Death of a Blue Blood by 1 Donald Bain

Author:1 Donald Bain
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2014-09-18T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

You can never find a police officer when you need one, I thought, grimly searching the crowd for Mardling and Willoughby. I didn’t fool myself into thinking I’d recognize the backs of their heads in the darkened room as I skirted along the lines of chairs and behind clumps of guests who’d risen to get a better view of the fireworks presentation. I hoped Willoughby’s tall silhouette would catch my eye. But it was not to be. I reached the end of the room where the musicians were taking a break, laughing at some story. I retraced my steps, trying once more to spot the pair on my way back.

Some of the guests had gone outside to watch the fireworks. If Mardling and Willoughby were among them, I had no hope of finding them. I was not dressed for the weather, especially with snow expected.

While I’d been hunting for the officers, George and Nigel managed to wrestle one of the three-paneled filigree screens into place to shield the earl’s body and family from the gaze of guests who might turn away from the fireworks and discover what was wrong.

George was rapping out instructions to Nigel when I slipped behind the screen.

“Make sure no one touches that tray of caviar he gave you,” George said, “Good, you have gloves on. Don’t touch anything with bare hands. Lock it away somewhere until I ask you to produce it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where’s his champagne glass?”

“I believe it broke when he fell.”

“Leave it where it is, then. Don’t allow anyone to clean up.”

George looked at me questioningly, and I shook my head. He turned back to the butler. “Get Angus and some of the other lads up here to stand guard. No one is allowed to come behind this screen unless I say so.”

“Understood.”

“Perhaps you should ask the chef to bring the dessert table back to the dining room,” I said. “That way we can encourage people to go upstairs when the fireworks are over instead of lingering in the ballroom.”

“Good idea, Jessica,” George said.

“Right away, sir.” Nigel beckoned to a waiter and passed along my suggestion with instructions to do it quickly. “Anything else?” he asked George.

“I’ve told Lady Norrance that the body may not be touched until the authorities investigate the scene. We can’t know for certain, but it’s possible the earl did not die from natural causes. She and her family are welcome to retire into a private chamber if they wish, but once you’ve escorted them there, they may not leave. They must wait until the officers have a chance to put questions to them.”

While we’d been talking, the earl’s wife, mother, and children had huddled together near the body of James William Edward Grant, seventh Earl of Norrance.

His mother sat stiffly in her chair, waving away any offers of a drink and demanding people leave her alone.

Jemma knelt on the floor by her mother’s side and held her hand.

Rupert had attempted to conceal the body with his tuxedo jacket, but he managed only to cover the earl’s face and upper chest.

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