Page 9 of The Case of the Curate

Rupert rubbed one finger across his forehead. “I’m not sure, exactly. A few minutes after half past ten. I heard the clock strike.”

“From where?” Remington asked.

Rupert gestured vaguely behind him to the orangery.

“What were you doing in there?”

“Waiting for Dinah.”

“What time had you arranged to meet her?”

“At half past ten. I waited a while after the clock struck, maybe ten minutes or so, and then went outside to see if she was there. I meant to wait another five minutes and then go home.”

“Were you angry?” Remington asked.

A frown flickered on Rupert’s brow. “Angry? No, I assumed her duties kept her too busy. It would have been hard for her to get away when there were so many guests in the house.”

“Then why make the assignation for that time?”

“It was Dinah’s idea. I’m not under a curfew.”

“You lodge at the vicarage with Mr. and Mrs. Bancroft?”

Rupert nodded.

Remington grunted and turned back to the body, plucking at his lower lip. “Doctor on his way?”

“Kemp sent for Paxton,” Chadbon said.

“So Grande found the body and called for help,” Remington mused. “Who came?”

“Kemp.”

“And what did Kemp see?”

Chadbon shrugged impatiently. “The body. With Grande kneeling there beside it.”

“Doing what?” Remington demanded.

“Praying, apparently…” Chadbon frowned suddenly, eyeing the curate. “Though according to Kemp, his hand was hovering over the dagger.”

Remington’s gaze swung sharply back to Rupert. Beside him, Kate felt his indrawn breath.

“What the devil for?” the magistrate said.

“I was trying to decide what to do. It seemed obscene to leave it sticking out of her, but I know what happens when…” Rupert broke off, swallowing convulsively, and rubbed a palm along the length of his thigh.

“Do you know your hand is shaking?” Remington said.

“Yes,” Rupert replied. “I don’t like death.”

“Afraid you’ll see plenty of it as a clergyman, though not normally this violent. Ah, Paxton!”

Another man, presumably the doctor, walked toward them from the other side of the orangery, which stuck out from the main house like a peninsula. “Good God,” he exclaimed, stopping dead at sight of the deceased maid.

“Anything you can tell us at this point would be helpful, sir,” Remington said. “I’m sure His Lordship would take it as a favor if you left your full examination to your own premises.”

“I wouldn’t suggest anything else,” the doctor said, stripping off his gloves. He was in his forties, and inclined to plumpness, but he bowed to Chadbon and, in some surprise, to Kate, who seemed to have been forgotten by everyone else. He shrugged out of his overcoat, which Kemp took from him, and turned to his patient.