Before I could ask Mrs. Green any further questions, she suddenly dove for the toilet. Although most of the sounds we could hear were dry heaves, I still turned away. Miss Musselwhite, on the other hand, cried out for Constable Jones, who took longer to appear than I’d expected, as I’d thought he would be listening just around the corner. He swiftly appraised the situation as she demanded he allow her into the cell.
“There’s nothin’ you can do for ’er,” he said, not unkindly.
“I can comfort her,” she protested. “I can clean up that mess.”
“No,” her sister croaked between heaves. “Go!” She flung her hand back at us, shooing us. “I deserve it.”
“Tilly, don’t say that,” she pleaded.
“It’s true. Go!”
Constable Jones ushered us out, ignoring Miss Musselwhite’s further protests. I wrapped an arm around her shoulders as she wept into her handkerchief, searching out the inspector’s gaze as soon as we returned to the front room. It took everything in me to stifle my anger, knowing any display of temper from me would not help Mrs. Green.
“I realize she has been detained on suspicion of murdering her husband, Inspector, but is there not something that can be done for her condition?”
Titcomb surprised me by responding with equal restraint. “We have a woman coming to tend to matters this morning. And I’ve asked Dr. Razey to look in on her sometime today.”
“Which woman?” Miss Musselwhite demanded.
He named someone I was not familiar with, but the maid seemed content with this response, for she nodded.
“Thank you,” I told him.
“Of course. We aren’t without compassion here, Mrs. Kent,” he replied.
If that was true, this was the first indication I’d seen of it, but I chose to bite my tongue rather than see Mrs. Green punished for my cheek.
CHAPTER 15
Sidney helped me to escort Miss Musselwhite from the constabulary and settle her in the rear seat of his motorcar. He gazed at me over her head, a dozen questions reflected in his eyes, but I shook my head minutely, determined to wait to discuss it until Miss Musselwhite was returned to Littlemote House. Though she didn’t speak, lost in her own thoughts, her spirits seemed to revive on the drive back to the manor. At least enough that when I turned in my seat to look at her as we pulled to a stop in the estate yard, she was no longer weeping.
“Thank you for accompanying us. I know that can’t have been easy.”
Her gaze searched mine, stark with pain, and when she spoke, her voice rasped in her throat. “She didn’t do it, you know. She couldn’t have.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but she turned away, reaching for the door handle. I supposed she didn’t need one.
I watched her walk away. It was obvious she was under a tremendous strain, and desperate to see her sister’s name cleared, but I still had the sense she was keeping something from us. Something important.
Sidney rounded the Pierce-Arrow, opening the door for me, and I fastened the buttons of my Napoleon blue woolen scarf coat with black trim tightly up to my neck against the chill wind. The sun shone bright in the sky, playing hide and seek with the woolly clouds, so rather than enter the house, we turned west into the gardens. Linking arms, we crossed the terrace from one end of the manor to the other, before traversing the raised walk to the west garden lawn and the ha-ha dividing it from the parkland below. While we walked, I explained what Mrs. Green had revealed to us.
“So you think he was digging in the west park?” he surmised as he reached up to grip my waist and help me over the edge of the ha-ha.
“She didn’t say so specifically. But where else?”
Though my feet now touched the ground, he didn’t release me. A solemnity settled over his features, and I realized he was searching for something in my eyes. “Seeing Mrs. Green in such a state couldn’t have been easy for you either.”
My gaze dipped to the knot of his striped tie revealed through the gap at the top of his coat, and I reached up to straighten it, though it needed no adjustment.
“I saw the ferocity in your eyes when you returned to the vestibule, though you tried to hide it.”
“Yes, well, it was inhumane to leave Mrs. Green in such conditions.”
“I saw the distress, too.”
I lifted my gaze to meet his.
“The way it haunted you.”
I swallowed past the tightness in my throat, stating aloud the truth I wanted to evade. “If you hadn’t come back to me when you did, that could have been me.” I had certainly been well on the road to making my consumption of gin a relentless compulsion to blot out the pain and memories, to forget the agony of reality.
