Daisy nodded. “Aye—I patted her hand, and her cheek.”
“Her cheek—was it cold? Do you remember?”
Daisy looked up at him, frowning as she thought. Then she nodded. “Aye, you’re right. Her cheek was cold. Didn’t think anything of her hands—they always were cold. But her cheek…yeah, it was cold.” She blinked at Tristan. “Does that mean she’d been dead for a while?”
Tristan straightened. “It means it’s likely she died some hours ago. Sometime in the night.” He hesitated, then asked, “Did she ever wander at night? Do you know?”
Daisy shook her head. She’d stopped crying. “Not that I ever knew. She never mentioned such a thing.”
Tristan nodded, stepped back. “We’ll take care of Miss Timmins.”
His gaze included Leonora. She stood, too, but glanced back at Daisy. “You’d best stay here. Not just for today, but tonight, too.” She saw Neeps, her uncle’s valet, hovering, concerned. “Neeps, you can help Daisy get her things after luncheon.”
The man bowed. “Indeed, miss.”
Tristan waved Leonora before him; she led him out of the kitchen. In the front hall they found Jeremy waiting.
He looked distinctly pale. “Is it true?”
“It must be, I’m afraid.” Leonora went to the hall stand and lifted down her cloak. Tristan had followed her; he took it from her hands.
He held it, and looked down at her. “I don’t suppose I can convince you to wait with your uncle in the library?”
She met his gaze. “No.”
He sighed. “I thought not.” He draped the cloak about her shoulders, then reached around her to open the front door.
“I’m coming, too.” Jeremy followed them out onto the porch, then down the winding path.
They reached the front door of Number 16; Daisy had left it on the latch. Pushing the door wide, they entered.
The scene was exactly as Leonora had imagined it from Daisy’s words. Unlike their house with its wide front hall with the stairs at the rear facing the front door, here, the hall was narrow and the head of the stairs was above the door; the foot of the stairs was at the rear of the hall.
That was where Miss Timmins lay, crumpled like a rag doll. Just as Daisy had said, there seemed little doubt life had left her, but Leonora went forward. Tristan had halted ahead of her, blocking the hall; she put her hands on his back and gently pushed; after an instant’s hesitation, he moved aside and let her through.
Leonora crouched by Miss Timmins. She was wearing a thick cotton nightgown with a lacy wrapper clutched around her shoulders. Her limbs were twisted awkwardly, but decently covered; a pair of pink slippers were on her narrow feet.
Her lids were closed, the fading blue eyes shut away. Leonora brushed back the thin white curls, noted the extreme fragility of the papery skin. Taking one tiny claw-like hand in hers, she looked up at Tristan as he paused beside her. “Can we move her? There seems no reason to leave her like this.”
He studied the body for a moment; she got the impression he was fixing its position in his memory. He glanced up the stairs, all the way to the top. Then he nodded. “I’ll lift her. The front parlor?”
Leonora nodded, released the bony hand, rose and went to open the parlor door. “Oh!”
Jeremy, who’d gone past the body, past the hall table with the breakfast tray and onto the kitchen stairs, came back through the swinging door. “What is it?”
Speechless, Leonora simply stared.
With Miss Timmins in his arms, Tristan came up behind her, looked over her head, then nudged her forward.
She came to with a start, then hurried to straighten the cushions on the chaise. “Put her here.” She glanced around at the wreck of the once fastidiously neat room. Drawers were pulled out, emptied on the rugs. The rugs themselves had been pulled up, slung aside. Some of the ornaments had been smashed in the grate. The pictures on the walls, those still on their hooks, hung crazily. “It must have been thieves. She must have heard them.”
Tristan straightened from laying Miss Timmins gently down. With her limbs extended and her head on a cushion, she looked to be simply fast asleep. He turned to Jeremy, standing in the open doorway, looking around in amazement. “Go to Number 12 and tell Gasthorpe that we need Pringle again. Immediately.”
Jeremy lifted his gaze to his face, then nodded and left.
Leonora, fussing with Miss Timmins’s nightgown, rearranging her wrapper as she knew she would have liked, glanced up at him. “Why Pringle?”
Tristan met her gaze, hesitated, then said, “Because I want to know if she fell, or was pushed.”