The Parting Glass – Part 5

Sherlock:

A room had been set up for me to use and now that I sat there in front of the fire I have to admit I had little inclination to speak to any of the witnesses as yet. Where was I to start? Now with the people who had handled the glass was, of course, obvious, but it suddenly occurred to me, that the dynamics of the people as a group could be equally interesting and even more so when they were not yet alerted by my enquiries. No, it would be wiser to wait till after dinner, watch and observe the people before beginning to ask any questions. During the meal, I would be able to assess better what steps to take next. I told my brother in law as much.

Sir Cedric nodded thoughtfully, his mind obviously occupied with something.

"Holmes," he, at last, spoke up, waking from his reverie, "it is evident that the murderer has to be one of us and I have to admit this thought is rather disturbing. Why would someone kill a friend?"

"Yes, Cedric, it is evident that it must be a person who was present last night and one who has had the opportunity to put something into Sir Robert's glass."

"Which unfortunately includes my wife," he whispered tonelessly.

"Do you think she would do such a thing?" I asked, smiling, knowing the answer beforehand.

"No, of course not!" he cried out, then added with a grimace: "The only instance that I could imagine she would do such a thing as kill a man would be if someone hurts our family. But then I would rather expect her with a knife or pistol in her hand but certainly not something as subtle as poison."

Without hesitation, I could say the same about Harriet.

"From what I have heard of your wife I cannot imagine it either," I assured my brother in law. "Even though I have never met the lady as yet. But of course, for the moment she, as well as eight other, equally innocent people will be under scrutiny. But in their case for their benefit, I dare say. In a situation such as this it can be equally important to be free from any trace of guilt than to catch the real killer and both I will attempt. I have to say that I am equally sure that Sir Reginald is not the murderer either, nor Charles Atwell for that matter, but of course I will have to prove it also, which admittedly at the moment I cannot. Not yet."

"Hopefully." my wife's brother sighed.

We did not have to wait long till the dinner bell chimed and everyone piled into the breakfast-parlour making it a bit crowded. It was quite understandable that no-one felt the courage to sit down in the dining room where the tragedy had struck not twenty four hours ago. A slender woman of barely middle height, with golden blond hair, came up to us, reaching for my companion's hands in an affectionate manner. Her pretty face was pale and she had been crying judging by her red-rimmed eyes. So this was Lady Imogene.

"There you are, at last, Cedric. I have been wondering what kept you," she said with a slight reproach in her voice. "And I have been thinking. I think we should postpone our party. It is not very appropriate to celebrate not a week after a friend of ours has died, don't you agree?"

"Yes, my dear. I agree with you there. The same thought had crossed my mind." From his expression, I could see that his own event had been pretty much the furthest thing from his mind till she had mentioned it.

"This, Imogene, is Mr Sherlock Holmes." Cedric carried on, with a smile.

"I am very pleased to meet you, at last, sir. I hope Harriet is well."

"Yes, very well, thank you. She would have come, too, had she not been very busy at the moment." I smiled as she carefully examined me curiously.

"That I can well imagine!" Lady Imogene remarked with a slight grin, "And it would have been just as well. Lady Mary is still under shock and keeps to her bed and Lady Mathilda is suffering from nerves."

I followed her gaze and saw a very pale woman with very dark hair and large fearful eyes clinging to Sir Reginald's arm. She was a lot younger than I had imagined her to be, not much older than in her mid-twenties. For some reason I had thought Sir Reginald to have been married for some time considering that he was a man who had always taken his duties very seriously – and in his case, this meant producing an heir. Looking closer I wondered if that perhaps might be the reason his wife was so easily excited. I would not be surprised.

At that moment Charles Atwell entered and the room fell silent. As if in a trance he walked over to a seat, sat down and began eating without looking up once. It seemed the shock had at last set in.

"Are you quite well, Sir Charles?" an extremely portly man enquired, stepping closer to him and putting his hand on the young man's arm in a fatherly manner.

"Don't call me that!" Atwell cried out. "My father is barely cold and as long as he is not buried I will refuse to be called such."

"But it is customary. You now bear the title." the man insisted, sitting down next to his host.

Atwell turned to him, heat rising to his cheeks in anger: "It might be customary, Sir James, but I will have none of it. While you might have been delighted to carry your title after your father's death, I am not. And now excuse me, I will retire early. Good night. Enjoy your meal."

"Was that really necessary, Sir James?" another younger man with a good-humoured face enquired.

"But he now is Sir Charles Atwell."

"Oh come now, his father has just been murdered, the police has taken over the house and then this weird private detective they went to fetch this morning."

"You mean Mr Holmes I presume," Musgrave remarked.

"Yes, that one. I wonder where he is. He surely must be impatient to interview us, coming all the way from London, don't you think?"

