“I never regarded Annabelle as a mere seamstress,” Penny responded easily. “I used the phrase simply to illustrate William Walker’s prejudices. I knew from the moment I met Annabelle that she was Edwin’s ideal mate. They had the same sense of humor and the same deep appreciation of beauty.” Penny chuckled. “They even shared a fondness for wild mushrooms! If ever a match was meant to be, it was theirs. My only regret was that they had to postpone their wedding until they could ascertain whether Annabelle’s marriage to Zach was still valid.”
“Which is why your brother set out to discover what happened to Zach,” I said, nodding.
“He was also determined to refute the vile accusations made against his intended by Minnie and her chatty chums,” said Penny. “The files I mentioned were his.”
“It sounds as though Annabelle brought out the white knight in your brother,” I said, smiling.
“Any decent man familiar with the trials Annabelle endured throughout her first marriage would feel protective of her,” said Penny. “Fortunately, Edwin had the means to track Zach’s movements. It took him the better part of three years to do it, but he eventually succeeded in retracing Zach’s steps from a cargo ship in Liverpool to a rather uncouth drinking establishment in Adelaide.”
“So Zach the drunk ended up in Australia,” Bree said. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”
“Do I detect a Kiwi prejudice?” Penny asked, her eyes twinkling.
I laughed and Bree had the grace to blush.
“By the time my brother caught up with him,” Penny continued, “Zach had nearly drunk himself to death. Edwin had no trouble persuading him to go through with a long-distance divorce.”
“We couldn’t have been happier for Annabelle,” said Gladys. “She was finally free to marry the man she was meant to marry.”
“She would have been free in any case,” said Susan. “Seven years had passed. If Edwin hadn’t found Zach, Annabelle could have applied for a legal declaration of death.”
“If I’d been Edwin,” said Bree, “I would have nailed the divorce papers to Minnie’s door.”
“Believe me, he wanted to,” said Penny, “but Annabelle wouldn’t let him. She honestly didn’t care about what people like Minnie thought of her. She’d been through so much already—she was eager to put it all behind her and to begin again with a man who was truly worthy of her.”
“She didn’t even care when they accused her of killing your brother?” Bree asked.
“Not even then,” Penny said, losing some of her twinkle. “I would gladly have nailed their mouths shut, darling, but it wouldn’t have done any good. They would have brushed aside my eyewitness account as easily as they brushed aside Gladys’s.”
“Sorry?” said Bree, frowning. “Are you saying that you saw—”
“Oh, yes,” Penny interrupted quietly. “I was staying at Craven Manor on the night my brother died.”
Twenty
I could almost feel a wave of sympathy wash over Penny. She blinked rapidly for a moment, then dashed a tear from her eye and laughed, as if to reassure her audience that she was quite all right, thank you. When she spoke again, her voice was as strong and as carefree as it had been before she’d made her startling admission.
“Edwin and I had no other siblings,” she said. “Because I was almost ten years his junior, we never quarreled over playthings or competed for our parents’ affection. We quite liked each other when we were young and our mutual regard didn’t wane as we grew older. We led separate lives for a long time, but we kept in touch with letters, phone calls, holiday visits, and, during our later years, e-mails.”
“I wish I were as close with my brother as you were with Edwin,” said Gladys, “but once Bob began blaming Annabelle for Ted’s death, I couldn’t be in the same room with him without giving him a piece of my mind.”
“Bob’s no Edwin,” said Lorna.
“Hardly anyone is,” Penny said with a melancholy smile. “After I lost my husband, Craven Manor became my second home. I had the great good fortune to see my brother happy in his marriage to Annabelle and the great misfortune to see Alzheimer’s claim him. It’s quite the most dreadful thing I’ve ever witnessed. Edwin didn’t sink peacefully into a fluffy cosmic duvet of forgetfulness. He experienced bizarre hallucinations, paranoia, desperate confusion, and uncontrollable outbursts of rage. He couldn’t remember how to dress or to feed himself. Eventually, he lost control of his bodily functions.”
