Free Death in a Scarlet Coat by David Dickinson Page A

doctor appeared and then the child going before he had time to open his bag.
    The doctor took Dr Miller’s pulse and checked his breathing and all the other futile things doctors do by the bedsides of those they know are passing away. Their performancebecomes a ritual to give comfort to the living rather than the dying.
    ‘It could be any time, Mrs Baines,’ he said finally, ‘or he could linger on till tomorrow. I don’t think he will wake again but I could be wrong. You have nothing to reproach yourself with – you have looked after him very well. Don’t worry, Mrs Baines, I’ll see myself out. Your place is here, I feel. Not long to go now.’
    At half past ten the breathing became very shallow. Just after eleven Dr Miller breathed his last. Mrs Baines made sure he was gone and then she cried. She always cried when they left her. Then she went downstairs to send for all the people she had to involve now: the police and the undertakers and the solicitor. She made some more tea. She knew that Dr Miller had written a very short note to the lawyer early yesterday evening. She remembered suddenly the visitor from the evening before who wanted to call in the afternoon. Strange, Mrs Baines said to herself, he seemed a well-spoken man, the doctor’s visitor, but he never left his name.
     
    Detective Inspector Blunden firmly but politely rebuffed all Lord Candlesby’s proposals after they had been escorted into the saloon on the first floor. The three eldest brothers were waiting there. On the way up Powerscourt’s eye had fallen on a ceramic pig with only three legs and a stag on the walls whose left eye had fallen out. He was astonished at the general air of chaos the Candlesbys seemed to live in.
    ‘Lord Powerscourt and I’, Blunden said, ‘are looking into possible irregularities concerning the death of the previous Earl.’
    Very sorry, but no, it would not be convenient to interview all three brothers together even if that might be quicker. Afraid it would not suit to question the two younger brothers Henry and Edward at the same time. Very much regret,but it would not be possible to interview the new Lord Candlesby first, before his brothers.
    ‘Dammit, Constable, or whatever you’re called,’ Richard was beginning to lose his temper, ‘this is not satisfactory. This is my house and I make the rules round here.’
    ‘That’s as maybe,’ replied Blunden firmly, ‘but I represent the law. I ask the questions round here and I talk to people in the order I want.’
    ‘And my colleague here’, said Powerscourt in his most emollient voice, ‘is a Detective Inspector, not a constable. Just thought we should get our facts straight.’
    ‘Now then,’ said Blunden, ‘could we talk to Lord Henry first of all, if we could?’
    The second brother shuffled over and draped himself across a chair by the window. The other two had disappeared.
    ‘Thank you very much for agreeing to talk to us,’ said Blunden pleasantly. ‘Could I ask you to cast your mind back to the morning of the hunt? Friday October the eighth, I believe it was.’
    ‘Of course,’ said Henry.
    ‘Can you recall’, asked Blunden, observing with amazement that Powerscourt was busily writing notes of the interview in a large notebook, ‘at what point or at what time you realized that a body on a horse was coming towards the house?’
    ‘I don’t know about the time,’ said Henry doubtfully. ‘I do know the stirrup cup was almost finished. Pity that, it was a cold morning.’ He laughed nervously.
    ‘Let me repeat the question. Can you remember when exactly you realized that a horse with something draped across it was coming up the road towards the house?’
    ‘I think it must have been when Richard – my brother – went down to meet Jack Hayward. He is the chief groom and he had brought the horse with the body. Richard diverted the horse towards the stables. Everybody else wenthome. My brother Edward and I went back to the house. It