“When did this happen?”
“Yesterday evening, before dinner.”
“And if I ask your wife, she’ll confirm this?”
“Of course.”
Mrs. Parrish was summoned. As they waited, Parrish asked whether the constable had many questions for Caroline. “She’s been unwell today. I hope your enquiry won’t tax her too greatly?”
“Of course not, sir. I’ll be quick about it.”
Bingley led Caroline into the drawing room. She appeared sleepy and slightly disoriented. Parrish immediately crossed to her and helped her to a seat beside him on the sofa. He took her left hand in both of his.
“Darling, this man is concerned about the marks on my face. I told him about that silly little accident yesterday when you happened to scratch me. Remember?”
Caroline nodded.
“I assured him the injury wasn’t intentional.”
“No,” she said groggily.
“Mrs. Parrish, may I see your ring?”
Caroline appeared not to have heard the constable. Parrish lifted her hand and held it toward him.
“That’s indeed quite a ring.” The constable peered at it closely. “Hmm — looks like there are even a few bits of skin still caught in there. You need to be a little more careful, Mrs. Parrish, or your husband’ll have to buy you smaller jewels in self-defense.”
Parrish laughed politely, then turned serious once more. “As you can see, my wife is still very tired. May I escort her back upstairs now?”
“Certainly.”
He rose and assisted Caroline in doing the same. As they headed toward the door, the constable stopped him with one last question. “Mr. Parrish, you don’t by chance know what a pentagram is, do you?”
Parrish furrowed his brows. “That’s some sort of star symbol, right? Has something to do with witchcraft? Professor Randolph no doubt knows. I’d ask him more about it.”
“Thank you. I will.”
_______
Hurst entered the drawing room and went straight for the sherry decanter. Darcy intercepted him. He wanted at least the start of the interview to be conducted while Hurst was still sober.
“Allow me, Hurst.” He lifted the carafe and, with slowness visibly excruciating to the other gentleman, poured half a glass of wine. He did not immediately hand it over. “Please, have a seat.”
Hurst regarded Darcy uncertainly, then glanced to the other men. Elizabeth he ignored entirely. “What’s this? What’s going on here?”
“Nothing alarming, Hurst,” Bingley reassured him. “The constable just has a few questions for all of us about last night. He’s trying to figure out what happened to Mr. Kendall, and he’s hoping one of us saw something that can help him piece it all together.”
Hurst remained standing. “I don’t know anything about it. Didn’t even know the man, except for meeting him during his visit here.”
Darcy handed him the sherry. “Did you not play billiards with him?”
“Once.”
“What did you talk about?”
Hurst drained the glass. “Fox hunting. Shooting. He did most of the talking. Kept rambling about flushing prey out of their dens, or something or another. You know I’m not much of a sportsman, Darcy. I just let him go on.”
Darcy looked to the constable, preferring to let the official take over the questioning so as not to put himself in the role of Hurst’s antagonist.
“When did you last see Mr. Kendall?” the constable asked.
“In the billiards room. He was with Darcy when I left.”
“And where did you go?”
“To my chamber.”
“How long did you stay there?”
“All afternoon. I–I took a nap.” He swallowed hard, sending his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Might I have another glass of sherry?”
“We’re almost finished. Can you think of anybody who might have wished Mr. Kendall dead?”
Beads of perspiration formed on his forehead. “No, not a one.”
The constable’s gaze flickered to Hurst’s waistcoat. “I’m told you carry a pocketknife. Is that true?”
Hurst’s eyes narrowed. “Yes — lots of gentlemen do. What of it?”
“May I see it?”
Grumbling, Hurst produced the pocketknife. The constable opened it. The blade was clean. It extended three inches, and was perhaps half an inch wide at its base.
The constable folded the knife and returned it. “Mr. Hurst, do you know what a pentagram is?”
“A what? No. I haven’t the foggiest.” He handed his glass back to Darcy with a shaking hand. “Are we done now?”
“Yes, Mr. Hurst. Thank you.”
The normally sluggish Hurst could not leave the room fast enough.
That night, Darcy entered his chamber, and his wife’s embrace, like a man seeking sanctuary. Whatever trouble surrounded them, Elizabeth’s presence brought peace to his world. How he had lived without her in the days before they met, he could scarcely remember.
She gently directed him to sit down while she rubbed the tension out of his shoulders. “Tuppence for your thoughts.”
He groaned. With her hands on his back, he ought to be able to banish all unpleasantness from his mind, but he could not. Pieces of the day kept intruding, nagging him to ponder them until he knew what had happened to Lawrence Kendall. “I cannot figure out what Randolph’s watch was doing in Kendall’s hand, or why that symbol was used. Setting those details aside for the moment, Hurst emerges as the most likely suspect. He’s the only one with a clear motive, and his claim that he passed the whole afternoon napping is hard to believe — even for Hurst. Circumstantial evidence points to him.