Part 16 (1/2)
Charles nodded. ”Wilson, Felicity's lady's maid, is a very good first-aid person. Miles, do me a favor, and go down to the kitchen. Ask Wilson to please come up and look at Hugo's hand. I think she will have the right salve and a bandage.”
”Right away, Papa.”
”You'll be fine in a couple of days,” Charles murmured. ”They're only surface burns. However, you were lucky.”
Hugo merely nodded. After a moment, he said, ”I can't fathom how that fire started ... that hay wasn't merely smoldering, it was really burning ... like a great bonfire. You don't think it was arson, do you?”
For a moment Charles was startled, and he sat up straighter, stared at Hugo. ”It hadn't crossed my mind. Why do you bring it up?”
”I thought of it when I was changing in my room. You see, Charles, I burnt my fingers on the metal latch, which was hot from the fire. The latch on the stall door wouldn't open, and when I looked closer I saw a piece of wood wedged behind the latch. I had to take off my shoe and use it as a hammer, to get the wood out. Only then could I open the stall door.”
Charles gazed at him. A worried expression had now settled on his face. His brows drew together in a frown, and he shook his head. ”Now why would anybody do that? A latch doesn't have to be so tightly shut. The horse isn't going to leave the stall. And you of all people should know that only too well. You grew up in the yard of your father's stud in Middleham.”
”That's why I wondered about the wedge. Which then led me to the thought of arson. Do you think you ought to call the police?”
”Perhaps I'd better, if only because of the insurance. Anyway, a fire must be reported.”
Twenty-eight.
Inspector Michael Armitage of the West Riding Police and his sidekick, Sergeant Tim Pollard, were standing in the stable yard with the Earl of Mowbray, surveying the stall where the fire had started.
”I wasn't the first on the scene, Inspector,” Charles explained. ”It was my cousin, Hugo Stanton. He was the one who saw the flames from his bedroom window, and he literally banged on my door, shouted fire,' and ran straight out here. Ah, here he is now.”
When Hugo came to a standstill next to Charles and the policemen, Charles introduced the three men to each other, and said to Hugo, ”I was just explaining that you were the first on the scene.”
”That's right,” Hugo agreed. ”This particular stall was on fire, or rather, I should say a large bale of hay was burning furiously. Fortunately, the stall was empty. But there was a horse in the adjoining stall.”
”And so you released the horse before doing anything else, am I right about that, Mr. Stanton?”
”You are, Inspector. Greensleeves, the horse in this stall...” He moved toward the second stall, indicated it, and continued. ”... the horse had been spooked, she was up on her hind legs, frightened out of her wits.”
He told the inspector how he'd discovered a piece of wood wedged behind the latch, and had knocked it out with his shoe. ”I didn't quite understand that, why it was there, since a horse isn't going to move out of a stall, even if the door is open. I grew up in a professional yard, my father's, and naturally I was puzzled. I suddenly wondered if the fire had been caused by arson. Perhaps someone with a grudge against the family? A person who had purposely trapped that horse.”
”I see what you mean. Tell me, Mr. Stanton, did you smell anything when you arrived, petrol perhaps? Anything like that?”
”No, nothing. Just the stench of burning hay. Do you agree with me that it might have been arson, Inspector?”
”In one sense I do, because I can't quite fathom how hay would burst into flames of its own accord. Someone might have been out here in the stables, of course, having a smoke, and thrown the match away. Carelessly. But then I don't think a smoldering match would start that kind of huge fire.” He turned to the earl, and said, ”From what you told me earlier, it was a big blaze before you got here, Lord Mowbray.”
”Almost out of hand, and the second stall had already caught fire when I arrived with Walter Swann, my valet, and my sons. They tackled the fire with extinguishers and the water pumps, and when the butler and the footmen came we were able to control it.”
”No strangers seen on the property, Lord Mowbray?”
Charles shook his head. ”Not the kind you mean, Inspector. However, we gave a supper dance last night, and we did have a number of guests. Approximately fifty friends. Naturally they came here in chauffeur-driven cars.”
”So, in a way, there were strangers on the estate. The chauffeurs,” Inspector Armitage a.s.serted.
”That's correct,” Charles replied. ”But I seriously doubt that one of them came into the stable block and started a fire.”
”Where were the motorcars parked, m'lord?” Sergeant Pollard asked politely.
”Mostly at the front of the house, and down the front drive. However, there were fewer cars than you might think. You see, our fifty guests were mostly made up of married couples, and some brought their daughters. So there were a number of people in most of the motorcars.”
”I understand, m'lord,” Pollard answered.
Charles and Hugo walked around the yard with the two policemen, answering any questions they asked. But it was soon obvious that the professionals were at a dead end, just as Charles and Hugo had been earlier that morning. Quite simply there were no real clues which could point to arson. How the fire had started was a mystery, as it had been right from the beginning.
Hugo was sitting on the terrace, reading The Times, when suddenly Daphne was standing there next to him, as if she had walked up to him in silken slippers, so quietly had she arrived.
”I hope I'm not interrupting you, Hugo,” she said in her soft, light voice.
”No, no, not at all,” he answered, putting the paper down, pus.h.i.+ng himself to his feet.
”I just wanted to thank you again for saving Greensleeves. Father gave her to me, and I love her,” Daphne explained, and then glanced at his bandaged left hand. ”Does it hurt very much?”
He shook his head. ”No, just a few burned fingers, nothing too bad. They'll be healed in a couple of days, according to Dr. Shawcross. Please, sit down for a moment, won't you?”
Smiling at him, she did so, settled back in the chair next to his. ”I am in your debt. If ever you need anything, you must let me know.”
I need you. Marry me. Be my wife ... Those were the sudden thoughts running through his head, but he did not turn them into words. Instead he said, ”There is one thing I would like you to help me with, Daphne.”
She leaned forward slightly, and said swiftly, ”Please, tell me what it is. Of course I'll help you, Hugo.”
The scent of her freshly washed golden hair, the hint of roses emanating from her skin, the very closeness of her, made him feel weak. If he had to stand up at this moment, he knew he wouldn't be able to. He was also unable to speak. He simply stared into her deep blue eyes, smiling at her, and feeling dizzy, almost light-headed.
”What is it?” she asked. ”Are you all right?”
He nodded, and before he could stop himself, he blurted out, ”It's you, Daphne. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever set eyes on.” A small smile flickered on his mouth, and lifting his hands in a helpless gesture, he said in a jocular manner, ”I am your devoted slave and always will be.”
His joking tone and his exaggerated words made her laugh out loud, and she exclaimed, ”Oh don't be silly, Hugo! I'm just another girl, and there are several of us in this house.”
Leaning toward her, wanting to breathe in the intoxicating scent of her yet again, he said, ”I'll tell you a secret ... it's Dulcie who's really enslaved me.”
This comment made her laugh even more, and then she murmured, ”You haven't told me what you want me to help you with.”
”Ah yes, that's perfectly true.” Adopting a more serious tone, he explained, ”Last night Aunt Gwendolyn told me there is a house I should see nearby, that I should go there this afternoon. And I was wondering if you would accompany me? I think a second pair of eyes is always necessary, and most helpful, especially when looking at bricks and mortar. Don't you agree?”
”I do indeed, and I will certainly come with you. What is it called?”
”Whernside House, and it was the home of Lady Muschamp, widow of a local politician and member of Parliament. She died, a few months ago. Her daughter told Aunt Gwendolyn she would sell to me, if I wanted it.”