by Carrie Marsh
“Why would he?” she asked herself.
Sheryl glanced at her, heavy-lidded eyes soft with concern, but Marcie did not say anything more and she turned away.
That was the problem plaguing her at this moment. The revelation from Tamsyn had led her thoughts on an entirely new course, but so far all it yielded were more questions.
She smiled to herself. Questions were good, or so she had always been taught. They were archways, leading to new worlds. She just wished she knew where these ones were leading.
The most perplexing of them right now – or at least, the one giving her the most immediate concern – was why Tamsyn was so afraid. The little girl was still at the manor, in the care of their housekeeper and her sister, who had volunteered to help out. Marcie trusted them with her life, which was the only reason she had chosen to leave a vulnerable child alone for an afternoon with them. That, and the fact that she needed to give herself time to think. And to collect information.
I wonder if...
At that moment, the doorbell rang, intruding on her thoughts. Sighing, Marcie felt herself half-stand, though Sheryl waved her quickly back to sitting.
“I'll get it,” she said, hurrying to the door. “Please, sit, Marcie dear...”
When she came back, a minute later, she looked worried. She did not address any of the other women, all of whom glanced up, wanting to know who was there, as she came in. She went to Marcie.
“It's for you,” she said. “It's the police.”
Marcie felt her mouth go dry. Stupidly, her first thought was: I haven't done anything. Her second thought was: Oh, no. Maybe it's when I left Silver parked in the street outside the grocery shop.
She bit her lip and stood sharply, not entirely upset when Sheryl took her arm to help her over the slippery tiled floor in the hallway. She felt unsteady and her mouth had suddenly dried. She stood erect and proud, her gray hair impeccable and her face tranquil when she faced the officers.
There were two of them, one of whom was Gilding, she was relieved to note. The other was a tall man with dark hair and a flushed face whom she had never seen before.
“Lady Winston-Browne,” he addressed Marcie by her full formal address, “may I introduce Nigel Walpole, inspector?”
He cast a stiff sideways glance at the officer beside him, raising his brows. The man coughed and removed his hat. Gilding nodded fractionally. He extended his hand and shook Marcie's.
“Good afternoon, Inspector Walpole,” she said. “A pleasure to meet you.”The inspector cleared his throat. He looked a mixture of uncomfortable and impatient, and Marcie decided she did not like him. Not, it seemed, as if many people did. Gilding was rolling his eyes as he looked at the man.
“A pleasure, my lady,” Walpole remembered to say. Gilding looked relieved.
“Now, Lady Winston-Browne,” Gilding continued, “my colleague and I wanted to ask you a few questions, if we could?”
“Of course,” Marcie said dryly. “May I ask to what the questions pertain?” she asked haughtily.
“To the case,” Gilding said at once. “The one concerning Mrs. Fleet.”
Marcie raised her brow. “I see,” she said. “You have reason to think I might know something about it?”
Gilding looked uncomfortable. “It's not...like that,” he explained. “I just think that maybe you'll be able to help us.”
“Oh?” Marcie was genuinely intrigued. She had not actually told Gilding any of her ideas about the case – not even when he visited earlier in the week. She had simply asked him a few questions.
At that moment, she heard someone cough behind her and remembered the ladies were all still at the sewing meeting in the front room just behind the hallway where they stood. “Perhaps,” she suggested, “we could go somewhere more private?” she cast a glance into the dining room, which was further up the corridor and which had a sturdy door. “I'll ask Sheryl if we can use the dining room.”
“Good.” Gilding nodded thanks. “A good idea.”
Marcie grinned dazzlingly and headed into the sitting room behind them. She was poised and graceful as ever, the perfect lady, but inside she felt uneasy. These men were here to ask her about the case? Why?
“Sheryl?”
“Marcie!” Sheryl stood up when she came in, setting her floral teacup down with some haste. “What is the matter?”
Six interested faces looked up at her, tea or needles mid-air. Marcie felt slightly irritated by the scrutiny. “Nothing important, Sheryl,” Marcie said. “Inspector Gilding just wanted to discuss some information about the case. If we could borrow your dining room a moment?”
“Oh, of course. Go right in. I don't know if the place has been cleaned today yet.”
Marcie patted her hand reassuringly. “I am sure it will be fine, Sheryl. Your house is always impeccable. And the inspector has seen worse.”
They all laughed and Marcie left, glad she had lightened the mood. She headed to the front door and waved the men through.
“Follow me, gentlemen,” she said grandly.
Gilding grinned and looked at Inspector Walpole, who had a mixture of disbelief and dawning respect on his face.
I'm not sure what he expected to find when Gilding said I was a sixty-something-year-old countess, Marcie thought grimly, but I hope I just kicked his biases into a better shape.
Grinning privately, she took a seat at Sheryl's magnificent Norwegian white wood table and turned to the two police officers who had removed their hats and looked uncomfortably back at her. “Ask away, gentlemen,” she said.
They gave each other a glance and then proceeded to do just that.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
A SURPRISING QUESTION
A SURPRISING QUESTION
I did tell him to expect this, Gilding thought to himself, smiling as he watched his colleague's face change from patronizing to surprised to slightly scared. Lady Winston-Browne is not a lady to be trifled with.
