A Bitter Truth

Chapter Fourteen

I had no intention of returning to Vixen Hill. I didn’t want to spy for the police. What’s more, on our way back to Hartfield, I had all but promised Simon that I wouldn’t consider it.

But in the afternoon, Lydia Ellis came knocking at my door in The King’s Head, and when I answered, she said, “Mama Ellis was telling the truth. You are here.”

“Did you doubt her?”

“Roger swore you were still in France. That he’d run into you at one of the hospitals.”

That was close enough to the truth for his purposes.

“Yes, not surprisingly.”

I asked her to come in, and she did, looking around at my room with interest. “I’ve been to The King’s Head I don’t know how many times,” she said, “but I’ve never been in one of the rooms. It’s rather nice, isn’t it?”

For the polished wood of the floorboards was set off with a dark blue carpet and paler blue curtains accenting the chintz covering the chairs. Framed prints of hunting scenes hung on walls papered with morning glories. Nothing to compare with Vixen Hill, but quite comfortable.

“As you already know, Roger is back from France too,” she said, walking to the window to look out and then turning to face me. “He’s different, somehow. I don’t know what it is.”

“This time he hasn’t come home to watch his brother die,” I pointed out gently.

“Yes. But I’m wary, I don’t know if it’s a real difference or feigned. Or my wishful thinking.” She was pacing again, back and forth, back and forth.

“Are you asking me whether you should stay here with me for the duration of his leave?”

“Will you come back to Vixen Hill? Margaret has been asked to return as well, and she’s hoping the police will even summon Henry home from France. But they’ve dispensed with Eleanor and her brother. That’s odd, isn’t it?”

“The police have their own way of judging these matters,” I replied, unwilling to go farther.

“I expect they talked to her in Portsmouth, and don’t want us to know what was discussed.” She stopped by the door and touched a picture frame, straightening it. “The police asked me over and over again-even though I’d given them a statement, just as you’d done-about finding George’s body.” She toyed with another frame. “I thought they were convinced after he went missing that Davis Merrit had killed George. That was the conclusion of the inquest, for heaven’s sake. So why are they intending to look at Roger now? Because they are, aren’t they? Do you believe Roger is a murderer, Bess?”

There was fear in her eyes when finally she turned to face me. All I could do was shake my head. “I’m not the right person to ask,” I answered.

“I don’t want him to be guilty,” she said quietly. “I’ve had a lot of time to think after you left. Have you found that little girl?”

“I looked for her,” I countered. “Do you have any idea how many orphans there are in France?”

“I wonder what Roger would say, if he’d come home to find that you’d brought her with you.”

“Lydia, it’s not as simple as that. There are legal issues. She’s a citizen of France, because her mother was. Rules. Even if Roger wanted her, he would have to go through a solicitor, to find out what he was required to do. You and I would have no claim on her.”

“Yes, but I don’t see why that should stop you from looking for her.”

“No, of course not.”

She sighed. “You’d think, wouldn’t you, that everyone would be glad to find that she has a good home.”

“Lydia. You do realize that if George knew what he was saying, that this child is the image of Juliana, will you be comfortable bringing her into your home? Mrs. Ellis will see her dead daughter in yours, and so will Gran. And Roger, of course, if he survives the war.”

“I don’t care who she looks like. I’d be grateful to have her.”

But that was easy to say now. When she hadn’t seen Sophie, as I had.

“What would you say if Roger came home with her?” I asked, curious.

She laughed, but not in amusement. “He never will. You know that. He’s ashamed of what he did, and he won’t want a constant reminder underfoot. He couldn’t have loved her mother very much, could he, or he’d have moved heaven and earth to find her.”

I couldn’t judge whether that was a consolation to Lydia or if she was seeing the relationship between her husband and the French mother of his child as she would like it to be. Not love, but lust. She could live with lust. Or so she thought now.

Yet from what Roger had told me in Rouen, it hadn’t been either love or lust, but loneliness and fear and the knowledge that for this moment, at least, they were both alive. If Roger had spoken the truth, it was never an affair.

“You’ll keep trying all the same?”

“I’ll keep trying.” I’d seen Sophie. I knew I had to.

