,” he acknowledged. “Under the present circumstances, I cannot regret my decision where Sara is concerned.”

“Of course not,” Taunton agreed. He paused, then abruptly changed tack, much to Robin’s relief. “So, where did you stay while you were in London?”

“At Brown’s Hotel at first, then I accepted an invitation to stay with friends, Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Sheridan, at 21 Park Lane.” And that was the truth, in the general sense of the word; the Sheridans would confirm his statement, if asked. Unless there was no way to avoid it, Robin saw no need to mention the few days he and Sophie had stolen for themselves in the Cotswolds. Four short days of bliss, balanced against four long years of hell. He clung to the thought of their future—the one bright spot in this nightmare.

But he was determined to keep her out of this entirely. Bad enough that he’d allowed her to come down to Cornwall and get involved in this mess. At least he could spare her the indignity of being questioned by the police.

The rest of the interrogation—for so it was, however Taunton chose to phrase it—proceeded smoothly enough. Robin answered all their questions, taking time to phrase his replies carefully. He stifled a sigh of relief when they were through with him, and Jenkins laid the pages aside. It had been more difficult than he’d anticipated to omit any mention of Sophie and their reunion, but he prided himself on pulling it off.

Or did, until a constable—the younger one Robin remembered from the previous day— appeared in the doorway. “Inspector Taunton,” he began uncertainly, “there’s a lady here. She says she wishes to give her statement—about what’s happened up at the hotel?”

Taunton blinked, momentarily nonplussed. “Very well, Constable. Show her in.”

Robin sat stock-still, dread stealing over him.
Oh, God—she wouldn’t…

“Good morning, Inspector Taunton.” Sophie spoke up from directly behind him.

Her voice, as always, was silvery clear. And Robin had never been less pleased to hear it than at this moment. Clenching his teeth, not trusting his voice, he risked a glance at his love.

She wore the dark green riding habit he remembered from London, cut with a severe simplicity that flattered her slender figure and made her look taller and slightly older. A high black riding hat crowned her head, the veil folded back to expose her heart-shaped face: the fresh skin, brilliant green eyes, and warm lips, curved in a faint but sweetly obliging smile.

More striking even than her sophisticated clothes was her air of self-possession. The presence she exuded onstage was on full display now, shining like an electric chandelier: here was Somebody to be reckoned with, her demeanor announced. The young constable was staring at her, not quite openmouthed but close enough, and even the stolid sergeant looked impressed.

As did Taunton himself. His eyes widened, then he rallied, “Good morning, Miss—”

“Tresilian,” she supplied, extending her hand. “Sophie Tresilian. You’ve already met my brother—Sir Harry Tresilian?”

“Ah, yes.” Taunton took Sophie’s hand. “How do you do, Miss Tresilian? Pray, be seated.” He gestured to a vacant chair just a few feet from Robin’s. “I understand you are here to give a statement?”

Sophie sat down with perfect composure, close enough for Robin to catch the faint perfume of violets wafting from her skin. “Indeed I am, Inspector. I’d heard that you wished to question Mr. Pendarvis, and I wondered if you would find it useful to speak to me as well.”

“Inspector, do you believe Miss Tresilian’s statement to be strictly necessary?” Robin asked, pointedly ignoring her.

Taunton glanced at him with an expression as bland as milk. “I appreciate any information that might help clarify the events of yesterday, Mr. Pendarvis. And I commend Miss Tresilian’s willingness to cooperate with this investigation.”

Damn
. Stymied, Robin sat back in his chair as the inspector and the sergeant turned their attention to Sophie.

“Name, Miss?” Jenkins inquired, pen now poised over a fresh sheet of paper.

“Sophia Catherine Tresilian,” she supplied.

Robin did his best to sit stoically as Sophie replied to their most basic questions, giving her age (twenty-three) and current place of residence (Roswarne House). But he felt his pulse quicken and his stomach knot when Taunton inquired with studied nonchalance, “Now, Miss Tresilian, how exactly did you come to be involved in this matter?”

“Purely by chance. I happened to be present when Mr. Pendarvis received the news of his wife’s death, and we traveled down to Cornwall together.”

The way Taunton’s gaze sharpened at this detail had Robin tensing in his chair. “Indeed? And how was it that you ‘happened to be present’ then?”