He watched as the man visibly pulled his thoughts into order and addressed his first question to Marcie.
“You knew the deceased, Mrs. Janet Fleet of 15 Hill drive?”
“Yes,” Marcie said. “For twenty-nine years,” she added dryly.
The man's eyebrow went up. “You are close to the family?”
“I'm her daughter's godmother,” Marcie replied. What she did not mention was that she was godmother to almost half the village children born at that time, the first ten years of her stay in Stowe village.
“Oh,” he said carefully. “Then you knew about the, er, troubles, between she and Mr. Fleet?”
“I knew she was unfaithful and with several men, if that is what you mean, officer,” Marcie said briskly.
“Oh,” he said again. She noticed his surprise growing every time she answered, as if she gave fresh blows to his preconceptions of her as an older woman and a lady every time she did so. Good, she thought. His daughters will thank me one day.
“I think we should ask the lady the questions you wished to ask,” Gilding said carefully. “We know she knows Janet, and you can trust her to be factual in all she says.”
“Quite,” Marcie said, raising a brow at him.
“Okay,” he looked at Gilding “You start.”
“You are currently hosting Tamsyn Fleet at your home, I understand.”
“Indeed,” Marcie dipped her head.
“I heard from Lord Winston-Browne that the girl is afraid?”
Marcie hesitated. She did not want to divulge information about a child's mental state to two distinctly unqualified individuals, but she felt she had to tell someone. “She is afraid of men, yes, officer.”
“Of men?” the inspector almost laughed. “But Lady Browne, that's ridiculous. Her father is a man, and she lives with him...”
He trailed off, seeing how the other two were looking at him.
“Lady Winston-Browne is perfectly aware of that fact,” Gilding said crisply. “If you would allow her to finish?”
<
br /> “Thank you, Randall,” Marcie smiled at him. “I have my suspicions as to why the child is afraid of men, but until they are confirmed, I hesitate to share them,” she said. “I do not break the confidence of a child. And as for the topic of father...” she left the sentence hanging.
“Yes, ma'am?” he asked, one brow lazily raised.
“I have reasons to believe Richard is not Tamsyn's father.”
“What?” The officer stared
“Really?” Gilding asked at the same time, looking interested. “Why would you say that?”
“I have my suspicions, officer. But for the moment, if you could perform a paternity test on Tamsyn, I think you might find some important information.”
He stared at her. The other inspector had his mouth open. Marcie raised her eyebrows peaceably and he remembered to shut it.
“I will certainly try, ma'am. If you believe the information is pertinent to the case?”
“Yes, I do,” Marcie said briskly.
Gilding nodded. He wrote something down. “I will have to ask Richard for his permission, of course...”
Marcie nodded.
“I'll try,” he repeated.
Walpole cleared his throat. “I think we should move to the topic of Richard Fleet and the deceased...”
Marcie looked at him. “What do you need to know? I have said that Janet and Richard married when she was young, and that she was not happy in the marriage. They raised a child together. Janet was not faithful to Richard.”
The man took notes, and Marcie watched. “...not faithful.” he finished. “Do you have any idea about that?”
“I do not have detailed information into the private life of the deceased, no,” Marcie sniffed dryly. “And I am not sure, even had I such information, that I would air it unless I found it relevant. Dissecting a young woman's character is not useful, officer.”
“Quite,” Inspector Gilding nodded. “I trust you would pass on any useful information, Ma'am. In which case, if I can ask you another question? I understand you knew Janet Fleet fairly well?”
“I did,” Marcie agreed.
“You noticed anything unusual in her behavior?”
“I noticed she had become more withdrawn in the weeks before her departure. And I noticed she was distressed when she left the village that afternoon,” she said, and when Walpole looked as if he was going to interrupt, she added, “I saw her leaving the village the day of the accident. She was most distressed, wheeling a suitcase along behind her. I presume she was heading to the station to fetch her car.”
“Indeed, ma'am,” Gilding said gently. “As you and Lord Winston-Browne knew the family, did you know anything else important about her or her husband?”
“She and Fleet married when she was nineteen. She was never happy in her marriage. She came from an unfortunate home – a poor home, where the children were unhappy and often beaten. She always yearned for her greatest wish to be granted.” She paused, feeling suddenly sad.
“Marrying someone rich, like Fleet?” the officer interrupted her.
Marcie shot him a poisonous look. “There are more things to life, officer. Janet wished for freedom.”
Inspector Walpole swallowed and shifted where he sat. He looked uncomfortable. Gilding looked surprised.
“Really? Was that why she was...?”
“Yes, officer. I believe that was why she ran away. To seek that freedom.”
“You have no idea who with...uh, with whom she was running away?”
Marcie nodded. “I do, officer. I certainly do. And I promise to report them, to you, as soon as I feel as if I am not telling fairy tales. Does that sound fair?”
Gilding grinned. “Very fair,” he nodded. “Thank you, ma'am.”