She nodded and turned from the fire. “I have Davis’s cat. I couldn’t bear to see it put out, and of course it couldn’t stay in the cottage. He had nowhere to go, did he? Merrit? And so he couldn’t have taken his cat.”

“What did Roger have to say about that?”

She smiled sadly. “He doesn’t know. I’ve put Bluebell in the room above the hall, and she seems quite happy there. No one goes to that room, except for me. I’m not haunted by Juliana, like the others.”

And yet she had been, by her own account, when she fled to London that first time.

“Will you come back with me?” she asked. “Please?”

“I don’t know that it’s wise, Lydia.”

“Please?”

“How did you get to Hartfield? On your bicycle?”

“I learned to drive,” she told me. “I never want to feel dependent on someone else again.”

“That was clever of you,” I told her sincerely. “Lydia, let me think about it. I don’t know just what I should do.”

“I’ll bring Mrs. Ellis back with me. To help convince you.”

And with that she was gone.

I sat there by the window, watching the street below.

I’d all but promised Simon. But if I were at Vixen Hill, I could better judge the situation there. And what to do about Sophie.

Would she be better off with the nuns after all? What would it do to a child to be brought up not as herself but as the child everyone had so tragically lost?

A fter a while, I went to find Simon. He’d been out, he said, when I ran him to earth in the telephone closet.

“Have you learned anything about”-I remembered how public this telephone room was-“about our friends?”

“No news yet.”

He came out of the shallow closet and considered me.

“You look distinctly guilty.”

I laughed and pulled him around the corner to the small parlor. When we were out of hearing of the rest of the world, I said, “Lydia came to see me. She wants me to come back to Vixen Hill.”

“And you told her…?”

“That I didn’t think it was wise. She is bringing Mrs. Ellis back to Hartfield, to tell me that I’m welcomed there.”

“And now you’re having second thoughts?”

I bit my lip, trying to think how to put my reasoning into words. But of course I knew that it would have been easier if my reasoning had been sound.

Simon waited patiently. Finally I said, “It’s the little girl. Sophie. I don’t quite know what should be done about her. If her father is taken up for murder, Lydia may marry again. Would she want Sophie then? And if Sophie is left with Mrs. Ellis and Gran, will she live out her life in Juliana’s shadow?” I shrugged. “That’s very muddled.”

“In the first place,” he answered, “the child isn’t your worry. If you let her into your heart, Bess, you’ll never have any peace.”

“But you haven’t seen her,” I told him. “And I have.”

“Which makes it all the harder. I know.” He sighed. “Kittens and puppies. And now someone else’s child. What are we to do with you?”

“At least I didn’t insist on rescuing Bluebell,” I retorted. Then I realized he didn’t know who Bluebell was. “Davis Merrit’s cat.”

He laughed in spite of himself, touching my face with his hand, then he said, serious once more, “Yes, all right. But there’s another problem. I just spoke to the Colonel. I’m needed in London straightaway. It will only be for twenty-four hours. At the most a day and a half. I can’t take you with me, Rother won’t allow it, I’m sure, and yet he’s in Wych Gate, not Hartfield. Much as I dislike saying it, you might be safer in Vixen Hill than staying here in the hotel alone. What’s more, I need the motorcar. If Rother wants to speak to you, he’ll have to come to you. I wish you had that little pistol I’d given you once before.”

“I couldn’t take it to France with me,” I reminded him.

Actually, I didn’t know whether I was pleased or not to be going to Vixen Hill. And I disliked losing Simon. Still, if my father had summoned him, even in these circumstances, it must be very important indeed.

“Yes, all right. I’ll go.”

His hand dropped to my shoulder. “Be careful, Bess. Promise me you’ll take every care.”

“I shall.”

With that he was gone, and I stood there in the parlor where I had waited once before with Lydia and listened for Simon’s footsteps as he returned with his valise and then strode out the door.

I was in my room, still undecided about whether to pack or not, when there was a knock at the door. Expecting Lydia, I opened it, saying, “I’ve decided-”

But it was one of the hotel maids. She bobbed her head, then said, “There’s someone to see you in Reception, Miss. Could you please come down?”

Which sounded very much like Inspector Rother, commanding my presence.

“Yes, all right. Thank you.”

