Death by the Book (20 page)

She shrugged that off. “If there is, he’s worshiping from afar.”

“Perhaps he is. Perhaps he thought Bell was another rival for your affections and made away with him.”

“I guess it’s possible, however unlikely. Whatever the reason, someone was tampering with Freddie, and Freddie wanted to know who it was.”

“Perhaps in trying to find out, he stumbled on to something else. Something the hatpin murderer would kill him over.” He hesitated for a moment, weighing his words. “But be honest now. Do you think your aunt’s been trying to get between us? Is it something she’d do?”

Madeline sighed. “I don’t think so. As you might have noticed, she’s more likely to make straightforward demands, and if those don’t work she’ll try to make you feel guilty.”

“I must admit, I had wondered about just such tactics with her. I hadn’t told you this, darling, but I asked Tessa where she found your purse that morning. It was in the armchair by the fire in the library, the one your aunt was sleeping in when I got back from seeing to Roger.”

“Don’t be silly. That doesn’t mean anything at all and you know it. Nothing except . . .” She gasped. “Drew, if the key was
put in my purse and left in that chair, do you think that means the murderer was here? In the house?”

“Might have been, but you can’t take that as absolute proof. Bell said the key went missing the morning of the party.”

“No,” she corrected. “He said the last time he was sure he had it was that morning. We don’t know that it wasn’t taken from him while he was here. And we don’t know it wasn’t put into my purse during the party, either.”

“Neither do we know that it was, darling. You and Auntie were in the village that day too, weren’t you?”

Dejected, she let her breath out. “And in Winchester, just like Freddie. So it’s no help at all.”

“Not necessarily. I tell you what. Tomorrow, you and your aunt have a chat about everything you did that day, near as you both can remember, and write it all down for me. Then we can see where you and Freddie may have crossed paths.”

“But we don’t know everything Freddie did that day. I mean, he wouldn’t have left a list or anything.”

“No, but we can talk to people at all the places on your list, show round Freddie’s picture, and see if they remember seeing him that day.” He drew her head down to his shoulder and put both arms around her. “How would that be?”

“Do we have a picture of him?”

“I expect there’s one in his passport. Perhaps the chief inspector will let us borrow it for a short while.”

Madeline considered this. “Won’t he want some of his men doing this kind of investigation?”

“That depends. If he thinks the invitation and the key have anything to do with the murders, he will. If he thinks Bell was merely trying to insinuate himself into an acquaintance with you, he’ll likely decide they have better things to look into at
the moment. Best to make up your list, and then we’ll have a word with him. Fair enough?”

“I’ll get Aunt Ruth to help me with it tomorrow. She won’t like it, of course, but she’ll help.” Madeline sighed, and then her expression brightened. “She brought it with her, you know. The doll.”

Drew chuckled. “Did she now.”

“Most of her things are still at the cottage, but she made sure to bring that.”

“Well, well.”

Madeline’s tone turned sober again. “I wish we could get all this investigating done and over with right now.”

Drew cupped her face with one hand. “Right now, my love, you need to get some sleep. You’ll remember everything that much better in the morning.”

“I suppose you’re right.” She closed her eyes and leaned into him. “I just wish I could wake up in the morning and find all these terrible things hadn’t happened.”

He took her to her bedroom door, wishing he didn’t have to leave her there, wishing she could stay with him that night and every night thereafter. But wishing wouldn’t make it so. Until she was ready to make up her mind about marrying him, their nights would end this way.

“Sleep well.” He kissed her soft lips, and she clung to him, saying nothing but clearly not ready to leave him.

As he held her, the memory of their first embrace came back to him, along with the rightness of how she felt in his arms that day as they stood in the meadow overlooking Farthering St. John. He’d known then that he loved her, known in a swift, wonderful, terrifying way, but it meant nothing if she didn’t return that feeling. If she wasn’t sure.

She murmured something against his shirt, and he lifted her face to him. “What was that, darling?”

She hesitated a moment, and then a hint of a smile passed over her face. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

She nestled against him once more. “For loving me.”

He pressed his lips to the top of her head. “You can rely on that always, Madeline. Whatever you decide.”

He felt a shudder run through her. Whether it was laughter or something else, he couldn’t tell. When she looked up at him again, she was smiling, but her lips were trembling.

She caught his face in both hands, bringing it close to hers, and her voice when she spoke was hardly more than a whisper. “I love you more than I know how to say.” Then she kissed him with electrifying passion and, just as suddenly, broke from him and disappeared into her room.

He stood there for a moment, stunned and breathless, unable to do anything but stare stupidly at the door she’d just gone through. Then he shook his head and walked to his own room, laughing half under his breath.

She was still maddening.

M
adeline shut the bedroom door as silently as she could manage and leaned back against it. She put both hands over her mouth, trying to muffle the sound of her shuddering breath in the dark room. There was nothing she could do to hush the racing of her heart. One or the other was sure to wake Aunt Ruth.

After a minute or so, she felt as if she could make her way to the dresser and get her nightgown. She could undress in the dark and slip into bed and not have to make any explanations. She didn’t know how to explain things to herself, much less to her aunt.