His dark eyes that shone too often with cynicism softened, and the flecks of silver that had so fascinated me when we first met glinted like stars in the midnight-blue pools of his eyes. I inhaled past the tightness that had taken root in my breast as he lifted his hand to clasp my jaw, brushing his fingers gently back and forth along the skin at the back of my neck.
“Well, I’m not going anywhere ever again.” His gaze dipped to my mouth. “Not without you.” His lips pressed to mine in a promise, one that left me feeling slightly dizzy from its intensity as he pulled back. So much so that I remained silent as he tucked my arm through his and began striding down the path Reg and I had taken just four short days ago.
If not for the grimness of our task, it would have been a lovely day for an autumn stroll. The bite in the air was countered by the bright sun and our brisk pace. The trees bursted with color, the rich scent of their decaying leaves perfuming the air as they crunched underfoot. Even the yew trees added their splash of brilliance, sporting red berries on their evergreen boughs. While earlier in the week the river had merely burbled, I could hear that the previous day’s rains had swelled its banks, strengthening its rumble.
“Do you have any idea what Mr. Green might have uncovered?” Sidney asked as we neared the glade where the man-of-all-work had been found.
“I do, actually.”
He turned to me in interest.
“Reg mentioned that a number of old coins have been found about the estate grounds in centuries past. He claimed that some of them were even Roman and Anglo-Saxon.”
His brow furrowed. “Wasn’t one of the items that went missing from the manor a box of old coins?”
“Indeed, it was. Apparently, all the coins that had been found over the years were simply tossed inside. And while Reg seemed to think their value was negligible, I suspect to a man like Mr. Green their worth was at least the equivalent of several years’ wages.”
“You think he stole them?”
“I don’t know about that,” I murmured as I glanced distractedly up at the sky, hearing the approach of an aeroplane. “But Reg mentioned a coin had been found just last year. What if Mr. Green had heard about it, about the other discoveries, and recognized an opportunity when he saw one. Whether he intended to keep the existence of any treasure he found to himself or offer to split the profit with my cousin is up for debate.” I halted my steps, looking up again to catch glimpses of a trio of light bombers soaring overhead toward the south, and then turned to face him. “But that metal object he died clutching in his hand . . . I would stake my emerald bracelet that it was a coin.”
He lifted his hands to his hips and turned to survey the expanse of the glade. “Your supposition certainly fits with what Constable Jones told me about there being multiple areas of disturbed soil. That sounds to me like a methodical search. So let’s find them.”
I led Sidney to the spot where Mr. Green’s body had been found, and then we began to systematically explore the glade and farther into the park, looking for any signs of disturbance or evidence of human interference. It wasn’t long before we located the first clusters of freshly turned earth, as if holes had been dug and then filled back in. It was impossible to tell how deep they were without digging ourselves, but they were each approximately one
to two feet in diameter, arranged in a uniform five-by-five grid.
When we stumbled across a second cluster about one hundred yards to the south, laid out in a matching pattern, I realized we weren’t dealing with an isolated dig location, but multiple sites. However, the next mound of backfilled earth we found was a single square about four by four feet. Its edges were less precise, its contours jagged.
Searching deeper into the park, we found additional disturbed sites, each one mimicking either the grid pattern or the single large square. I tried to orient them in my mind, to deduce whether there was a discernible pattern to their placement, but the grid patterns seemed haphazard. The larger squares, however, were each located some two feet to the north of a tree. The type of tree varied, but the placement of the disturbed soil was always the same, as if someone was looking for something purely based on those specifications.
The discovery of all these backfilled holes was bizarre and mildly unsettling. Clearly, they’d been taking advantage of the fact my cousin could no longer see, and so rarely ventured into the park, and my aunt never did. How long had this been going on, and just who was involved? I strongly suspected Mr. Green was responsible for at least some of the holes, but was he really to be blamed for all of them?