She pulled a fresh bottle of champagne from the wine cooler, topped up her mimosa, and took a long sip. I wished I had something stronger to offer her.
“Edwin’s illness was an ever-deepening nightmare,” she went on. “Annabelle coped for as long as she could, but in the end she had to face the fact that she simply wasn’t strong enough to change a grown man’s nappies.”
Bree winced.
Observing her pained expression, Penny drawled, “The indignities of old age, my dear, are legion.”
When I thought of Minnie’s dentures, Mildred’s hair net, Mabel’s hearing aids, Myrtle’s hunched back, and the three-pronged metal canes that had startled Bess, I couldn’t help but agree with Penny. Old age, I reminded myself, is not for the fainthearted.
“Annabelle put Edwin into the very best nursing home she could find within driving distance of Craven Manor,” said Penny.
“Cloverhill,” said Debbie, nodding.
“The finest nursing home in the county,” said Lorna.
“One of the finest in the country,” said Alice.
“Cloverhill is a superlative facility,” Penny agreed. “Annabelle chose it not only because it was nearby but because its physicians were conversant with cutting-edge treatments for Alzheimer’s patients.” She shook her head. “Edwin responded to none of them. Annabelle visited him every day, even though he didn’t know who she was, except that, sometimes, he did. Perhaps the cruelest aspect of that cruel disease is that it allows its victims to surface from time to time, regardless of treatments. Once in a great while Edwin would say something that made Annabelle believe he was in there somewhere, waiting for her to rescue him.”
“Is that why she brought him home?” Bree asked hesitantly. “Was it something he said?”
“He looked directly into her eyes and he said her name.” Penny sighed. “It was enough to make her decide to bring him back to the manor. A foolish decision, perhaps, but I understood it. The last thing Alzheimer’s destroys is hope, but Annabelle clung to the hope that familiar surroundings would bring him back to her.”
Gladys wiped her eyes surreptitiously with a napkin, and Alice sniffed.
“Annabelle hired a nurse to help with the heavy lifting and to sit with him through the night,” said Penny. “And I came to Craven Manor with the intention of staying for as long as she needed me.”
The blanket of sorrow that had settled over the conservatory was lifted by Nanny Sutton, who chose that moment to wheel the pram through the French doors while allowing Bess to cling to her finger and toddle alongside her.
“The wind’s come up,” she announced. “I thought it might be best to beat a retreat to the nursery.”
“Go ahead,” I told her. “I know she’ll be fine.”
My new acquaintances stirred themselves to say sweet things about my daughter, but Bess was too enchanted by her new playmate to pay attention to them. She allowed me to give her a hug and a kiss before demanding to be released, then made a slow and unsteady exit with Nanny Sutton.
“Your little girl is a breath of fresh air,” Penny said. “It’s good to be reminded of beginnings when we’re speaking of endings.” She handed the champagne bottle to Susan and told her to pass it around. “Not far to go now, but I think we could all do with another drop of bubbly to see us through.”
Since I was driving, I let the bottle pass me by, but no one else followed my example. B
y the time the bottle found its way back to the wine cooler, there wasn’t a drop of bubbly left in it.
“Where was I before our charming and most welcome interruption?” Penny asked. “Ah, yes, I remember.” She took a deep breath and continued briskly, “On the night Edwin died, I stopped by Annabelle’s bedroom for a chat. I was leaving her room when I saw Edwin in his nightshirt, shuffling toward the staircase. I shouted for him to stop, but he took no notice. He fell before I could reach him. I knew without looking that he was dead. No one could have survived such a fall, least of all a frail old man.”
Debbie took a healthy swig of champagne and the others followed suit.
“Annabelle ran up beside me and froze,” said Penny. “She was paralyzed with horror, but I was incensed. I marched straight into Edwin’s bedroom and found the hired nurse asleep in her chair.”
