Who's Sorry Now?

by Maggie Robinson

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  “Do you think she’s with Bunny?” Addie asked once they were back in the Lagonda.

  “Who else could it be?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve only ever seen Lucy with him, and she’s never mentioned anyone else. But Bunny! I would not have thought he was the type to have a fling with. He’s so…earnest.” Ordinary.

  “There’s no accounting for taste.”

  No, there wasn’t. Addie had had a few chances for flings before, during, and after her marriage. Now that she was a widow, the coast was clear, so to speak, providing Rupert didn’t leap out of the wardrobe at an inopportune moment. But she hadn’t met anyone—with one exception—who appealed to her.

  And that one person—well, it would be nothing short of a miracle if her feelings were returned. And then she couldn’t work her mind around the barriers that society, and both their mothers, would erect.

  For heaven’s sake! She was almost thirty-two years old. She should be able to do as she pleased.

  But first, she had to help Mr. Hunter solve these crimes.

  “Here we are.”

  The gatehouse had once been a small castle-like building of mellow Cotswold stone, but now it was missing windows. It had been a miniature of the big house that was lost to the fire, and still had some charm. There was a turret, and crumbling crenellations decorated the roof. Ivy covered most of the walls, growing into the interior through empty window frames. The iron gate with the Marbury crest it guarded was shut and securely padlocked. Grass had taken over the drive as far as the eye could see.

  Mr. Hunter poked a finger in her face. “You are to stay here.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do not move. I mean it.”

  Mr. Hunter certainly seemed authoritative and forceful. She could see why Bob admired him so. She sat back, ready to listen for his commands.

  But as it happened, Mr. Hunter didn’t even get out of the Lagonda before Lucy’s head popped out of an empty window.

  “Addie! Is that you?”

  The relief Addie felt robbed her of speech. Mr. Hunter made up for it. “Lady Lucy, are you all right? I spoke with your father yesterday, and your parents are worried sick.”

  “Never better. I suppose if you’ve come all this way you’ll have to come in to see for yourself though.” She sounded less than enthusiastic. “Don’t expect tea. We’re on short rations.”

  “Then it’s a good thing we brought a picnic basket. Inspector Hunter, can you reach it and bring it in?” Addie got out of the car and smoothed down her wrinkled skirt. A solitary raindrop landed on her nose.

  Lucy didn’t sound remorseful or guilty. That was a good sign, wasn’t it?

  The girl opened the door. She was wearing jodhpurs and an old sweater, her light brown hair covered by a paisley scarf. This was the Lucy that Addie had known, a country girl to her toes, fresh-faced and horse-mad. There was no horse available, but long-faced Bunny Dunford stood in the background, rubbing his hands together in nervousness.

  She gave Lucy a kiss on her cheek. “Hello, Lucy, Bunny. I’m so glad we found you.”

  “Were we misplaced?”

  “Don’t joke. Your father is really distressed.”

  “Oh, I doubt that. I’m not a rare book gone missing, and my mother doesn’t even know I’m there half the time. What’s in the basket? We’re starving to death. Come on back to the kitchen. I have a fire going in the stove to take the damp out.”

  “We were g-going b-back tomorrow,” Bunny said. “It’s b-been very chilly at n-night.” He turned scarlet. Addie wondered where they both had slept, but as the ex-shopkeeper said, it was none of her business.

  “Yes, my little escape was very poorly planned. I’d forgotten the shop in the village is closed. Poor Mr. Runyon gave us some of his own tins to tide us over. We couldn’t go further afield without a car.”

  “F-fish paste,” Bunny added, making a face.

  He seemed very anxious, and so he should be. Eloping with a girl and then not marrying her! Well, Addie supposed, Mr. Runyon was not an ordained minister, and there didn’t seem to be another soul about.

  “I believe I asked both of you to inform me of any travel,” Mr. Hunter interjected.

  “I’m afraid this was a very last-minute decision,” Lucy said. “I…forgot.”

  “You are very forgetful, Lady Lucy.”