After she had gone, I stood there in my room and counted slowly to one hundred. It wouldn’t do to appear to be anxious.

But when I came down to Reception, there was no sign of Inspector Rother, and when I asked at the desk for my visitor, the woman smiled and said, “I believe he just stepped outside.”

I went to the door and opened it. To my surprise, Roger Ellis was standing there, not Inspector Rother, and even from the back I could tell that he was not in the best of moods. His shoulders were stiff with annoyance.

“Captain?” I said.

He turned. “We can’t talk here. The parlor.”

And so I found myself back in the small parlor facing an angry man.

I thought it was my fault that he was angry. For keeping him waiting, even for making it necessary for him to drive in to Hartfield to beg me to come to Vixen Hill-or perhaps even to tell me not to darken his door.

But I was wrong on all counts.

Shutting the door behind him, Roger Ellis said, “The police, damn them, are talking to my mother again. I thought this business had been settled, that it was Merrit who’d killed George and taken his watch to prove it.”

“I’d thought the same thing-” I began.

But he cut across my words, adding, “It would explain why they sent for you. You were there with her when George was found.”

“I’m not sure why Inspector Rother wished to speak to me. But yes, he asked me to go over the same ground.”

“If Merrit is dead, the case would be wide open again.”

“I suspect you’re right,” I said. “I don’t know whether or not I should tell you this, but Dr. Tilton and his wife informed the police about the exchange between you and George on that last evening. He’ll be wanting to speak to you next.”

Roger swore under his breath. “I sent you upstairs with George and the doctor to prevent just this sort of thing.”

“I’ve told you, George wouldn’t talk to him. It was what was said in the drawing room before he went up that Dr. Tilton and his wife reported to the police. It probably didn’t seem relevant to the police when Davis Merrit was under suspicion, but now-it must loom large.”

“And that will be all over Ashdown before very long. I told my mother we shouldn’t invite George. But he knew Alan, there was really no choice in the matter.”

“You don’t think the police suspect your mother?” I asked, putting it all together. “That makes no sense whatsoever.” Unless it was an effort to make her son confess.

“No, it doesn’t. But who knows which way the wind will blow before this is finished.” He hesitated. “Did you tell Lydia about Rouen? I need to know.”

“I didn’t think it was my place.”

“Thank you. I’d just as soon she didn’t know. Are you coming with me to Vixen Hill?”

“I-didn’t know how you would feel about that.”

“As long as you don’t tell her about the child, or what I said to you that night in France, there should be no problem.”

“Very well then. I haven’t begun my packing. Give me ten minutes, if you will?”

“There’s someone I want to talk to. I’ll be back. My motorcar is just outside.”

I had finished packing and went to the window to see if Captain Ellis had returned. Instead I saw him speaking to someone outside the greengrocer’s shop. And the other man was Willy. They were in earnest conversation as far as I could tell, and just then Willy broke it off and walked away.

Captain Ellis turned back toward The King’s Head, his face like a thundercloud.

I carried my own valise down to Reception and was waiting there when Captain Ellis came striding inside, as if walking off his black mood. He saw me and without a word took my valise and went out to the motorcar. I followed, and he handed me into the seat before turning the crank.

When we had reversed and were heading in the direction of the Forest, I said, “From my window I saw you speaking to the man they call Willy. What sort of person is he?”

I thought at first he would take my head off for asking.

I added, “Once when I was passing by, he looked up, and there was an odd expression in his eyes. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was. But surely not that of a half-witted vagabond. Slyness? Calculation?”

“I’ve only spoken to him once or twice before this,” Captain Ellis said, driving far too fast for the condition of the roads after so much rain. “But I think you’re right. He’s not quite what he seems. I was asking him if he was sure that Davis Merrit had given him that watch. And he was unshakable on that subject.”

“Do you know the Lieutenant? From the war, I mean? Could he have been one of your men? Or someone you saw in a dressing station?”

“No. I’d have remembered. Merrit was wounded about the same time I was. Or so my mother has told me. But we weren’t in the same sector, apparently. He was with the Buffs, I think. The Kent regiment. So far I’ve never served with them.”

“Did Lieutenant Hughes know Merrit? Or Willy?”