“That must be why Mabel Parson’s cousin Florence didn’t see you at the top of the stairs,” Bree interjected. “By the time she reached the front hall, you were in Edwin’s room.”
“By the time Florence reached the front hall,” Penny said crisply, “I was shaking the nurse until her teeth rattled. At least, it sounded like teeth rattling. What I actually heard was the sound of Edwin’s sleeping tablets falling on the floor. The wicked woman had pocketed them!”
“Aha,” Bree breathed, as another false accusation was soundly quashed.
“An inquiry revealed that she’d been stealing medication from her patients for years and selling it online to feather her own nest,” said Penny. “She wasn’t merely careless; she was criminal. I’m pleased to say that she was struck off the nurses’ register and sentenced to an impressively long prison term for negligent homicide and a host of other charges.”
I found the news of the nurse’s imprisonment grimly satisfying, but Bree was determined to tie up yet another loose end.
“Mabel told us that her cousin thought she saw a look of relief cross Annabelle’s face,” she said. “Did you see it, too?”
“If Annabelle was relieved,” Penny said impatiently, “it was because a merciful God had finally taken her husband to a better place, though in my humble opinion, a truly merciful God would have taken him sooner. Having seen her suffering as well as Edwin’s, I was deeply relieved to know that my husband had dropped dead of a heart attack!”
“I’d feel the same way,” said Bree, unabashed. “Death isn’t the worst thing that can happen to someone we love.”
“Far from it.” Penny collected herself, then went on. “I hoped that Annabelle would stay on at Craven Manor, but she simply couldn’t. Edwin’s prolonged illness and his violent death had tainted the memories of the happier times they’d shared here. I feared that in years to come she might regret her decision, so I purchased the manor from her to hold it in trust, as it were, should she ever choose to return. I live here, but it’s also my workplace. I have a studio in the east wing and I use the conservatory as a gallery. The natural light makes it a perfect showplace for my sculptures.”
“So the sculptures are yours,” I said, swiveling in my chair to survey the abstract wooden figures. “They’re beautiful.”
“Thank you,” said Penny. “One of the reasons Annabelle and I got along so well is that we’re both artists—she with her needle, I with my chisel.”
“She’s still an artist,” I said. “Her baby quilts are exquisite.”
“They always were,” said Penny.
“I hope you won’t mind my asking,” I said, “but if you and Annabelle get along so well, why haven’t you visited her in Finch?”
“She hasn’t invited me,” Penny replied. “I suspect it’s because I’m woven inextricably into her painful memories.” She peered inquiringly at me. “I confess to no little curiosity about her new home. What’s it like?”
“She lives in a cottage beside our village green,” I said. “Her cottage is comfortable, but it’s quite a bit smaller than Craven Manor.”
“It’s smaller than your conservatory,” Bree put in.
Penny nodded. “That would explain why she took so little with her—a few sticks of furniture, her sewing things, her collection of fabrics, and a Victorian quilt frame Edwin gave her as a birthday gift.”
“We’ve seen the quilt frame,” I said. “Annabelle set it up in our village hall less than a week ago. We used it for a quilting bee.” I took a bracing slurp of unadulterated orange juice before continuing, “You may find it hard to believe, but I was sitting across from Annabelle at the quilt frame when she told me she killed Zach.”
Five pairs of eyes stared at me and two mouths fell open, but no one spoke until Penny found her voice.
“I beg your pardon?” she said, frowning slightly.
“She came right out with it,” I said. “She told me she hit him on the head with a poker after she pushed him down the stairs. Then she rolled him up in a rug, dragged him into her back garden, and buried him in the trench she’d dug for her rosebushes. She was very convincing—so convincing, in fact, that Bree and I came to Old Cowerton for the sole purpose of finding out if by some remote possibility she might have told me the truth.”
“If you’ve learned nothing else today,” said Susan, “I hope you’ve learned that Annabelle didn’t murder Zach.”
