Death at Balfefield Abbey

Chapter 9, Cashelroe, 1903

Before he bid farewell to Doctor Scott, Keating sought from him directions to Balfefield Abbey and hired a pony and trap from the town's only livery stable. The summer's heat made it an unpleasant journey. Even when he stripped down to his shirtsleeves, he sweated profusely and began to wonder if he should have waited until the afternoon to travel when it would be a little cooler.

On ringing the bell, the front door was eventually opened by a footman, also in shirtsleeves but not nearly as flustered by the heat, who asked what business he had at the Abbey.

"My name is Keating," he said. "Inspector Keating of the Dublin Metropolitan Police. I'm here to speak with Captain Darley."

"Have you an appointment with the captain?" asked the footman, although it was clear from his facial expression, that he was quite sure the policeman did not.

"I'm here on police business. Is the captain in, or isn't he?"

The footman hesitated a moment, unsure what to answer, before saying, "Please wait here. I'll fetch Mrs. Bennett, she's the housekeeper." He began to close the door but then thought better of it and invited the inspector to step inside.

Mrs. Bennett, when she appeared, was a surprise. She was younger than he had expected, given her position in the household. Tall with long, dark hair, the brightness of the day highlighted her greenish eyes. She broke into a warm but cautious smile as she extended her hand to take his warrant card for inspection.

"How can we help you, Inspector?" she said while handing back the card. Her voice was assured, and her accent distinctly English. "Have there been developments in the case? Is that why you're here?"

"I wish to speak with Captain Darley and then, perhaps, one or two others who are material witnesses."

"We have all been questioned by the police on a number of occasions. Is this absolutely necessary?"

"Yes, it is," said Keating, unable to completely hide his impatience.

"Of course, Inspector," said Mrs. Bennett. "The captain is in the study. Let me take you there." Then addressing the footman, "Please see to it the inspector's pony is fed and watered."

"You'll have to forgive Albert," she said when the young man was out of earshot. "He hasn't yet acquired the necessary tact for greeting unexpected visitors. Our previous butler left us suddenly and it's proved difficult to recruit a new one. It seems few people are interested in working here while the death of Mrs. Darley continues to feature so prominently in the newspapers."

"This butler," said Keating, "when did he leave your service?"

Mrs. Bennett stopped and turned to face him. Her lips hinted at that intelligent but cautious smile again. "Why, he must have left us about two months ago. Arnold Thompson was his name. Now, he works in Dublin, I believe."

"So, he left his employment here some three or four weeks before the murder."

"Yes, that sounds about right. Is that of any significance, Inspector?"

"Probably not," said Keating, "but I would be obliged if you would provide me with his current address." Mentally, he noted that no statement from the butler had been included in the files passed on to him by the sergeant.

Like everything else he had seen so far in Balfefield Abbey, the study was expensively well-appointed. Portraits hung on the walls and it had an impressive library of, what Keating imagined to be largely unread books. The room was in a part of the house without direct sunlight until evening, so it was pleasantly cool on a day such as this.

Captain Darley stood with his back to the unlit fireplace. He was a handsome man with a military bearing and was smartly dressed in a waistcoat and cravat. Keating judged him to be in his late thirties or early forties and could see the first signs of grey peppering his hair and beard.