Page 58 of Murder at Hambledon Hall
“No. I don’t know why he was here. It was a shock to see him on our regular evening walk.”
“It was the surprise on Phyllida’s face that made me realize he meant something to her,” Mr. Crippen added. “She’d refused to tell me the name of the father, but after seeing her reaction that day, I assumed it was him.”
“You must have suspected it was someone from Hambledon Hall,” Harry said.
“I presumed it was Lord Kershaw. It’s often the way, with a young female servant taken advantage of by the lord of the manor.” He shrugged, as if it was so common as to be ordinary, accepted even.
“Did either of you approach Shepherd when you saw him here?” I asked.
“No,” Miss Crippen said. “I wouldn’t let my brother go after him. I’d made up my mind about the baby’s future, you see, and it didn’t involve Esmond.” She rubbed her belly again. “He’d already showed his lack of interest. A confrontation wouldn’t change his mind.”
According to the landlady at the guesthouse, Shepherd had left the building twice during his stay, once in the evening after his arrival and again the following morning before his departure. “Did you see where he was heading?”
“He walked along Wimpole Street, then turned into Queen Anne Street.”
Queen Anne Street connected to the street where St. Michael’s was located. “Do you go to church?”
My question took them both by surprise.
“I used to, before I was showing,” she said.
“Which church?”
“All Saints on Margaret Street. Why?”
Instead of answering, I asked another question. “How well did you know Reverend Pritchard?”
She blinked in surprise. “Not very well. I went to his services on Sundays, as did most of the staff. He seemed like a good man, very pious, but he’d only been there a short while before I left.” She gasped. “Do you thinkhekilled Esmond?”
“It’s a line of inquiry we’re following. So, you didn’t know that Reverend Pritchard was based at St. Michael’s here in Marylebone before he went to Morcombe?”
“You’re mistaken, Miss Fox. He was from Cornwall.”
“He lied about being from Cornwall, because he didn’t want anyone investigating his past. He left his previous post under a cloud.”
“Oh! I wonder what happened.”
Mr. Crippen lowered his teacup. “Do you know, I think I’ve heard something about this. Our neighbor attends St. Michael’s, and happened to tell me several months ago about the vicar being caught out in some scandal or other. No names were mentioned, and he didn’t know the particulars of the scandal, only that it necessitated the vicar’s swift move out of the parish. Our neighbor wondered where he’d gone. It was all very hush-hush, he said.”
“Are you saying Morcombe’s Reverend Pritchard is that same vicar?” Miss Crippen asked me. “Oh, dear. Poor Lady Kershaw. She’d be mortified if she knew. She dislikes scandal.”
“Don’t we all,” Mr. Crippen muttered into his teacup.
Miss Crippen lowered her gaze.
“Did Lady Kershaw know about your condition?” I asked.
“No. She knew about my liaison with Esmond, but not the outcome.”
“Her ladyshipmusthave guessed,” Mr. Crippen said with a sneer. “She just didn’t want to know for certain, because then she’d have to acknowledge they employed a snake.”
“She knew what he was like, by all accounts,” I said. “As did Lord Kershaw. Why do you think they put up with a gamekeeper who seduced their female staff? Why not dismiss him?”
Miss Crippen shrugged. “He was a good gamekeeper, I suppose. He’d been employed for a very long time, and his father before him, I believe. Tradition counts for much.”
“It’s everything for some,” her brother added in another mutter.
Miss Crippen cradled her belly with one arm. “Now that I think about it, it is strange that they kept Esmond on. They didn’t seem to like him very much.”