“If he did, he never mentioned it. Why?”

“I’m not sure. I expect I’m looking for some connection that might explain what happened. As in an old quarrel resurfacing.”

“Ridiculous.” And then he said slowly, “Yes, I see what you mean. If there was bad blood, encountering each other again might have meant trouble. Trouble that had nothing to do with the Ellis family. I wish I knew. It might help take attention away from Vixen Hill.”

We drove on in silence then, and finally ahead of us was the turning for the house. But Roger Ellis didn’t turn. He drove straight on, and I said, “Where are we going?”

“To St. Mary’s. I want you to tell me precisely what you’ve told Rother. Will you do that?”

I was suddenly wary. “I don’t know if that’s wise.”

“What harm can it do?” he asked shortly, and a silence fell again. He broke it this time.

“Will you continue to search for this child? Or will you give it up?”

“I’m not always free to come and go,” I told him honestly. “But if I can, yes.”

“I don’t see why. There’s nothing you can do about her even if you find her.”

“That’s true. I just have a feeling I ought to do this.”

He grunted wordlessly in answer.

When we came to St. Mary’s, Roger left the motorcar by the verge, and we walked through the tall wrought iron gate. I looked at the marble kitten, but it seemed to be in exactly the same place. Had Mrs. Ellis really noticed a change? I was no judge.

“I brought you here to help you remember. Was there anything unusual about the churchyard that morning?”

“It was quiet. I didn’t notice that anything had changed since we were here the day before. But when I came to the path down to the stream, I could tell that someone-something-had come that way earlier. Stems bent or broken. That was George Hughes going down, surely, and whoever had followed him.”

But he wasn’t satisfied. “There must have been something. A man had been killed here just hours before. For God’s sake, help me!”

“I wasn’t prepared to find a dead man. I wasn’t looking for signs, evidence.” Was he trying to find out whether or not I knew about the kitten? I was beginning to regret coming with him. Simon had been right, I needed to be careful.

“They took all the walking sticks at Vixen Hill. Did the police tell you what sort of weapon was used?”

I hadn’t heard that. “No. And I couldn’t see the back of his head from where I stood. Nor when I bent over him to feel for a pulse. His hair was wet, what I could see of it, and I didn’t move him.”

I think he’d forgot that I was a nurse and had seen many dead bodies before this. He glanced quickly at me, and then away.

I remembered something. “Yesterday he asked me-Inspector Rother-if your mother and I had seen birds fly up, or heard them calling, as if disturbed. But we hadn’t. And I couldn’t think why we should have done. Surely the killer wasn’t still here after all that time.”

“Not if he was wise.” Roger Ellis sighed. “All right. It was worth trying. They’ll be wondering at Vixen Hill what has kept us.” He took my elbow as we turned back across the rough grass toward the motorcar.

We were halfway there when I stopped short. “Captain Ellis.”

“I told you in France. Roger. What is it?”

“Roger. It wasn’t birds he was asking me to remember. He just used them as an example, to nudge my memory. What he wanted to know was if we’d heard a horse neighing or moving about. There are horses here and there in the Forest. But he didn’t want to put that idea into my head. Because Davis Merrit had been out riding that morning, and the horse came back without him. What if he hadn’t encountered George and killed him, as Inspector Rother wanted to believe-what if instead, quite by accident, he’d met someone else out here, and that person had not wanted to be remembered so close to where the body would eventually be found?”

“Then Merrit is dead, isn’t he? It would explain everything-sending for you and for the rest of us, having to begin the inquiry from the very start.”

“But how did the watch come into Willy’s possession? Who gave it to him? Unless Willy himself is the killer, and he was trying to throw suspicion in Davis Merrit’s direction?”

“Why would Willy kill George Hughes?” Roger Ellis asked as he closed the tall iron gates and then held my door for me. “I didn’t think they even knew each other.”

“What if they did? Inspector Rother has asked me several times if I knew any of you from France. What if the connection was there? Did George ever mention Willy to you? Did you ever see him speak to Willy?”

“No.” He cranked the motorcar and then stepped in beside me. “It’s more likely that George knew him from here, in the Forest. He lived here, remember, for much of his life. He and Malcolm.”

