Midnight at Marble Arch - By Anne Perry Page 0,98

to the other.

“Did you yourself go to bed, Mr. Luckett?”

“No, sir. I went for a walk. I know some of the younger servants, girls, went to the servants’ quarters before I left, and the housekeeper was sitting up with a pot of tea. The cook was doing something in the kitchen, I believe.” He was twisting his hands. He knew, as did the rest of the court, what was coming next.

In the gallery no one moved.

“Did Mrs. Quixwood send for you?” Bower asked.

“No … no, sir.”

“But you did return to the front of the house? What time would that have been?”

“I … can’t say, sir. I didn’t look at the clock. It was late.”

“Why did you go back after Mrs. Quixwood had expressly dismissed you?”

“I returned from my walk and saw the lights still on, sir. It was a lot later than Mrs. Quixwood usually retired. I thought she must have forgotten to turn them down. And … and I wished to check the front door a last time.”

“Would you tell us what you found, Mr. Luckett?” Bower looked grave. He was an excellent prosecutor. It flickered through Narraway’s mind that he would also have been a good undertaker. He had an expression made for disaster.

Luckett gulped. “I—I went into the vestibule and I saw … I saw Mrs. Quixwood lying on the floor. For an instant I thought she had slipped and fallen, perhaps fainted.” He was not looking at Bower but at some terrible memory within himself. “She was sort of … sprawled out, on her side. There … her … her clothes were torn and there was blood on the floor. I bent to touch her and I could see that she was … dead.”

“What did you do then, Mr. Luckett?” Bower said gently.

“I—I sent the footman for the police. Then I went back into the housekeeper’s room and informed her of what I had found.”

“Thank you, Mr. Luckett,” Bower said gravely. “Did you let anyone into the house that evening, before Mrs. Quixwood’s death? Did you hear the doorbell ring, or were you made aware in any way of anyone entering the premises?”

Luckett stared at him with the same expression of revulsion he might have worn had he discovered a caterpillar in his dinner.

“No, sir, I did not.”

Bower raised his eyebrows. “Then how did any visitor gain entrance?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“But you locked the door before leaving for your walk?” Bower would not allow him to evade the issue.

“Yes, sir.”

“So who unlocked the door and let in whoever attacked Mrs. Quixwood?”

Luckett said nothing.

“You did place the bolts in their sockets, did you not?” Bower insisted.

“Yes, sir. Mr. Quixwood expected to be very late from his function. When that happens he stays at his club.” Luckett looked as if he were having teeth drawn.

“Just so,” Bower agreed. “So who let in the man who raped Mrs. Quixwood and beat her?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Must she not have let him in herself?” Bower demanded.

“It would seem so,” Luckett said very quietly.

“Thank you.” Bower turned to Symington.

Symington rose to his feet. He smiled up at Luckett.

“It does seem rather as if she let him in herself, doesn’t it?” he said ruefully. “But my learned friend has run the whole question into one. Let me rephrase it. Did Mrs. Quixwood ring for anyone to open the door? Or was there anyone else in the house who could have answered the door and let someone in, for whatever purpose?”

“No, sir.” Luckett regarded him warily.

“So Mrs. Quixwood opened the door. Is there any way to know whom she expected to be on the other side? A friend? Someone in trouble needing her counsel or help, perhaps? Even Mr. Quixwood, returning from his function earlier than he had expected? Or someone with an urgent message?”

“Yes, sir. It could have been any of those,” Luckett agreed with relief.

“Had Mr. Quixwood ever mislaid his key?”

“He did not carry a key, sir. It was his house. He would expect one of us to answer the door. But, like I said, he had intended to spend the night at his club.”

“Quite my point.” Symington smiled dazzlingly. “You have been butler to the household for several years, and a footman before that, I believe? You must have known Mrs. Quixwood since her marriage?”

“Yes, sir.” There was warmth in Luckett’s face, swiftly followed by grief.

“My learned friend said she must have let in the man who attacked her so terribly. Do you suppose she imagined he was there for that

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