Sophie did not turn a hair. “I am a professional singer, based in London, Inspector. Last week, I gave a concert at the Royal Albert Hall, which Mr. Pendarvis attended. He came backstage afterward to offer his congratulations. Two nights later, I performed at a soiree given by Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Sheridan at their Park Lane residence, and Mr. Pendarvis was among the invited guests. We have been continually in each other’s company since then.”

“Continually?” Taunton echoed, looking nonplussed. “Then you and Mr. Pendarvis are on terms of intimacy?”

Robin just managed not to flinch at Taunton’s choice of words.
Intimacy… dear God.

“I consider Mr. Pendarvis a close friend of the family, as well as a business associate of my brother and cousin,” Sophie said smoothly. “And I was delighted to see a familiar face, as I have not been back to Cornwall in over a year.” She gave Taunton her most winsome smile. “There was a great deal of catching up to do.”

In other circumstances, Robin might have been amused to observe that Taunton was no more immune to that smile than he was. All the same, he could tell that the inspector was preparing to probe further. “So you accompanied Mr. Pendarvis to Cornwall out of
friendship
?” he asked, his tone suggesting a wealth of hidden meanings.

Sophie raised her brows. “Naturally.” She sounded surprised that he would even ask. “I shouldn’t like to think of anyone making the journey alone, in such circumstances—least of all, a good friend. Besides, I had no further engagements or commitments keeping me in town.”

Taunton regarded her searchingly. “How well-acquainted were you with the deceased?”

“With Mrs. Pendarvis?” Robin felt his pulse jump, but Sophie gazed steadily back at the inspector. “I didn’t know her at all well. We met on only one occasion, four years ago, and did not speak.”

The inspector’s brow creased slightly. “You did not know the wife of a man you consider a
close
family
friend
?”

“Mrs. Pendarvis took up residence in Cornwall while I was finishing my training in London,” Sophie replied with perfect truth. “As I have been continually touring for the last four years and seldom came home to visit, our paths did not cross. But it was a shock to hear that she had died so suddenly—and by such violent means.” She paused, then looked Taunton square in the eye. “I hope that you catch whoever is responsible.”

And that too was no less than the truth, Robin thought. Even Taunton seemed convinced of that much, because he changed tack, much as he had done with Robin. At any rate, he asked Sophie only a few more questions, none of which ventured into potentially dangerous territory, though Robin could not help wondering if Taunton suspected the true state of things between Sophie and himself. The thought was like an itch between his shoulder blades, making him edgy and uncomfortable. He had never been more relieved than when Taunton thanked them both for their cooperation and told them they were free to go, although he might have further questions for them at a later time.

Robin broodingly watched Sophie’s slim, straight back as she preceded him out of the police station. The innocent girl he’d thought to shelter, the formidable woman she’d become—once again, she’d surprised him, steering her way through the interrogation with the assurance and expertise of an old salt navigating through stormy seas: presenting an honest account of their meeting in London, while avoiding the Scylla and Charybdis of their past romance and recent reunion. Moreover, she’d firmly established that they were both far from Cornwall at the time of Nathalie’s murder. Almost certainly that had been her motive for coming to the police station in the first place.

He did not know whether he wanted to kiss her breathless—or shake her thoroughly.

***

“I’d hoped to keep you out of this, entirely.”

Robin’s voice was as stiff as his backbone. Sophie could sense the irritation rolling off him in waves as she had from the moment they’d left the police station. Fortunately, he’d held his tongue until they were safely out of the village and riding back along the main road, toward Roswarne and the hotel.

“Well, I am
in
it now, so there’s no point in stewing about it,” Sophie said bracingly.

He cast her a darkling glance. “On the contrary, I would say that possible damage to your reputation is well worth ‘stewing about,’ as you put it.”

“My reputation? Because I mentioned we spent some time together in London? What nonsense!” Seeing his mouth tighten, she added defiantly, “I daresay there’d be whispers about me in any case, considering my profession, and I’m used to that sort of thing. So let them whisper—we have more important things with which to concern ourselves than gossip!”

“Don’t underestimate the damage gossip can do,” Robin warned. “You might want to consider being more circumspect in future. And marching into the police station to defend a man being questioned in his wife’s murder isn’t exactly circumspect. I’ll warrant Taunton and his lot are already speculating as to why a young lady of good family would put herself out like that for ‘a close family friend.’”