“But you didn’t know Willy, did you?”

He smiled grimly. “There are many people here in the Forest that I don’t know. And I’m not even certain that that’s Willy’s true name.”

“Inspector Rother called him William Pryor.”

“Pryor? I don’t know of any family in the Forest by that name. But it proves nothing. Still, you’d think if Pryor came from here, Inspector Rother would know all about him by now.”

“That’s true. Inspector Rother has told me that he suspects everyone. Even me.”

“He’s found Merrit’s body, then. I wonder where it was?”

I knew. At a place called The Pitch. But I was still wary of telling anyone too much about my conversation with the Inspector. I had a feeling he was laying a trap.

When I said nothing, Roger went on, anger in his face. “I don’t like any of this. Damn it, I left my men to come home, and they’ve been fighting. Someone told me on the ship that the Germans had tried to break through again. And I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there .”

I knew what he was feeling. Men at the Front were bound by ties that had nothing to do with blood or class or county. And a good officer wanted to be there when his men were in jeopardy. Whether he could protect them or not, he would try his best. And he was never satisfied that anyone else could fill his shoes. I’d seen badly wounded men get up and try to walk, to convince us that they were able to return to duty.

I put out a hand, before I could change my mind. “Wait. Will you go back to the churchyard with me? There’s something I want to show you.”

He stopped the motorcar. I thought he would argue with me, but he didn’t. He got down and came around to open my door.

We walked back in silence, opened the gate, and after closing it, he followed me across the cold, winter-brown grass. I stopped at his sister’s gravestone.

“Do you notice anything different here?” I asked.

Frowning, he looked carefully at the figure of the marble child, and then dropped to his haunches, squatting on an eye level with the grave.

“No. All seems as it should be.”

Watching his face carefully, I said, “Then I was wrong. I-it’s just that I thought the kitten was not in its usual place.”

He studied the kitten, almost as realistic as the little girl it kept company through all these years.

“It’s exactly where it ought to be-almost touching her fingers.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “But you did ask me to consider everything.”

“Yes, well done.” We went back to the motorcar after closing the gate a second time.

I had seen Roger Ellis’s expression. If that marble kitten had been used as the murder weapon, it wasn’t the Captain who had employed it.

And I realized all at once that he wouldn’t have. If he’d intended murder, he’d have come prepared. He wouldn’t have desecrated his sister’s grave.

We drove to Vixen Hill in silence. Roger Ellis had been pleasant enough so far, but then he’d wanted my cooperation. Time would tell whether his mood lasted or not.

Mrs. Ellis looked tired when I saw her as I walked into the hall. Inspector Rother had gone, and although she smiled and told her son that he’d just made her give the same account over and over again until she was confused and felt a headache coming on, he looked sharply at her.

“There’s more. What did he tell you?”

“Very little. Except at the end. Roger, I think the police have found Davis Merrit’s body. Something-I didn’t know quite what it was-distracted him the entire two hours. I could tell, because sometimes I had to repeat what I’d just said. Finally I asked him if there was any news of Davis Merrit’s whereabouts. If that was why he’d come back here to question me. And he said he was unable to question the Lieutenant at this time. Not that he hadn’t found him, mind you, but that he was unable to question him.”

Roger turned to me and said, “I told you!” Then he said to his mother, “Where? Where did they find him? Not here, not in the Forest. You wrote that the police had searched the Forest from one end to the other.”

“In The Pitch,” I said before I could stop myself. “I think that’s where.”

“Good God.”

Mrs. Ellis turned to me. “I don’t think you’ve been there. It’s a low saucer of land that has become quite boggy over the years, particularly in winter, with the rains. I remember Roger’s grandfather showing it to me and telling me that when the King was too old to ride, he and his men would stand in that dip of ground and wait for the deer to be driven past them.”

“Perhaps half a mile from the church. From St. Mary’s,” Roger said. “Only it’s rough going there. Still, I don’t see how-do they know how he died?”

“They never admitted he was dead. I told you,” his mother answered.

Lydia had walked into the hall. She must have seen or heard the motorcar arrive and had come down to meet me.

She stopped. “Who is dead?”

“We think it’s Davis Merrit, my dear,” Mrs. Ellis told her. “We think they’ve found him at last.”