Once she had changed, she felt her way over to the bed, suppressed a cry when her bare foot made contact with the sharp high heel of the shoe she had just discarded, and climbed between the sheets.

She was just congratulating herself on her success when she felt the mattress shift beside her.

“About time you were in bed.”

Madeline pressed her lips together, biting back the first response that sprang to them. “I’m sorry, Aunt Ruth. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“Not a fit time of night for decent folk.”

Madeline didn’t have to see her aunt’s face to know the expression of disapproval that would be on it. “Drew and I were talking.”

Aunt Ruth sniffed. “Must have been some mighty exciting talk to make you draw your breath that hard.”

Madeline’s face turned hot, she was sure it was red as fire, but she didn’t say anything until she was sure she could keep hold of her temper and her sense of humor.

“We were wondering if you’d like to help us catch a murderer tomorrow.” She grinned to herself as her aunt made sputtering noises from the darkness beside her.

“Me? Don’t be absurd. It’s bad enough for you to go chasing around Europe with not even the sense God gave billy goats without me chasing after you. What do I know about solving murders?”

“If you’ll help me make a list of where we went the day of the party, all the stores we went to and where we had lunch, we might be able to find out if Freddie Bell was at any of the same places that day. Then maybe we’ll figure out who put the key from the Queen Bess into my purse.”

“And what does that have to do with these murders?”

“Maybe it was the murderer.”

“And maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with the murders. Did your supposed detective ever consider that?”

“Why would anyone besides the murderer have put it in there?” Madeline paused and then plunged ahead. “Unless whoever it was, was trying to drive me and Drew apart. Who would want to do that?”

“Besides me, you mean.” Aunt Ruth snorted. “No need to
beat around the bush, missy. I think the man’s a mistake, for you or for any decent American girl, but if I was going to commit murder to save you from yourself, your Mr. Farthering would be my first and only victim.”

“I don’t think you’d ever kill anybody, Aunt Ruth, but you didn’t—”

“Don’t be silly. Do you really think I’d ruin your reputation or give any young man, foreign or not, improper ideas about you?”

“No. I didn’t think you would in the first place, but I don’t know why someone else would, either.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Aunt Ruth said, “You don’t suppose you have another admirer in this den of iniquity, do you? Somebody who’d like to see you and your Englishman part ways?”

“I don’t know of anyone.”

“You’d better just come home with me then. That’ll nip anything like that right in the bud.” Aunt Ruth sighed heavily. “I know I’m just an old sourpuss sticking my nose in where it doesn’t belong.”

“Aunt Ruth, I never said—”

“You didn’t need to say it. But somebody’s got to look after you. We’d both better head on back home.”

Madeline found her aunt’s hand in the darkness and squeezed it tightly. “Better yet, you can help me remember everywhere we went on the day of the party. Then maybe we’ll find out who’s doing all this and there’ll be no need for me to leave at all.”

Aunt Ruth’s only answer was another derisive snort, but she squeezed Madeline’s hand in return. That was enormously comforting.

The next morning, telling him it was as perfect as she and Aunt Ruth could make it, Madeline gave Drew her list of shops
and other points of interest. He in turn passed it on to Chief Inspector Birdsong, who gave his assurances that the proper inquiries would be made. On his way back from Winchester, remembering the telephone call he’d received from Dr. Corneau’s nurse, Drew decided he would stop by Mrs. Chapman’s cottage and talk to the Allen girl. When Birdsong had interviewed her earlier, she had denied ever going to the doctor’s surgery. Had she lied? If so, had it been out of embarrassment due to her predicament or had there been a more sinister reason?

Arms and legs like sticks, Madeline’s aunt had said. The Allen girl was tall and slim, and unlikely to be much of a match for the formidable Aunt Ruth. And Drew had made it possible for her to stay right here in Farthering St. John. Was that what had gotten Freddie Bell killed? No telling where the man had been snooping up until last night or who he’d set off.

He pulled up in front of Lilac Cottage and found the girl sitting in the garden out front, fallen asleep over a book. He couldn’t help shaking his head. She looked terribly young. He took a peek at what she was reading and smiled to see it was a collection of fairy tales. Poor thing, her white knight had ended up more than a bit tarnished. Still, he could hardly blame her for wanting to bury herself in fantasy when her present reality was so very ugly.

He stayed a pace or so back, not wanting to startle her. “Miss Allen?” She didn’t stir, so he raised his voice a fraction. “Miss Allen.”

She lifted her head, looking about in bewilderment before settling on him. “Mr. Farthering. Oh, excuse me, I . . . I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

She sat up straighter, smoothing her hair and straightening the collar of her blouse.

Drew removed his hat. “Forgive my coming unannounced, but I was hoping we might have another little chat.”

“Of course. Anytime. I haven’t properly thanked you for letting me stay here.” Her face was faintly pink, but whether that was from sleep or embarrassment, he didn’t know. “I guess I’ve needed time to think some things over, and this has been the perfect place for that.”

“I’m glad you’ve found it of help.” He glanced at the empty end of the bench she sat on. “May I?”