The two of them – she and Gilding – shared a look. Marcie felt that Gilding knew she knew, and she was pleased that he had confidence in her. But still – there was a piece missing. She had it all worked out, except for that one last piece. And, like her tangled threads, she had no idea yet how it would unravel.
She could only wait.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
BUSINESS LUNCH
BUSINESS LUNCH
Gilding and Nigel left the elegant stone cottage at five o' clock. Nigel looked visibly shaken, Gilding noticed, which was a pleasant surprise. He led the way to the car, which was parked around the corner from the house.
“I don't want to know how she knew that,” Nigel said. He sounded quite scared, if anything. Gilding felt the muscles of his face lift in a grin.
“I did warn you,” he said cheerfully. Seeing Nigel disconcerted had lifted his mood as nothing else had done all week.
“You're enjoying this,” Nigel said accusingly.
Gilding laughed. “True.” He slowed in the corner and drove up the street, heading for the main road. He had planned to take Nigel past the site and then return to the village station for discussion. He was hungry, though, and so on the way, passing the small corner restaurant and cafe, he decided to stop.
Nigel grinned at him and had the grace to look embarrassed. “I admit I didn't expect it. I was expecting something quite different. Just shows, you shouldn't judge on appearances, eh? I should know better in my line of work.”
Gilding didn't say anything to that, but gripped his shoulder affectionately. “Want some lunch? I'm starved myself.”
Nigel laughed. “True. Do they do fish and chips?”
“Yes,” Gilding laughed. “In fact, it's what they do best. Come inside.”
The two of them took a seat at one of the small wooden tables. The place was well-lit and the decor was modern; the scent wafting from the kitchen behind the counter was savory and mouthwatering. Nigel raised a brow.
“I like this place. Fish and chips and a good chat about the case.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
While they waited for the fish and chips to arrive, they discussed what they had learned from their discussion with Lady Winston-Browne
“She has her own ideas about this,” Nigel said at once.
“She'll tell them to me when she has them all sorted out,” Gilding explained calmly. “I know her. She's a very responsible woman.”
“I'm sure,” Nigel agreed. “And one I wouldn't like to get on the bad side of,” he chuckled.
“True.”
“So,” Nigel began, looking up when their salt, sauce, and cutlery were brought to the table in preparation for the meal, “I think it was this Richard fellow myself. Who's to say how he got a hold of the right car. Maybe he has relatives who have one and he borrowed it?”
“Maybe,” Gilding agreed. While they talked, the fish and chips arrived. He tried to ignore the savory smells for a moment but failed to without taking a bite of the fish. It was buttery, warm, and delicious, just as it always was.
“This is good,” Nigel said enthusiastically, reaching for the sauces. “So do we know if anyone he knows has a similar truck?”
“No,” Gilding said cautiously. “Though I don't think that is the explanation anyhow. We took paint samples from the truck the other day, and we've sent them off to see if they match. But even so, I don't think it was someone else he borrowed it from. Not really.”
“Oh? Why not? It seems a good explanation to me,” he added, affronted.
“Two reasons. First, if he didn't have ready access to a car like that, why would it have occurred to him to do it? Second,” he added, salting his chips and pausing to swallow one while they were still warm, which they were, very much so. “If he had borrowed a car and then the next day it came back with a few odd marks, and suddenly his wife was killed in an accident, do you think whoever loaned it would have done that again?”
“Depends,” Nigel paused, swallowing some fish, “on how good a friend they were.”
“Agreed.” Gilding nodded. “But it still strikes me as not quite right. We can argue the point later...I think we can agree that Joshua is off the list so far,” he added.
“Quite. Though the mystery of the wallet still stands,” Nigel nodded.
“It does.” Gilding agreed.
They both sat silently a moment.
“Why she is suggesting a paternity test is a mystery as well.” Gilding rubbed his chin.
“I don't know the village,” Nigel pointed out. “But you do, at least more than me. Is it likely?”
“You mean is it likely that Richard isn't the father? No idea.” Gilding sighed. “I always thought Janet had married Richard because she was expecting his child. Seemed the only reason for them to have ended up together.”
“They didn't get on?”
“Not so much that they didn't get on...they just weren't suited. We all knew she wasn't faithful.” He smiled. “Most of us didn't blame her.”
“Miserable guy this?” he asked, “Richard, I mean.”
“Yes. I always reckoned she'd needed to marry him to cover up the fact that she was pregnant. And maybe that's true,” he said. “But maybe it still wasn't his child.”
“True,” Nigel nodded. “Do you think we should do it? The paternity test, I mean. Does it really matter who the child's father is now?”
“I don't know. It could matter. What if the real father knew, and always wanted to get rid of Richard? Framing him could be a way to do that, I guess.”
“The real father wouldn't have any reason to kill Janet, though.”
“No. True.”
“And he would more likely have just killed Richard, if he hated him so much? Why try and frame him for murder?”
“True again.” Gilding nodded.
“What good would it do us to know that Richard wasn't the father of Janet's child, then? Nothing.”
“It would tell us,” Gilding said slowly, “that she had a love interest long before she met Richard. And that would be interesting.”
That, he thought with growing certainty, was probably what Marcie wanted us to know.