Her face lost its color. “Oh, I’m so sorry. He had handled his blindness so well. It was amazing to me how he got about. I never believed he killed George.” She turned to Roger. “Is this why they’ve reopened the inquiry?”

Roger Ellis had been watching his wife closely. “You must ask the police that.” He turned away, his mouth tight, and went up the stairs.

Lydia closed her eyes for a moment, then said to me with a forced smile. “I’m so glad you could come. Mama Ellis was closeted with the Inspector, and Roger volunteered to go to Hartfield in her place.”

Because he needed to be sure he could count on my silence about Rouen. But I said, “That was kind of him.”

“Yes, I told you he’d changed. Well. Let me take you up to your room. It’s the same one.”

She caught up my valise and was holding the door as I thanked Mrs. Ellis for letting me stay.

She said, a sadness in her eyes, “We’re all in this together, aren’t we? I can’t help but wonder where it will end.”

With the arrest of her son? Or was she fearful for herself?

I followed Lydia up the stairs. On the landing, we encountered Gran. She looked at me with surprise and displeasure. I could guess that no one had told her I was coming back to Vixen Hill.

“Mrs. Ellis,” I said, smiling politely, and walked on.

“I can’t think why Gran is so cold to me,” I said, when we were in my room and the door had shut behind us. “What have I done to upset her?”

“I expect she feels you’ve let down your sex and your class by taking up nursing. She’s very old-fashioned, is Gran.”

“Many of the nursing sisters in Queen Alexandra’s Imperial Military Nursing Service are women of the middle and upper classes. We’re said to look down on the Australian nurses, who sometimes aren’t. Although I haven’t seen any of that. We’re far too grateful for help to quibble. Australian, American, English, we all save lives.”

“Yes, well, Gran gave Inspector Rother an earful this morning.” Lydia grinned, remembering. “He was asking her how well she knew Davis, and she told him he could take his suspicious mind elsewhere, that she had not known Davis either in the biblical sense or the literal sense of the word.”

I had to laugh, picturing their faces as the Inspector and the indomitable Gran squared off.

“What was his reply?”

“He turned as red as a sugar beet and stalked off.” Her smile faded. “But he came to see me after that and wanted to know what my relationship with Davis had been. I told him I counted myself a friend, which is exactly what I’d said before.”

Daisy summoned us to our luncheon soon after that, and we were all, I was surprised to see, gathered at the table. But we ate our meal in silence, and afterward I was taken up to the room above the hall to meet Bluebell, Davis Merrit’s cat.

Bluebell was wary of me-I think she still missed her former life, and I was another stranger in her eyes, bent on taking her away from where she belonged. But Lydia had thought to bring the cat’s favorite cushion, and soon Bluebell curled up on that and ignored us.

Lydia said, “I can’t believe Davis is dead. I wish the police would tell us-did he take his own life because of his eyes, or did he really murder George? Will they clear his name? If they’ve been wrong about him?”

“To clear his name, they must arrest someone else.”

“Oh.”

An hour later Margaret arrived, her face drawn with worry. “I haven’t heard from Henry in three weeks,” she said as she greeted her mother and grandmother. “And there were two soldiers from his sector who came through London last night in the train of wounded. One of the women bringing the men coffee and fresh bandages told me. They couldn’t ask either man for news of Henry. They were too heavily sedated. I should have stayed at home, where I can be reached. Has anyone contacted you, Mama?”

“Henry is all right, my dear,” Mrs. Ellis answered her. “I’m sure of it. Now come in and have some tea. I’m so glad you’re here with us.”

For the next three days Inspector Rother was in and out of the house, taking one or the other of us aside and either going over and over old ground or asking new questions based on whatever he had learned. Sparing no one, not even the distraught Margaret.

I had my share of the Inspector’s attention. I was asked if I knew where everyone in the house was that morning when Mrs. Ellis and I set out to search for George Hughes.

I thought I had seen everyone. But after another round of questioning, probing, trying to trick me, I began to doubt my own memory.

Gran took to her room, angry and refusing to have anything more to do with the police. Daisy took to leaving trays of food outside her door. Sometimes they remained untouched.