I stood with my arms crossed, glaring down at one of the holes in frustration, when suddenly the back of my neck prickled in alarm. I lifted my head as the sensation trickled down my spine like an icy drop of water, and then turned to survey the park around us. What had alerted me, I didn’t know. I never did. Perhaps it was the harsh cry of a bird, or a barely imperceptible scent on the breeze, or a tremor I somehow sensed. Whatever the reason, my instincts had sprung to life, and they were telling me we were not alone, and we were not safe.
I moved forward, pressing a hand to Sidney’s back as he rose from a crouched position where he’d been examining one of the holes. “Don’t question me. Just come,” I ordered softly, propelling him toward a small copse of beech trees. Once we were standing amidst their shelter, I pivoted slowly, scrutinizing our surroundings, trying to understand what had so unnerved me.
“You sensed it, too, hmm?” Sidney murmured.
I turned to find his gaze scouring the denser tree line that stood between us and the river with the same intensity I felt. In some ways it was a relief to know I wasn’t the only one who had intuited trouble, but it also heightened my vigilance. For if Sidney had detected the same disturbance I did, then later I couldn’t convince myself it hadn’t happened.
Some moments later, we heard whistling and then the steady rustle of footsteps through the fallen leaves. My husband’s hand stole beneath his coat toward the back of his waistline, and then he cursed. “I left my Luger in the Pierce-Arrow,” he replied in answer to my questioning look. “I figured it wasn’t good form to take a pistol into a constabulary.”
Regardless, I’d already begun to breathe a little easier. After all, the person striding toward us obviously wasn’t taking any pains not to be heard, and as such, surely they didn’t mean us any harm. Perhaps it was their whistling that had so alarmed us in the first place. From far off, its shrillness might have reached our ears and raised our hackles without us recognizing it.
That’s what I wanted to believe, in any case, but I couldn’t stop my eyes from scanning the trees again, even as the figure of a man in a khaki uniform emerged. The uniform was a holdover from the Royal Flying Corps before it was merged with the Royal Naval Air Service to form the Royal Air Force in early 1918, and didn’t appear so very different from what Sidney had worn as an officer in the army. The fellow seemed to be oblivious to our presence, continuing to whistle as he strolled steadily forward in his highly polished boots. From this distance, I couldn’t tell the exact rank, but the braid on his sleeve indicated he was an officer of some sort.
He was nearly upon us and yet I was still torn about whether to hide or make ourselves known, when Sidney shifted his feet into a wider stance, making the decision for us. Though subtle, I knew the movement had been a conscious decision. After four years of war, he knew perfectly well how to remain still and silent, for hours on end if necessary.
The officer’s stride checked, though he didn’t appear particularly startled. “Oh, hullo! Sorry, didn’t see you there.” He shifted course, moving toward us. Sidney stepped forward, extending his hand to meet the airman’s proffered one. “Captain Lucas Willoughby.” He gestured with his head back in the direction he came. “Stationed at Froxfield. At least, for the time being,” he added with a broad grin.
Our search had taken us toward the northwest corner of the estate, where Littlemote Park bordered the river and the airfield beyond. I wondered how close we actually were to the river. The sound of its rushing water had quieted to a burble once again, but Reg had told me it broke off into a number of smaller tributaries and irrigation ditches before reaching the boundary with the airfield, dispersing the water flow and narrowing the river.
Rather than release his grip on Sidney’s hand, Captain Willoughby tightened it. “I say, you wouldn’t happen to be the chap with that dashed fine motorcar, would you? The red one?”
Sidney’s lips curled into an artless smile, disarmed by the compliment to his pride and joy. “Yes, that’s my Pierce-Arrow.”
“A Pierce-Arrow?” He whistled low. “Never seen one firsthand, but I hear they’re a real goer. Certainly kept up with my Ninak.” His teeth flashed cheekily. “For a time.”
So this was the pilot Sidney had raced on our drive to Littlemote a week ago.