  Addie would have shrunk at the inspector’s withering stare, but it didn’t affect Lucy one bit. She simply shrugged and began to unpack the basket on a warped refectory table. The room was, as promised, warm, and dry enough. As opposed to the parlor they’d passed, the ceiling and windows were intact, and the floor looked as if it had been recently swept.

  “Where were you Saturday night between midnight and four o’clock Sunday morning?”

  “In my bed!” Lucy snapped. “After what happened to Roy Dean, I decided never to go out again with those people. Apparently, they’re capable of anything. In fact, that’s why I had to leave London. It was too, too depressing.” She paused. “But it’s depressing here. I wonder if I’ll ever find a place to be happy in again. Oh, look, Bunny, fresh bread. Cheese. No fish paste in sight.” She tore off a piece from the loaf and chewed.

  “L-Lucy came to see me Sunday afternoon. I t-tried to talk her out of coming here, but she w-was d-determined. So I f-felt it was my d-duty to come with her. T-to protect her.” Lucy rolled her eyes but said nothing to the contrary.

  “And Mr. Dunford, where were you Saturday night?”

  “Home. L-like L-Lucy.”

  “Can anyone corroborate that? A valet, for example? The porter of your building?”

  “My man d-doesn’t sleep in. The p-porter d-drinks. I d-don’t know if he saw me or d-didn’t see me. Or m-maybe he s-saw two of m-me!” The joke fell flat.

  “Why are you asking us about Saturday night? Roy Dean died Friday night, and you know where we were—getting hounded by you.”

  “There’s been another…incident.” Addie expected the detective to say more, but he didn’t.

  “D-did somebody else d-die?” Bunny asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Who?”

  “I doubt you knew her, Lady Lucy.”

  “Then why are you asking if I have an alibi?”

  “Force of habit, I suppose.”

  There was an awkward silence. Addie put her handbag down. “Let me help you with the food.” She took the top off the flask. “Lemonade. If you give me a knife and a cutting board, I can slice things up. There are apples, too. Some fruitcake. ”

  “Ha. If only there was a knife. Anything that was useful was taken by thieves. We have nothing but chipped mugs, this awful old table, and two mice-infested mattresses upstairs. You should have seen the state of things when we arrived Sunday night.”

  “Speaking of which, my mother is expecting you at Compton Chase this evening if you’re tired of camping out. Bunny, you’re more than welcome, too.”

  “No. We’ll have one more night in our little love nest. Right, Bunny?”

  Bunny Dunford’s sputtering words were indecipherable.

  “Oh, I’m teasing. He was a perfect gentleman, weren’t you, Bunny? But I know what you two must be thinking. He has offered to make an honest woman of me. I’m considering it.”

  Poor, poor Bunny Dunford.

  Mr. Hunter reached into his pocket and brought out a folding knife. “Courtesy of His Majesty’s Army. It’s been with me through thick and thin.”

  Spreading a napkin from the basket on the table, Addie took it and hacked away at the bread, cheese and apples. “There’s not enough lemonade for everyone. Lucy, is there a well anywhere about?”

  “In the back garden. The water is still good, surprisingly enough. Bunny, why don’t you make yourself useful and bring us some water in those mug
s?”

  He shot out the kitchen door like a faithful hound.

  “Are you really going to marry him?” Addie asked softly.

  “I’ll have to now, won’t I? I’m a compromised virgin, just like in one of those silly romance novels my mother used to read before she turned to God. Caught alone behind the potted palms, except this time it’s worse. And it’s my own fault. I just had to…get away from everything. I’m so tired, Addie.”

  Addie put a hand on Lucy’s arm. “You can ask your friends for help, you know.”

  “Really? Everyone says, ‘Call me if you need anything.’ But they never mean it.” Tears welled in Lucy’s eyes.

  “Oh, my dear.” Addie got her handkerchief out of her bag and looked up at Mr. Hunter. “Would it be all right for us to go upstairs for a few minutes so Lucy can compose herself? You can entertain Bunny when he gets back. Help yourselves to the food, but save me some fruitcake.”

  He nodded. He must see that Lucy was at the end of her tether. Surely he couldn’t still suspect her?