And I had another worry on my mind. Simon hadn’t returned, although he’d told me he would be a day, two at the most. I wondered where he was and what was keeping him. I’d have liked to know too what if anything he’d been able to discover about William Pryor.

Tensions were running high in the house. Roger Ellis lost his temper twice to my knowledge, sending Lydia to her room over the hall in tears the first time, and upsetting his mother the second time. Word from the Front, what we were able to hear of it, was not good, and Roger chafed at being here when he was sorely needed in France. To his credit, he did make some telephone calls from Hartfield to see what he could discover about Henry, but there was no news at all.

“Which is reassuring,” Mrs. Ellis told her daughter. “Take it as a good thing, my dear.”

But Margaret shook her head and went to her room “for a lie down” she said, but it was to cry. At dinner that night her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, her voice husky.

The morning of the fourth day, Inspector Rother arrived at Vixen Hill and after an hour’s discussion with Roger’s mother, took her away to Wych Gate. Roger was livid when he came home and heard what had transpired in his absence. He set out for Wych Gate straightaway, and when I asked if I could go with him, he was curt.

“No.”

Neither of them had returned in time for lunch, and there was still no news when our tea was brought in at four o’clock. It was already dark as pitch outside when there was a knock at the hall door. We could hear it from the sitting room, as if whoever it was had used his fist.

Lydia went with Molly to answer it, and then came back to where we all waited in anxious silence.

“The hotel clerk from The King’s Head,” she said to me. “There’s a telephone message from your mother. You’re to call her back at once.”

“I’ll go and see-”

“He came on his bicycle, Bess, and the wind is fearsome,” Lydia said. “Take Mama’s motorcar. It will be quicker as well as warmer.”

Margaret sat up straight. “But what if there’s news of Henry? And I can’t get to Hartfield?”

“I can take a bicycle,” I began, but Lydia wouldn’t hear of it.

“If there’s a message from Henry, Bess can come back for you,” she told her sister-in-law.

And so I set out for Hartfield, the silent clerk in the motorcar beside me, his bicycle strapped to the boot. He could tell me no more about the telephone call, but I asked all the same if my mother sounded upset.

“I wasn’t the one who answered,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

When we got to Hartfield, there was a flurry of activity in the normally quiet streets, and I said, “What’s happened?”

The clerk, peering out the windscreen, said, “I don’t know. There was no one in the street when I left. Silent as the tomb, it was.”

It would have taken him well over half an hour to bicycle to Vixen Hill.

Slowing, I said, “Is that Inspector Rother with the torch? There, just across from the inn. Look, he’s going to Bluebell Cottage!”

He disappeared inside the door, closing it after him. The small circle of onlookers was being kept back by a constable, and I recognized Constable Bates. There was someone else just coming up the road, hurrying to speak to Constable Bates, and as he was allowed to proceed, I recognized the rector, Mr. Smyth.

I drove slowly, cautiously, edging past the gawking crowd, and then I heard Constable Bates shout, “You there. Where do you think you’re going?”

I was saved from answering by the inn’s clerk, who leaned out his window and called, “I need to reach The King’s Head. Is that all right?”

“I thought it was one of the Ellises, pushing their way through. Yes, go on.”

I crept slowly past, but just as I drew even with him, there was a shout from the cottage, and Constable Bates turned toward it, not toward me.

“Can you drive? Take this motorcar, turn around, and go to Vixen Hill. Find Captain Ellis and bring him back,” I told the clerk quietly. “I’ll get down here.”

I slipped out into the shadowy darkness beyond range of the torches and was out of sight by the time Constable Bates had crossed to the cottage door to speak to Inspector Rother. Behind me, I could just hear Mrs. Ellis’s motorcar reverse as far as Dr. Tilton’s house, the headlamps dimmed. I walked into The King’s Head and sought out the woman behind Reception’s desk.

She smiled as I approached. “Yes?” And then as she recognized me, she added, “Ah, Sister Crawford. What’s happening out there? I hear people shouting.”

“I don’t know, I think the police must be after someone,” I answered quickly. “The telephone?”

“I’m afraid it’s in use at the moment. It was your mother who telephoned. Mrs. Crawford. She said it was urgent. I hope it isn’t bad news.”