“But then you have the advantage of wide-open skies instead of hedgerows and villages,” Sidney countered. “I’m Sidney Kent, by the way.”
This seemed to make an even greater impression than his ownership of a Pierce-Arrow.
“Really,” Captain Willoughby murmured speculatively, surveying him from head to toe. They were nearly equal in height and physicality, though Sidney’s was better concealed beneath the crisp lines of his suit. They also both possessed an attractiveness that most females would be drawn to, though I much preferred Sidney’s dark good looks to the captain’s sun-bronzed appearance. What hair could be seen below the brim of his hat had the marked appearance of having been bleached blond from the sun, and I couldn’t help but wonder how long he’d been stationed at Froxfield. For I doubted he had achieved that level of a tan under the Wiltshire sun. It seemed more likely he’d served in Africa or Palestine.
“A bona fide war hero,” he teased, though I thought I detected something deeper in his tone, something sharp and almost mocking.
Sidney wrinkled his nose. “Now, don’t start that.”
He chuckled. “You heroes are all the same. Eager for us to forget your acts of derring-do. If I ever earned the sobriquet, you can bet I’d be dining on it for decades, and wooing the ladies with my valiant tales.” His gaze shifted to me. “But of course, if I had a wife as lovely as yours, I suppose that wouldn’t be necessary.” He offered me a practiced smile. “Mrs. Kent, I presume.”
I offered him my hand and an equally calculated smile. “You presume correctly.”
He touched it briefly, bowing at the waist. “I’m absolutely charmed.” But although his expression said so, there was something in his eyes that was decidedly less enamored, almost as if he was weighing and probing, though I was determined he should see nothing of my realization of this. “May I also presume you are Lady Popham’s niece?”
“Have you met?”
“Once, not long after Littlemote was returned to her.” He cringed. “I’m afraid she was not very pleased with us.”
“She’s still not.”
“Yes, well, it’s difficult to keep young officers out of trouble. Particularly when they begin to feel the thrill and invincibility that the mastering of flight seems to give you.” His voice turned hollow as his gaze trailed away. “Followed by the swift realization that you’re not.” His eyes shifted to meet Sidney’s. “When one can feel one’s clock ticking down, i
t’s difficult to be convinced to care for anything beyond the moment.”
The two men fell silent, a grave acknowledgment of this.
Then Captain Willoughby turned to address me again. “I told your aunt to file a claim for the damages and she would be reimbursed.”
“Yes, we also told her as much,” I replied. “But my aunt is not the most forbearing of individuals.”
“Then I imagine she hasn’t taken Mr. Green’s death well.” He nodded in the direction of the house. “I understand his sister-in-law works as her maid, and I wanted to pay my respects, but perhaps I shouldn’t.” His gaze searched mine in question.
“I’m sure Miss Musselwhite would thank you for the kindness, but perhaps not this morning of all times,” I replied as tactfully as I could. Her visit to her sister in jail had been distressful enough, and Lady Popham was certain to suffer an attack of the nerves if Captain Willoughby showed up at her door, giving the poor maid even more to contend with.
He nodded, if not precisely in understanding, at least in acceptance.
“You were acquainted with Mr. Green, then?” I prodded.
“Yes, he helped maintain the grounds at the airfield. Not the landing strip, but the fences and the landscaping and such. He always seemed like a good sort.” He frowned. “Though I know his wife gave him a great deal of grief. Is it true the police arrested her?”
“I’m afraid so,” Sidney replied.
“Well, that’s a cold supper,” her murmured almost to himself.
I didn’t correct his supposition that she was guilty, deciding we might learn more from him if he thought we wholeheartedly believed it, too. “Mr. Green didn’t work at the airfield at night, did he?” I asked, hoping to lay to rest that question.
“What?” he murmured in distraction. “No. Sometimes I saw him about in the early morning and other times in the late afternoon.” He glanced about him. “So maybe he was making his way to the airfield the morning he died. He often began when the sky was still dark, pacing the fence line to search for any spots that needed repair.”
A Pretty Deceit Page 18