  They climbed the steep stairs, and Lucy turned into the tiny room on the right. A small carryall was tucked into a corner; she had brought a few things after all. The mattress was bare, its stuffing coming out in tufts.

  “You’ve slept here?” Addie asked, aghast.

  Lucy wiped her face with a sleeve, and Addie gave her the handkerchief. “Not very much. You wouldn’t credit it, but it’s so noisy in the country. I could hear the mice in the walls and the owls and the pigeons cooing in the rafters and the wind and the rain. Mostly I just lay there, wishing I was dead.”

  “Lucy!”

  “Well, it’s true. What do I have to look forward to? I’ve done stupid things. Behaved badly.”

  Addie swallowed hard. “Do you know a girl named Mary Frances?”

  Lucy looked puzzled. “No. Why, should I?”

  “Definitely not. You haven’t experimented with any drugs, have you?”

  Lucy snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. As if I have the money for them. I had to get Bunny to buy the train tickets and the fish paste. But I suppose I’ll pay him back when I’m Mrs. Bernard Dunford.” She broke out into heart-wrenching sobs.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  “The ladies went upstairs for a minute.”

  Dunford set the mugs down. “What f-for?”

  “Oh, you know. To talk about woman things. Lady Lucy was upset.”

  An understatement. She was desperately unhappy. Unhappy enough to kill? Dev’s list of suspects had shrunk alarmingly, and right now she was number one on his list.

  “Why?”

  “Dunford, if I knew answers to questions like that, I would probably be a married man.” At this point he’d welcome answers to any sort of question.

  “I’ve asked L-Lucy to marry me a th-thousand times. But she never s-says yes.” The young man slapped cheese between two pieces of bread and wolfed it down.

  “It’s been hard for you here, has it?”

  “Y-you d-don’t know the half of it.”

  “So tell me,” Dev said. He grabbed an apple slice to keep Dunford company. The truth was, those sandwiches earlier had been terrible and he probably could have eaten the whole picnic himself.

  “I d-do whatever she w-wants, but I still d-don’t think she l-likes me enough.” He pushed Lady Adelaide’s open purse aside and hopped up on the table. There were no chairs in the room, so Dev settled himself on the wide stone window ledge. Dunford crammed some fruitcake in his mouth and drank all the water in one mug.

  “What does she do for you?”

  Dunford goggled at him. “What d-do you mean?”

  “It seems like you’re on a one-way street. To make a marriage work, you’ll have to compromise. Both of you need to do things for each other. Make sacrifices.” Dev suddenly felt very wise. It was right comical, him giving anyone relationship advice. He didn’t have time for one, and the only woman who intrigued him was unavailable anyway.

  “I’ve made s-sacrifices. You’d b-be s-surprised at wh-what I’ve done,” he muttered.

  Dev felt a prickle race up his neck. “Are you making a confession, Mr. Dunford?”

  “You think I’m a chump. S-so does L-Lucy. S-so d-did—no, no. You’re not g-going t-to t-trap me.”

  So…

  Not Lucy after all.

  Dev wanted to slap himself for not seeing it sooner. He’d been led astray by cherries and stuttering and the sheer improbability of it all, but in his way, Bunny Dunford was just as desperately unhappy and desperate as Lucy Archibald.

  Dev suspected Dunford was no longer a nondescript, conventionally upstanding member of good society.

  Not one of us.

  “I’m not trying to trap anyone.” But he wouldn’t mind an explanation.

  “You c-come here, all f-friendly, b-but you think one of us is a k-killer.” Dunford picked up the other mug, his hands shaking.

  “Why would you say that?”

  “It’s got t-to be one of us. K-Kit or Greg or Nadia or P-Prince Andrei. M-maybe even P-Pip. We were all there, every t-time s-something happened, weren’t we?”

  “Do you think it was Lady Lucy?”

  “N-no!”

  Dev thought the poor deluded young man might defend her to the death. Not his own, he hoped.

  “Who then?”

  “That’s what you’re g-getting p-paid to find out,” Dunford said.

