“Which of you is Mr. Quixwood?” he said quietly, his voice cracking a little as though his throat was tight.
“I am,” Quixwood answered. “Rawdon Quixwood.”
“Inspector Knox, sir,” the man answered. “I’m very sorry indeed.”
Quixwood started to say something, then lost the words.
Knox looked at Narraway, clearly trying to work out who he was and why he had come.
“Victor Narraway. I happened to be with Mr. Quixwood when the police found him. I’ll be of any help I can.”
“Thank you, Mr. Narraway. Good of you, sir.” Knox turned back to Quixwood again. “I’m sorry to distress you, sir, but I need you to take a very quick look at the lady and confirm that it is your wife. The butler said that it is, but we’d prefer it if you … you were to …”
“Of course,” Quixwood replied. “Is she …?”
“In the inner hall, sir. We’ve covered her with a sheet. Just look at her face, if you don’t mind.”
Quixwood nodded and walked a little unsteadily through the double doors. He glanced to his left and stopped, swaying a little, putting out his hand as if reaching for something.
Narraway went after him in half a dozen strides, ready to brace him if he were to stagger.
The body of Catherine Quixwood was lying sprawled, slightly on its side, mostly facedown, on the wooden parquet floor, all of her concealed by the bedsheet thrown over her, except her face. Her long, dark hair was loose, some of it fallen over her brow, but it did not hide the bloody bruises on her cheek and jaw, or the split lip stained scarlet by the blood that had oozed from her mouth. In spite of that it was possible to see that she had been a beautiful woman.
Narraway felt a knot of shock and sorrow that he had not expected. He had not known her when she was alive, and she was far from the first person he had seen who had been killed violently. Without thinking, he reached out and grasped Quixwood’s arm, holding him hard. The other man was totally unresisting, as if he were paralyzed.
Narraway pushed him very gently. “You don’t need to stay here. Just tell Knox if it is her, and then go into the withdrawing room or your study.”
Quixwood turned to face him. His skin was ashen. “Yes, yes, of course you’re right. Thank you.” He looked beyond him to Knox. “That is my wife. That is Catherine. Can I … I mean … do you have to leave her there like that? On the floor? For God’s sake.” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I suppose you do.”
Knox’s face was pinched with grief. “Mr. Narraway, sir, perhaps if you would take Mr. Quixwood into the study.” He indicated the direction with his hand. “I’ll ask the butler to bring brandy for both of you.”
“Of course.” Narraway guided Quixwood to the door Knox had indicated.
The room would have been pleasant and comfortable at any other time. The season being early summer, there was no fire lit in the large hearth, and the curtains were open onto the garden. The lamps were already lit. Possibly Knox and his men had searched the house.
Quixwood sank into one of the large leather-covered armchairs, burying his face in his hands.
Almost immediately a footman appeared with a silver tray holding a decanter of brandy and two balloon glasses. Narraway thanked him. He poured one and gave it to Quixwood, who took it and swallowed a mouthful with a wince, as if it had burned his throat.
Narraway did not take one himself. He looked at Quixwood, who was almost collapsed in the chair.
“Would you like me to ask this man Knox what happened, as far as they can tell?” he offered.
“Would you?” Quixwood asked with a flash of gratitude. “I … I don’t think I can bear it. I mean … to look at her … like that.”
“Of course.” Narraway went to the door. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Is there anyone you would like me to telephone? Family? A friend?”
“No,” Quixwood answered numbly. “Not yet. I have no immediate family and Catherine …” He took a shaky breath. “Catherine’s sister lives in India. I’ll have to write to her.”
Narraway nodded and went out into the hallway, closing the door softly behind him.
Knox was standing beyond the body, closer to the outside doors. He turned as Narraway’s movement caught his eye.