Mr. Fransemmery, utterly puzzled to know what all this was about, glanced at the detective.
“I—er—thought that Mr. Harborough fully admitted that he was up this way on Tuesday morning about four o’clock?” he observed.
“Mr. Harborough did; Mr. Harborough was up here,” agreed Blick. “There’s no question of that. But, so was another man—von Eckhardstein. It’s all—for me—a question of exact times and places. I thought that Mrs. Braxfield might have been mistaken, but as she was not, I can only congratulate her on her excellent eyesight! Oh, by the way, Mrs. Braxfield,” he added, with a smile. “There’s another matter—a pleasanter one—-on which I must congratulate you! I heard in the village, just before I came up, of the event which you had announced. I wish your daughter every happiness in her new station; from what I’m told she’ll fill it admirably.”
“Why, thank you, I think she will, and I’m much obliged to you,” responded Mrs. Braxfield. “But that’ll be so much Greek to Mr. Fransemmery—you don’t know what he’s talking about, Mr. Fransemmery, do you?
“I—I think I do, Mrs. Braxfield,” replied Mr. Fransemmery. “I—the fact is, just before coming out, I had a visit from Miss Markenmore. She told me that her brother, now Sir Henry Markenmore, was married to your daughter, and that he intends to make public announcement of the fact to his kinsfolk and his solicitor tomorrow, after the sad ceremony of which we are all aware is over. But—er—I understood that no other announcement had yet been made?”
“Did you?” exclaimed Mrs. Braxfield, a little contemptuously. “No doubt you would—from Valencia Markenmore! But they have me to reckon with, Mr. Fransemmery, and I intend that my daughter, Lady Markenmore, shall occupy her rightful position tomorrow! She’ll get home here tonight from London, where she’s been staying with friends—I expect her from Selcaster station about eleven o’clock. She’s coming by the last train, and tomorrow morning she’ll assume her proper place at Markenmore Court. As to whether she attends the funeral ceremonies of Sir Anthony and Mr. Guy she and her husband, Sir Harry, can decide; I’m nothing to do with that, Mr. Fransemmery. What I have to do with is making sure that my daughter, now that she is Lady Markenmore, is in her proper position as mistress of Markenmore Court when its late master is carried out for burial!”
Mr. Fransemmery made no immediate reply. He was conscious now that the ground had been cut from under his feet; there was no chance of fulfilling his promise to Valencia. Evidently, the new Lady Markenmore’s mother had assumed responsibility, mounted her high horse, and had her own way.
“I sincerely hope the young people will be happy,” he said lamely. “I—er—trust so!”
“Be their own fault if they aren’t!” declared Mrs. Braxfield sharply. “What’s to prevent it? I shan’t! I’ve been uncommonly good to them—especially to him; far more so than most mothers would have been in similar circumstances, I assure you, Mr. Fransemmery. You don’t know everything!”
“I know next to nothing, ma’am,” protested Mr. Fransemmery. “I am just acquainted with the bare fact of the marriage.”