"He is standing right behind you, Whitshaw." Sir Reginald answered, still supporting his wife.

"Oh."

The man I took to be John Whitshaw turned around to face me with an expression of great embarrassment.

"I am very glad to meet you, Mr Holmes." he at last stammered.

"Yes, obviously." I smiled suavely, reaching out my hand, which he hesitantly took.

"I presume I am right and you have come to question us all?" Whitshaw enquired carefully.

"Yes, but only after we have all eaten. For now, I am just another guest."

A sturdy woman huffed. "Eating, I am not sure I can stomach anything. In this household one never knows who is going to be next."

"Oh come now, mother, this is ridiculous."

"You may say what you like, I am just glad that Susan is gone to London to look after her sister. Mary is so nervous because of her upcoming wedding, I wonder how she will make it through the ceremony."

"She is nervous because she does not want to marry Lord Banbury. If you would just listen to her once you would know that."

"Ta-ta! She is still young and has no judgement. Really, how can she know what is good for her at the age of one and twenty? See!"

Somewhat helplessly Whitshaw glanced in my direction, before shrugging his shoulders and sitting down with a sigh, helping himself to some roast beef and potatoes.

To say that the atmosphere was tense would have been an understatement, one could have cut through it with a knife. Sir Cedric, Lady Imogene and Sir Reginald along with Whitshaw and a Mr Devon Elliot tried to keep up a minimum of polite conversation but without much success. Eventually they, too, gave up on making the situation a bit more bearable.

While eating I, however, watched the people around me very carefully. That they felt uncomfortable and trapped was as clear as daylight, and also that each suspected the one or other of their party. Suspicious glances were cast at the one or other person without fixing on any particular person. I wondered if that would have been any different had Charles Atwell stayed. Did they think he had killed his father? But if there were corresponding rumours they were not spoken about during dinner.

xxx

"I presume Professor Peverell was not at dinner?" I enquired as I returned to the room which had been sat up for me.

"No, he was not," Cedric answered as he was about to escort his wife back to their room.

"I would actually like to start with him. Could you try and locate him, please? - Good night, Lady Imogene."

"Good night. But please, considering you are family now, do call me Imogene."

I bowed in acquiescence.

"Then good night, Imogene, I will speak with you in the morning. Cedric?"

"Of course, Holmes. I presume he is still with Lady Mary."

He was not, however, nor was Peverell in his room and nobody seemed to have seen him since lunch. This could mean three things. He was guilty and had fled, he too had become a victim, which personally I thought unlikely as if someone had wanted to kill a bunch of people it would have been more efficient to simply poison the whole punch bowl and be done with it, or he simply had sought some solace and did not want to be found for the moment. Personally, I hoped for the latter as after all, I could not completely rule out the first two options. But as there was little to be done in regards to Professor Peverell, much to his wife's worry and others concern, I decided to speak to Mr Whitshaw first.

"I wanted to apologise for my very impolite words earlier at dinner." he began as soon as he had stepped into the room.

"Never mind. I know many people who would agree with you completely – not least of all, myself. And I also understand that you felt the need to defend Charles Atwell."

There he chuckled sadly: "Yes, it was quite tasteless of Sir James to insist on it. I went to school with Charles and though he is not exactly an amiable person he is a decent man, Mr Holmes."

I nodded thoughtfully.

"What can you tell me about last night, Mr Whitshaw?"

"Not much I am afraid. Up to the moment where Sir Robert dropped dead, it was an ordinary party of friends – not that we are all friends, I have to say."

"What do you mean by that?" I dug deeper.

"Only that while we are – or rather were - all friends and acquaintances of Sir Robert we are not necessarily close to any others of the party."

"What was your relation to Sir Robert?"

"We were good acquaintances. My father's estate is about six miles from here on the other side of Petersfield and we had often hunted together before I got married and moved to London. Fox hunting was a particular passion of Sir Robert's." he answered, an expression of sadness crossing his face as he remembered all the carefree times he had spent with the dead man.

"You would not know if Sir Robert had any enemies?"

Whitshaw seemed to ponder on the question for a moment before answering, his words most carefully voiced.

"No, I don't know of him having any enemies, but I have heard rumours. Till now I have to admit I did not pay them any heed, but his murder has changed that. - I heard whispers that Sir Robert in his position as magistrate had not been averse to rule in favour of whatever party was willing to pay the greater amount of money. But I cannot say how true these rumours really are. Sometimes it is just envy that leads to such slanders and still, it might be important."

If that was the case, there was a very good motive for many a man to kill the man. If he really had misused his authority it should be possible to find out. And also if one of the thus wronged people had been present the previous night.

"You have helped me a great deal, Mr Whitshaw. I thank you." I dismissed him. "Could you please send in your mother in law."