servants about their whereabouts the morning of the murder and gathering information about Fenwick Jones.
No one stood out as a possible suspect, but he had learned more about the man himself.
Jones had been hired on at Thornfield by the previous owner of the estate, a minor poet who had rather famously lost the house and grounds in a card game, which was how Lord Valentine came into possession of it.
Like Eversham himself, Jones was the younger son of a gentleman—in the dead man’s case, his father was a classics scholar who had been cut off for making a love match of which his family hadn’t approved.
Jones had been close to a local squire’s family, where he had learned the rudiments of running an estate, and with a letter of character from the man in hand, had come to Cumbria from his native Norfolk to take the position at Thornfield.
Though the servants in the house hadn’t known the man well, they seemed to like him, and he’d endeared himself to the housekeeper to such a degree that she’d shed tears while speaking of him. Of course, Eversham didn’t know the woman well enough to tell whether this was a common occurrence for her, but her emotion seemed genuine enough to him.
After an initial survey of the household, mindful of what Lady Katherine had told him about the argument with the stationer, Green, he’d set out on foot for Lewiston.
Like all of the country hereabouts, the path leading into the village was tree lined and picturesque, with the rolling hills punctuated with neatly bordered pastures dotted with sheep. The path itself was flanked on either side by a rustic stone wall that looked as if it might have emerged from the very ground.
Eversham had lived in London for so long, he’d forgotten how to enjoy the pleasures of the countryside. He found the hum of street vendors, the clatter of hooves, and the roar of the underground comforting in a way that the eerie quiet of the green fields and dramatic hills was not.
Even so, he had to admit that the air here was cleaner, and without the soot of London factories, he could see the sky above and the world around him in a way that was impossible in town.
His position with the Metropolitan Police had made it possible for him to see more of England than he’d have dreamt of as a boy, and while he could appreciate the variety of landscapes and vistas, he was never happier than when he got back to the city—dirt and all.
Once he made it into the village itself, he noted with interest just how many tourists—identified by their guidebooks and maps in hand—crowded into the narrow streets. He wouldn’t have thought it possible for a stranger to go unnoticed in such a small village, but he hadn’t accounted for the fact that this area, because of its geography and having been made famous by the Lake Poets, was a destination for travelers from all over the world.
Was it possible that the killer had hidden among these visitors? The locals, so used to having their environs invaded by unfamiliar faces, would hardly have noticed one more among them.
It was a possibility that would make his job more difficult, but Eversham was determined not to let this killer slip past him again.
With that in mind, he made his way toward the stationer’s, which was easy to find, given the size of the town, situated as it was between the bustling inn and a leather merchant’s shop.
As he neared the shop, he saw a group from Thornfield approaching, with Barton, the American, leading the way, followed by Lord Valentine, Lady Katherine, Mr. Thompson, and Miss Barton.
He’d disliked the industrialist on sight, not only because of his general air of superiority but also because the fellow’s greedy eyes were frequently pointed in the direction of Lady Katherine’s generous bosom. The man was a boor and a buffoon. Eversham did try not to let his personal prejudices get in the way of an investigation, but he would have dearly loved to be a civilian for ten minutes so he could give Barton the tongue-lashing he deserved.
Unfortunately, he was still an officer of the law and had been unable to find a flaw in the man’s account of his whereabouts the day of the murder. Thus he would have to shield Lady Katherine from the man with means other than a verbal warning.
Even now he could see that the