Page 28 of And Then There Was the One
Mrs. Penbaker smiled. “Thank you. Bertie and I worked quite hard on it—we even have a poison garden out back that Miss Halifax and a few of her book club members planted for us, showcasing plants that featured in crime novels.”
“Delightful!” Sebastian said brightly, as if he could think of no greater pleasure than surrounding himself with herbs that might kill him. “The entire exhibition is an interesting idea. I understand that your husband was determined to find a silver lining in the village’s recent misfortunes—terribly admirable.” He leaned against the display case featuring the bloody knife, stuck a hand in his pocket, and cast an appreciative glance around the room. He looked, Georgie thought, a bit like he was posing for a catalogue: “A jumper-wearing man at ease in the country.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Penbaker said, regarding Sebastian as though hewere some sort of exotic tropical creature one might find at the zoo. “Well, Bertie had become very fond of murder mysteries himself—an interest he developed in the last year or so. And so he was less surprised than I was when increased numbers of tourists began arriving. Eventually, given their number, Bertie thought it sensible to at least offer some sort of official, village-sanctioned information on the recent misfortunes.”
“So very wise,” Sebastian said with an earnest nod. “You’d hardly want them getting all their information fromThe Deathly Dispatch, after all!” He chuckled easily.
“Miss Radcliffe has told you aboutThe Deathly Dispatch, has she?” Mrs. Penbaker asked.
“Yes—well,” Georgie said, thinking quickly, “that is, Arthur Crawley has received a tip that theDispatchis going to do some sort ofdreadfularticle implying that your husband was murdered. I was explaining to Sebastian here how they publish sensationalist garbage.”
Mrs. Penbaker frowned. “Why on earth would they think that? Bertie had a heart attack.”
“Weknow that,” Georgie assured her. “But you know what theDispatchis like.” She shook her head darkly. “Just last week it published an article contrasting how many lambs were killed by foxes here this past spring compared to Bramble-in-the-Vale, as if we’re some sort of hotbed for the murder of humans and animals alike.”
“This county does love its hyphens, doesn’t it?” Sebastian observed.
“Donotcompare us to Bramble-in-the-Vale,” Mrs. Penbaker insisted. “They havethreehyphens. We only have two!”
“Of course, of course,” Sebastian agreed, nodding. “I didn’t mean to cause any offense—particularly not to a lady as lovely as yourself.” This last was uttered in an intimate tone. “I don’t suppose there’s anythingyoucould tell us about your husband’s death—something we could pass along to Crawley, so he can write an article that clearly refutes anything that hack at theDispatchpublishes?” He offered Mrs. Penbaker a reassuring sort of smile. “It would pain me to see an upstanding woman like yourself caused distress by tabloid journalism.” He shook his head.
Mrs. Penbaker regarded him coolly. “Do you know, Mr. Fletcher-Ford, that I used to know a manjustlike you?”
Sebastian smiled at her. “Do you remember him fondly?”
“No,” Mrs. Penbaker said. “He was a dreadful flirt and broke my heart when he married my best friend after leading me on.”
Sebastian leaned forward, his gaze fixed on her. “Then, my dear Mrs. Penbaker, he was nothing at all like me.”
He winked.
Mrs. Penbaker, seemingly against her better judgment, relented and offered him a small smile.
Georgie exhaled a soft sigh of relief.
“What can I tell you about my husband’s death?” Mrs. Penbaker asked briskly, crossing her arms over her chest.
Georgie rummaged for her notebook and a pencil. “I believe he was at home alone when he became ill?”
“Yes.” Mrs. Penbaker nodded. “I was running some errands, and then was at the fete planning committee meeting.”
“And when you returned home,” Georgie prompted, “you found your husband unwell?”
Mrs. Penbaker nodded again. “He complained of being dizzy and short of breath, and his chest was paining him. I rang for Dr. Severin, but by the time the doctor arrived…” She shook her head.
Georgie began to hastily jot down notes. “And what time would you say this was?” she asked, glancing up.
Mrs. Penbaker cleared her throat. “I couldn’t say for certain. My meeting usually ends at two, and I came straight home afterward.”
“So by two-fifteen or so, then?” Georgie asked.
“I suppose so,” Mrs. Penbaker agreed.
“And were you surprised by your husband’s death?”
“It was quite sudden, as I’ve just explained. So it was shocking, yes.”
There was nothing in her voice but cool, measured politeness. She was very self-contained, Georgie thought—she was not the sort of woman to give any sign of strong emotion.