“Please, sit. I take it this is more than a social call.”

He bowed his head in acknowledgment as he sat beside her. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you some rather difficult questions. Please believe me, I mean no disrespect by them.”

The color in her face deepened. “All right.”

“First off, I’d like to know where you were between nine thirty and ten last night?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Just here. Why?”

“Alone?”

“Yes. Why?”

“I don’t suppose you’ve heard about the incident that took place at the cottage on my estate last night?”

She shook her head. “I haven’t heard anything. You’re the first person I’ve seen to talk to in two days. Has someone else been . . . ?” She bit her lip. “There’s been another murder, hasn’t there?”

He nodded. “Chap called Freddie Bell. American. Did you know him?”

“No. I never heard of him.”

“I also found out something regarding one of the earlier murders. About Corneau.”

Her eyes widened, almost imperceptibly. He’d definitely touched on something with that.

“Dr. Corneau?”

“Yes. If you recall, Chief Inspector Birdsong asked if you had ever gone to him. You claimed you hadn’t.”

“That’s right.” She worried the already worn corner of her book. “I don’t have a usual doctor.”

“But things weren’t exactly usual for you then, were they?”

She pressed her lips together. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Someone saw you there.” He knew that Corneau’s nurse had only thought she might have seen the girl there, but it was worth a try. “Would you like to tell me why? Or shall I tell you?”

Tears filled her eyes, and she refused to look at him. “Obviously, you already know why. Very well, yes, I did go there. Only the one time. And I didn’t kill him.”

“Did you tell anyone? About the baby?”

She shook her head fiercely, making her dark hair bob around her.

“Not Mr. Montford?”

Something flickered in her eyes. “No. Why would I? Mr. Montford knew nothing about it.”

“I told her, by the way. Mrs. Montford. I told her what you asked me to.”

“Did she believe you? Please tell me she did. I can’t stand the thought that what we did might make her doubt her husband loved her.”

“Oh, yes, she believed me,” Drew said. “She never believed anything else.” She seemed rather relieved by that. “And you told no one else about the child? Not your friend from the flat next to yours?”

Again the girl shook her head. Again she would not meet his eyes.

“Miss Allen.” He waited until she finally looked up. “Did you kill Dr. Corneau?”

“No. I swear I didn’t.”

He hated to press her, but he had no choice. “Have you killed anyone?”

The tears in her eyes finally spilled down her pink cheeks, and she looked away again, one hand covering her decidedly flat stomach. “I swear I haven’t killed any of those people you’ve been asking about.”

“I’m sorry to have upset you,” he said, getting to his feet. And he
was
sorry, sorry he’d phrased the question so stupidly. “If there’s anything I can do . . .”

She shook her head again.

There was no need to confirm the nurse’s assumptions about what the girl had done after visiting Dr. Corneau’s office. The pain and regret was plain on her face. Drew wished he somehow knew what to say to her. She obviously needed comfort and absolution, and for that he knew of only one source.

“I hope you’ll remember what we talked about before,” he added gently.

“The sermon?”

“It’s as good a place to start as any.”

He passed her his pocket handkerchief, and she buried her face in it. He didn’t know what to do but leave her with her thoughts and, he hoped, prayers. But he turned back again, wondering why he had never before thought to ask.

“One last thing, Miss Allen. You said you first met Mr. Montford when he came into your shop to buy a present for his son. Do you happen to recall what that was?”

She lifted her head, blinking at him, brow furrowed. “I, uh . . . It was a set of toy soldiers, I believe.”

He nodded and, with a tip of his hat, got into his car and drove away.

By the time Drew reached the hallowed premises of Whyland, Montford, Clifton and Russ, it was after hours. But Russ, expecting him after their telephone conversation, let him in the back way, leading him past empty offices until they got to a rather large, fustily decorated one. Russ settled himself behind the oversized desk, with a file marked
Montford, Daniel
lying on it.

Drew turned the file to face himself but didn’t open it. “He’ll be watched, you know.”

Russ merely smirked and gestured toward a chair. “Of course he will. But I don’t think the inspector believes Daniel killed his father. He just hasn’t got a better suspect at the moment, and he’s certainly not going to let this one fly out of his grasp. No doubt as soon as Daniel was released, he arranged to put a man or two on the Montford house.”

“Are you surprised? That Daniel was seeing a married woman?”

Russ shrugged. “Not uncommon, I suppose.”

“But would you have thought it of him?”

“Didn’t know him that well, to be honest. I mean, I’d known his father since before the boy was born, but apart from a word here or there or an occasional visit to the office, I never heard that much about Daniel.”

“That’s odd. Mr. Montford always seemed quite a proud father.”

“Oh, I daresay he was, but I suppose I never paid all that much mind to it. Sounds rather boorish of me, I know, but other men’s children, well, they’re not all that interesting, eh?”

“I suppose a businessman has other things on his mind. What
about Montford himself? Did you talk much outside of office matters?”

“Not all that much, perhaps went for a drink here and there. We got on well, to be sure, but we weren’t that chummy. Not on a personal level.”