Page 20 of The Meriwell Legacy
She turned toward the shrubbery entrance, and he fell in alongside her.
“Have you had a chance to speak with Mrs. Macomber?” he asked. “She might well know what Glynis’s pendant was.”
“I tried, but sadly, she’s still too sedated to even rouse. I suspect she took sufficient laudanum to ensure she slept until morning.”
They stepped out of the shrubbery and headed for the front door.
After a moment, he shot her a glance. “It’s tempting to think that Glynis was murdered for whatever was on that chain.”
She met his eyes. “But what sort of pendant could possibly be worth murdering a young lady for?”
He tipped his head to her. “That’s a very good question.”
* * *
Unsurprisingly, dinner that evening was a subdued affair, but with Constance to make up the numbers of ladies, at least there wasn’t a glaring gap about the board.
She was now glad that Pearl had insisted on packing her bronze-silk evening gown, the matching slippers, and her pearls; the accoutrements allowed her to move among the other guests without standing out sartorially. Not that she cared about such things, but she was aware others did, and she wanted the ladies to feel at ease in her company, the better to elicit comments about Glynis that might lead them further in pursuit of the murderer.
With that aim in mind, when the ladies rose from the table and trailed back into the drawing room, Constance said, “I noticed there’s a conservatory. Does anyone else feel like a stroll to study the plants?”
Five other ladies leapt at the chance to be elsewhere; no doubt the drawing room held memories—echoes of the previous evening when Glynis had moved among them.
Mrs. Collard led the way, explaining that she’d already ventured into the heated atmosphere of the conservatory; she quickly added that she had something of a green thumb and had been drawn to see what Mandeville had growing, then named several species of plant that she declared Mandeville—or more correctly, his gardener—had succeeded in cultivating.
Constance knew next to nothing of what might be grown in a conservatory; on crops and orchards, herbs and vegetables, she was close to being an expert, but her knowledge of exotic species was essentially nonexistent.
Luckily, Mrs. Collard was matched in knowledge by Mrs. Finlayson, and while their small company wended this way and that along the tiled paths between the groupings of pots and planters, the pair entertained the rest—Miss Weldon and her chaperon, Mrs. Cripps, Mrs. Cleary, and Constance—with a running commentary on matters horticultural.
Constance strolled slowly at the rear of the group beside Mrs. Cleary. Rosamund Cleary seemed unsettled and skittish—ready to jump—which was hardly to be wondered at. Despite wanting to interrogate Mrs. Cleary in case she’d seen more than she’d said, Constance felt that, at least at that moment, it would be unkind to press the woman. She was already nervous, as if the realization that the murderer was very likely in the house, under the same roof, had sunk into her awareness in a more definite way than it had with the other ladies.
Constance suspected that the rest of the guests believed themselves mere bystanders, not in any way connected with Glynis or her death and so immune from any threat.
The more she dwelled on the situation, the more Constance’s respect for Mrs. Cleary’s courage in speaking up and reporting what she’d seen grew. In response, Constance adopted a quietly encouraging mien and hoped Mrs. Cleary might share a comment—something that would allow Constance to ease into a conversation about the figure Mrs. Cleary had seen leaving the shrubbery the previous night.
Sadly, she hoped in vain.
When the time came to return to the drawing room and they filed out of the conservatory, Mrs. Cleary had managed to utter not a single useful word, although she had made the effort to share her opinion on the best species of palms for decorating a ballroom.
Even with that, her tone, at least to Constance’s ears, had sounded brittle.
In the end, she wasn’t sure if Rosa Cleary was skittish because she was truly frightened or because she was a nervous sort and utterly distracted.
The route between the conservatory and the drawing room lay via a long corridor that ran past the billiard room. The billiard room door was still yards ahead of them when it opened and a horde of gentlemen streamed out. To Constance, tall enough to see over the other ladies’ curls, it seemed as if every male guest had taken refuge in the billiard room and all were now intent on hurrying to join the ladies for tea. Talking, settling coats, and briskly striding toward the drawing room, the men had come through the door already turning in that direction; not one noticed the six ladies coming along the corridor.
Mrs. Collard gave an audible sniff, which caused Constance and Mrs. Cripps, who was walking beside her, with Miss Weldon on her other side, to cynically smile.
Then Rosa Cleary gasped and halted.
They’d been walking three abreast, with Rosa in the middle in front, ahead of Mrs. Cripps.
Behind Mrs. Collard, Constance saw Rosa’s left hand dart out and grip Mrs. Collard’s wrist.
Instantly, all the ladies gathered around.
“Are you all right, Rosa?” Mrs. Finlayson inquired.
“You’ve gone dreadfully pale,” Miss Weldon observed.
