She thought back, added the months. “Two years and four months ago.”
“In that case, there’s nothing to say he wasn’t killed on that day. He was last seen here, wasn’t he?”
She felt the cold intensifying; slowly, she nodded. “Yes. By me.” She met Barnaby’s gaze, then looked at Gerrard. “I was the last person to speak with him…just like with Mama.”
Barnaby frowned. “Yes, well, that hardly means you killed them, does it?”
His tone, one of dismissive reasonableness, had her-and Gerrard, too-looking at him.
Barnaby’s frown deepened. “What?”
Gerrard shook his head. “Never mind that now. What else have you deduced?”
Barnaby grimaced. “Thomas was killed with a rock. A largish one.” With his hands, he outlined an object about twelve inches square. “About that size. Someone picked it up, and smashed it down on the back of his skull.”
Jacqueline swallowed. But Thomas was dead; he’d died long ago, and she needed to learn how. “I walked with him along the path to the stables. We parted just inside the Garden of Hercules and he went on. Why…how did he end up in the Garden of Hades? It’s quite some distance away.”
“Indeed.” Barnaby tapped the chair arm, then glanced at Jacqueline. “You parted just inside the Garden of Hercules-meaning some way before, and out of sight of, the junction with the side path, the one that follows the northern ridge through Hercules, Demeter, Dionysius and so to Hades.”
She nodded. “I wasn’t supposed to go beyond the terrace, but I walked just a little way-the path’s open until the edge of the Garden of Hercules.”
“Right.” Barnaby straightened. “So someone could have met Thomas deeper in the Garden of Hercules without you knowing.”
She frowned. “Yes, that’s true.”
“Would you have heard if he spoke with someone?”
“Not if you mean near the other path-by the time he reached there, I would have been back on the terrace. I wouldn’t have known he’d met someone unless he called out, and possibly not even then-the wind usually blows the other way.”
“I doubt he called out.”
“Why do you say that?” Gerrard asked.
“Because…well, Thomas was quite tall, wasn’t he?”
Jacqueline nodded; she glanced at Gerrard. “As tall as Gerrard, but thinner.”
“Yes, well, from the damage to his skull, whoever hit him was standing close behind him, possibly somewhat higher than he. I don’t think that would happen very easily unless that someone was a man Thomas knew.”
Gerrard saw the color drain from Jacqueline’s face. “A man-not a woman?”
Barnaby blinked. “A woman?” He considered, gaze distant, then shook his head. “I can’t see it-whoever lifted that rock had to be quite strong. Just grasping a rock that size would be difficult for most women. And as Thomas was tall, then even standing above him on the steepest stretch of the path, they’d have had to lift the rock high to bring it down with such force.” He refocused on Gerrard’s face. “A single blow, it was.”
A small, distressed sound escaped Millicent.
Coloring, Barnaby glanced at her. “Sorry. But, well, it couldn’t have been a woman-no ordinary woman, anyway. A giantess might have done it, but unless Thomas was acquainted with one hereabouts, well…” Barnaby smiled apologetically, clearly attempting to lighten the moment.
“You’re saying,” Gerrard reiterated, “that Thomas was killed by a man, almost certainly a man he knew.”
Barnaby nodded. “That seems the only reasonable conclusion.”
The drawing room doors opened. Barnaby and Gerrard rose as Lord Tregonning and an older gentleman they hadn’t previously met came in. Jacqueline swung her legs down; Gerrard gave her his hand and helped her to her feet. He didn’t like her pallor, or the way she stiffened; he wound her arm with his and settled her hand on his sleeve, his hand covering hers. Millicent rose, too, and moved to stand on Jacqueline’s other side.
The gentleman bowed to Millicent and Jacqueline, who curtsied.
Lord Tregonning waved at Barnaby and Gerrard. “This is Mr. Adair, who found the body, and Mr. Debbington, another guest. Sir Godfrey Marks, our magistrate.”
Barnaby and Gerrard shook hands with Sir Godfrey, and exchanged murmured greetings.
Sir Godfrey turned to Jacqueline. “I’m sorry to disturb you, m’dear, but your father showed me this watch, which was found on the body.” Sir Godfrey held out the watch. “Are you sure it was Thomas’s?”
The last vestige of color drained from Jacqueline’s face, along with all expression. She glanced briefly at the watch, then nodded. “I’m sure. Sir Harvey and Lady Entwhistle will recognize it.”
Sir Godfrey paused, searching her face, then he nodded and returned the watch to his pocket. “It’s a pity it’s so long ago now, but just refresh my memory-you walked with him to the stables and parted from him there?”
“No.” Jacqueline lifted her chin; Gerrard felt her fingers tighten on his sleeve. “I walked only a little way along the path-we parted where it enters the Garden of Hercules. Thomas went on, and I returned to the house.”
Sir Godfrey looked at Lord Tregonning, then glanced briefly at Jacqueline; the expression on his face looked suspiciously like pity. “So you were the last here to see him alive?”
Gerrard felt her fingers flutter beneath his, but her chin set; her expression remained impassive.
“Yes.”
Portentously, Sir Godfrey nodded, then turned to Lord Tregonning. “We’ll leave it at that.” His tone was heavy. “I’ll speak to the Entwhistles and let them know. Could have been gypsies or vagabonds, of course. No sense pursuing it-nothing will bring poor young Entwhistle back.”
Lord Tregonning’s face remained set and unresponsive. “As you wish.” His voice was devoid of emotion. He didn’t look at Jacqueline, or any of them, but stiffly returned Sir Godfrey’s nod and turned with him to the doors.
Jaw slack with amazement, incomprehension in his eyes, Barnaby stared at Gerrard, then glanced at Jacqueline. Before Gerrard could react, Barnaby started after the two men; he touched Sir Godfrey’s arm. “Sir Godfrey, about the circumstances of this death-”
Sir Godfrey halted. He frowned fiercely at Barnaby. “I don’t believe we need to delve deeper into that, sir.” He glanced fleetingly at Jacqueline, then met Barnaby’s gaze. “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you you’re a guest here. No point creating unnecessary distress-a sad occurrence, but there’s nothing more to be done.”
With that deliberate and emphatic verdict, Sir Godfrey nodded curtly, and departed, Lord Tregonning beside him.
Astounded, Barnaby stared after them.
When the door shut, he turned. “What the devil was that about?” He looked at Gerrard, then transferred his affronted gaze to Jacqueline. “The bounder behaved as if you’d killed Thomas! Why on earth would he think that?”
Gerrard felt the stiffness go out of Jacqueline; with a helpless gesture, she sank unsteadily down; he eased her back onto the chaise. “Because,” he said, his tone lethal, cutting, “too many people hereabouts believe Jacqueline killed her mother, so why not Thomas, as well?”
“What?” Barnaby stared at him, past incredulous. Then he looked at Jacqueline. “But that’s ludicrous. You couldn’t have killed your mother.”
Gerrard fleetingly closed his eyes and thanked the gods for Barnaby. Opening them, he saw Jacqueline, color returning to her cheeks, staring at his friend. She’d been taken aback when he’d seen her innocence, but for someone with no real connection or interest in her to so clearly declare it…she was dumbfounded.
Gerrard voiced the question he knew was in her mind. “Why do you say that-why ludicrous? Why couldn’t Jacqueline have killed her mother?”