Page 25 of Murder at Hambledon Hall
“Was there a hint of mint?”
“Not quite.”
“Aqua?”
D.I. Hobart pulled out a handkerchief on which his initials were stitched in the corner. “Is this it?”
His wife rolled her eyes. “That’s olive green. It’s very different to teal.”
D.I. Hobart looked to Harry. Harry shrugged. His father shrugged, too, and pocketed the handkerchief.
“I can picture it, but I can’t describe it,” I said. “It’s not the color of any plant I’ve seen before.”
“Is there a greenhouse on the estate?” D.I. Hobart asked.
“There’s a fernery filled with interesting plants, most of which I’d not seen before. The stain must have come from one of them. I’ll try to take another look, although I’m not sure how. I’m making some inquiries in the village tomorrow, but didn’t have plans to call at the house. I don’t want anyone from Hambledon Hall to know I’m in the area.”
Ann Hobart suddenly brightened. “You should take Harry with you. For protection against the murderer, obviously, as well as his help.”
“Aunt,” Harry chided. “Cleo doesn’t need my help. Although you do have a point about protection.” He arched his brows at me. “I can be free tomorrow, if I move a few appointments around.”
“It’s not appropriate,” his mother said tightly. “She’s a young, unwed lady.”
Her sister-in-law rolled her eyes. “Pishposh. No one concerns themselves with that these days, as long as they stay in public areas.”
“They do when the young lady in question is a Bainbridge.”
“I’m a Fox,” I stated. “And Harry’s company would be welcome.” It just slipped out before I could stop myself. “Although Harmony has already agreed to join me.”
“Then I’m superfluous,” Harry said with a smile that had begun when I said his company would be welcome.
I quickly turned to his father, catching D.I. Hobart unawares. He’d been watching his son with the sort of scrutiny I’d seen him give witnesses. “I have one more question before I go. How difficult is it for a thief to sell stolen silverware? Distinctive silverware, I should add.”
“Not easy for an opportunistic amateur. The thief would have to know a fence connected to an underground criminal network, or someone local who knows how to melt it down.”
That’s what I’d thought. “Do you think D.S. Forrester could make inquiries with the Morcombe police about known thieves in the area?”
“I’ll ask him.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean for you to lift a finger. I don’t want to put you out. I can call on Monty at Scotland Yard.”
“Monty!” Harry’s aunt cried. When she realized how loud she sounded, she softened her voice. “You must be great friends to be on a first name basis, Miss Fox.”
I wasn’t, but D.S. Forrester had asked me to call him that, and he called me Cleo. It was quite obvious to me why he insisted, although I’d never given him reason to hope there could be anything other than friendship between us, and nor would I.
“Stephen?” Harry’s aunt prompted. “Couldyouspeak to your contacts at the Yard? Miss Fox has enough to do already.”
“Hmmm?” At his sister-in-law’s glare, D.I. Hobart added, “Yes, of course.”
I knew what they were doing, and why. I expected Harry’s mother to overrule them, or at least attempt to encourage me in the direction of Monty and therefore away from her son, but she sat in silence. It was both unsettling and pleasing. I wasn’t sure whether it made me happy or worried. It certainly twisted my insides into knots.
When I made a move to leave, Harry’s aunt suggested he return on the train with me for company. We said our goodbyes, and I thanked them all for the afternoon tea and assistance. As I left, I realized I’d quite enjoyed myself. It was nice to call on Harry’s parents and not have his mother glare at me for the duration, and his aunt was very amiable.
“Do you think the thefts are related to the murder?” Harry asked as we walked to the station.
“It’s too soon to tell. Hopefully my visit to the village tomorrow will provide answers, although I doubt it. If I do find a suspect for the thefts, they’re unlikely to admit they stole the Kershaws’ candlesticks simply because I ask nicely.”
We fell into a comfortable silence. My thoughts were occupied with potential questions to ask in Morcombe and I thought Harry’s mind was similarly engaged. I was wrong.