“I don’t believe that Annabelle murdered anyone,” I said, “but she seems to think she did. Can any of you explain why she would confess to killing Zach?”
“Not going dotty, is she?” asked Debbie.
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“Nor do I,” said Bree. “She’s just as sharp now as she was when she moved to Finch.”
“I suppose she could have been having a little fun with you,” Gladys said hesitantly. “She’s always had a playful streak.”
“Would you describe yourself as unusually gullible?” Penny asked.
“I don’t assume that people are lying to me,” I replied.
“Lori’s gullible,” said Bree.
“That would explain it,” said Penny, her frown vanishing. “She must have been teasing you.” She stretched a placating hand across the table. “Try not to be cross with her. We old ladies must be allowed to behave like naughty schoolgirls from time to time. If nothing else, your wild goose chase has given us the pleasure of your company.”
“The pleasure was ours,” I said, fighting off an urge to hide my face. To be treated like a simpleton by a woman I respected was bad enough, but to be humiliated in front of strangers was beyond the limit. I felt like a complete idiot for believing Mrs. Craven and for dragging Bess and Bree to Old Cowerton to investigate her patently ridiculous confession.
“I believe we’ve said all we wished to say to you about Annabelle,” said Penny. “Does anyone have anything else to add?”
When the other women shook their heads, Penny thanked them for coming and the party broke up. Susan, Gladys, Debbie, Alice, and Lorna gave me sympathetic nods or patted my arm consolingly before they left the conservatory. Their charitable gestures made me feel even more idiotic than I felt already.
Penny accompanied Bree and me to the front hall, where Nanny Sutton awaited us with Bess, who was sound asleep in the pram.
“She dropped off five minutes ago,” Nanny Sutton informed me. “I tried to keep her awake, but . . .” She shrugged helplessly.
“It’s okay,” I said. “When my daughter needs a nap, she takes one, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it. Thank you for looking after her.”
“She’s wonderful,” said Nanny Sutton. “If you need me again, please don’t hesitate to call. Francesco has my number.”
She hung back while Penny walked us to the door.
“Thank you for setting us straight about Annabelle,” I told her.
“That’s what friends are for,” she said. “I can tell that you’re Annabelle’s friends. You wouldn’t have come
to Old Cowerton if you weren’t.”
I couldn’t trust myself to speak, but Bree assured her that we thought the world of Annabelle.
“I hold private showings here five or six times a year,” Penny went on. “If you leave your addresses, I’ll see to it that you receive invitations. No purchase required,” she emphasized. “Just come along for a spot of bubbly and some jollier conversations than the one we had today.”
“It was the conversation we needed to hear,” I said.
“Evidently,” she said, smiling. “Please give Annabelle my best love. Tell her that I may own Craven Manor, but it will always be her home.”
“I’ll tell her,” I promised, and as I wheeled my sleeping daughter down the retrofitted ramp, I promised myself that I’d tell Annabelle Craven a few other things as well. None of them complimentary.
Twenty-one
Bree and I made it all the way to Craven Manor’s wrought-iron gates without exchanging a word. From the corner of my eye I could see her glance cautiously at me once or twice, but I was too mortified to look at her. I was also afraid of what I’d do if she so much as whispered “I told you so.”
The gates swung open and we turned back toward the White Hart. Five more minutes passed before she worked up the courage to speak.
“I can feel you seething,” she said.
“I can’t imagine why,” I said through gritted teeth.
She clamped her mouth shut and turned her head to survey the scenery on her side of the Rover before turning to me again and saying with unaccustomed humility, “I’m sorry I said you were gullible.”
“Why should you be sorry?” I snapped. “It’s obviously true.”
“No, it’s not,” she said. “You trust people, that’s all. It’s one of the things I admire most about you.”
“Have you ever seen me kick down a door?” I asked tersely. “Now, there’s something to admire.”
Bree wisely turned a chuckle into a cough.
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