Instruments of Darkness by Imogen Robertson Read Free Book Online Page B

knife that hovered still in front of her. ‘Whereas if you were to cut my throat,’ she told him, ‘the wound would most likely be angled upwards, given your superior height.’

    He bowed and moved carefully away.

     
    Mrs Westerman stood a little apart as Crowther looked for evidence of a break in the lower limbs of the corpse. He opened the flesh to expose the bone from knee to ankle. Again he felt the sweat slowly gathering at his neck. The bone in both legs was solid and clean. ‘Harriet did not speak as he worked, merely nodding as he showed her that the bones were true. He felt her attention as he folded the flesh back over the leg and with a curved needle of his own design knitted the skin back together with silk. It was neatly done, and some part of him expected to be praised for it, but when he looked up, he saw that her mind was already elsewhere.

    ‘This was a cowardly attack,’ she said.

    ‘To cut someone’s throat from behind, in the night? Yes, that is cowardice - or desperation. You never believed this was an affair of honour, I think.’

    ‘I did not, but I have been thinking further as you sliced up his shins. The murder was done swiftly, quietly. There is no sign to suggest this was done in the heat of the moment, in a fight or argument.’

    ‘Though words may have been exchanged and the murderer returned.’

    ‘Perhaps. In either case the murder was done, and the note taken ... the note - but not the ring. It was not hard to find and it indicates a connection to the family at Thornleigh Hall. If the murder was done with an aim to secrecy, as the wound indicates, why not take the ring and conceal the body, at least to some degree?’

    Crowther walked to the ewer and found himself briefly confused about how to wash his hands without getting matter on the water jug. Harriet came over and lifted it to pour over his wrists. He worked the blood free from his short nails, then took up a fresh cloth and began to dry his fingers, looking up into the shadowed roofspace above them. Harriet moved away to cover the body again.

    ‘Perhaps the murderer was disturbed,’ he said to the empty air above him.

    ‘Someone, other than the murderer, arrived to keep the appointment? That would be interesting,’ Harriet mused, then continued with a sigh, ‘I wish we knew more about this man, Crowther. Neither rich nor poor, tall nor short. He is a blank.’

    ‘As you say, Mrs Westerman. But the clothes tell us something. It is they that convince me this man is not Alexander Thornleigh—’

    ‘The Honourable Alexander Thornleigh - Viscount Hardew to give him his proper title. One should address an Earl’s son properly, even in absentia .’

    ‘I stand corrected,’ he said, then continued, ‘As I was saying, the contrast between cloak and waistcoat convinces me more than the soundness of his leg bones or even his brother’s word. This is a man who would spend a large amount of money on a waistcoat, but not his travelling cloak. That speaks of one who wishes to pretend in company that he has more money than his cloak tells us he has, yet Mr Thornleigh, from what you tell me, has abandoned for fifteen years great rank and fortune.’

    Harriet looked at Crowther for a long time, considering, then threw up her hands.

    ‘For a man so unwilling to look his fellow creatures in the eye, you are a subtle student of psychology,’ she declared, and he bowed.

    There was a gentle knock at the door, and Dido put her face around the opening. Seeing the body covered, her expression became less fearful and she came far enough into the room to drop a curtsy to them.

    ‘Excuse me, ma’am. The Squire has returned from the village and Cook is ready to serve dinner.’

    ‘We shall come in at once.’ The maid let the door drop behind her. Harriet turned back to Crowther with a half-smile.

    ‘Well, it seems we have had all the private dealings with this poor wretch that we may expect. I suppose we’d better