  “Apparently I need help.” It had started to spit rain, and drops pattered along the wavy glass. “Are you sure you want to stay here tonight? You’d be much more comfortable at Compton Chase.” If he could somehow arrange for the Cirencester force to meet them there—

  “Why? So L-Lady Adelaide c-can t-talk L-Lucy out of marrying me? N-not after all I’ve d-done.”

  “What exactly have you done?” Dev asked. All his senses were alert. He didn’t have visions like the young medium he’d met last year, but he was feeling something.

  Something very unpleasant. Malevolent. Urgent. And the women needed to be protected. Dev hoped they stayed upstairs forever, or at least until he had Dunford subdued.

  “L-leave us alone! We were f-fine b-before you came. L-Lucy is going to m-marry me—I’ll make her—and that’s that.”

  “That might be difficult if one of you is behind bars.”

  The effect on Dunford was electric. “You c-can’t prove anything! Whoever m-murdered those people w-was very clever.”

  “Like you.”

  Dunford picked up Lady Adelaide’s purse and drew out a small revolver.

  Oh, hell.

  Dev hadn’t been shot in a while, and that had been just fine with him. He was more surprised than hurt, catapulting backwards on his arse at first, then pitching to the floor and winding up against the table leg. He supposed that was good—he could have crashed out the window just as easily.

  A quick glance downward showed a smoking bullet hole in the tweed fabric of his second-best suit, but the thick leather notebook in his inside pocket had acted as armor. There was no blood that he could see, which boded well. However, he did feel as if his chest had been hit by a large shovel, maybe ten or eleven shovels, and tried to snatch a breath.

  It was all rather miraculous. Dunford’s aim had been impressive, yet here Dev was, relatively unscathed, only his dignity at risk.

  But Dunford didn’t need to know that yet.

  Up above, the women screamed and clattered down the stairs. Dev took some pride when Lady Adelaide stopped shrieking first. Lady Lucy rushed toward Dunford but stopped when she spotted the gun.

  “D-don’t move, any of you.”

  Not a problem for Dev. He had to think. He tried to relax up against the turned wood of the table leg, but its carved embellishments dug into his back. Such a fancy table for the humble surroundings he thought,
somewhat beside the point. Still, he’d been less comfortable in the flooded and fetid trenches, so counted himself lucky.

  He’d be luckier still if Dunford would put the gun down.

  “Is he dead?” Lady Adelaide choked.

  “I h-hope so.”

  “Oh my God.” Lady Lucy sank to her knees. Lady Adelaide rushed to her, defying Dunford’s instructions. Dev kept his head down, but looked up through his lashes. He had never seen her looking so furious—Dunford had better watch out.

  Look over at me, he said silently. Remarkably enough, she did, her eyes filled with tears. He gave her a wink and watched the joy spread over her face. Somehow she managed to conceal her relief from Dunford and hugged Lucy for all she was worth.

  “I th-thought you’d l-like what I did for you, L-Lucy,” Bernard Dunford stuttered. “Just d-desserts, and all that. I’m your a-avenging angel. H-he wanted to arrest me, b-but it r-really was all your idea.”

  “Like it!” Horror was written all over Lady Lucy’s face. “Oh, Bunny, what have you done?”

  “You r-ragged on the Hardinge girl all the time, how she was no b-better than she should be. How her father was a c-crook and prospered, while yours was an honorable man and still b-bankrupted. Hardinge was a w-war profiteer! Why should his d-daughter be allowed to spend his ill-gotten gains on d-drugs and d-drink, and ‘screw everything in p-pants,’ as I think you said. She only got what she d-deserved. She was a tart,” he spat.

  It was clear from her expression Lucy recalled her own words, but that didn’t make it any easier to accept Bunny’s translation of them.

  “You did all those…things? But why kill Tommy Bickley? He was just a kid.”

  “He s-saw me g-give Penelope the flask, y’see. He w-wasn’t as stupid as he looked and w-was asking me q-questions about the night she died.”

  Lady Adelaide was on the floor a few yards in front of him. No theatrics or heroics, please God, just her steady, stubborn good sense. Except for bringing that gun! If they ever got out of here, she was due for a stern talking-to, possibly a spanking.