Page 15 of Marriage and Murder
Stokes looked at Penelope, clearly inviting her to lead the questioning.
She focused on Madeline. “If you would, Miss Huntingdon, can you give us a description of your sister, both in terms of physical state and of character? We’ve learned from experience that the more we know of the victim, the better our chances of understanding why someone might have wanted to kill them.”
Madeline digested that, then nodded. “Yes, I see.” She paused, clearly ordering her thoughts, then went on, “As far as I know, Viola was in excellent health and suffered from no chronic ailments of any sort. She was forty-two years old, hale and well, and should have lived for many more years. She wasn’t a particularly vigorous person—she didn’t ride or enjoy long walks. She and I grew up in Salisbury, and walking around the market and along the shops in Castle Street or as far as the cathedral was Viola’s idea of a long ramble.”
Madeline’s lips had lightly curved, but her emerging smile wavered and fell. After a moment, she went on, “Character wise, she was…I suppose you would say a product of our upbringing as daughters of a minister. She was rigidly conservative in her views. It was important to her that everything was always as correct, as in its place, as it could be. As it should be. Society’s rules were her framework for living, and much in the mannerof a minister’s wife, she viewed herself as a guardian of social mores.” She glanced at Stokes and Barnaby. “It was no surprise to me that, once Viola moved down here to Ashmore, her closest friend was Mrs. Foswell, the minister’s wife.”
Stokes, jotting, nodded encouragingly, leaving it to Penelope to ask, “Was there ever any talk of Viola marrying? Either here or back in Salisbury?”
“No.” Madeline paused, then amended, “At least, not until very recently. Prior to August, to my certain knowledge, Viola had never been interested in any man, and the subject of marriage had never arisen.”
“For how long had your sister lived in the village?” Penelope asked. “We understand your father was a minister in Salisbury.”
“Yes, Papa was the minister of St. Edmund’s in Salisbury. He died just over five years ago and left us—Viola and me—quite well off.” In explanation, Madeline added, “He was an investor of sorts and had done well in the railways, so our inheritance was larger than one might suppose. Viola took her half and bought this property. She’d always dreamed of living in a cottage in a small village.” Madeline’s voice quavered.
“And what did you do with your half?” Penelope promptly asked, once again hoping to distract Madeline.
Madeline drew in a deeper, calming breath, then replied, “With my half of our inheritance, I went to London and bought a house there, and I’ve lived there ever since.” She looked at Penelope. “I visited Viola every few months and generally stayed for a week or even two. Although we lived apart and had different lives, we weren’t estranged. It was simply that we liked different things, enjoyed different activities, and that was reflected in the lives we each chose and built for ourselves.”
Penelope nodded understandingly. “I have much the same relationship with my sisters.”
“Purely for the record,” Stokes said, “what’s your address in London?”
“Number twenty, Bedford Place.”
Penelope knew the area. “Between Bloomsbury and Russell Squares.” The observation wasn’t a question. When, surprised, Madeline looked at her, Penelope explained, “I’m often in that area, visiting the university and associated departments.”
Even more surprised, Madeline glanced at Barnaby and Stokes, then returned her gaze to Penelope and offered, “My house has three floors, and I live on the upper floor and lease the first-floor and ground-floor rooms to two history professors.”
Penelope beamed. “Which ones? I know most of them.”
Somewhat warily, Madeline answered, “Professor Atkins and Professor Gardner.”
Penelope nodded. “Ancient history and Roman history. There must be many discussions in their rooms.”
Madeline faintly smiled. “Indeed. They always seem to find some ruin to argue over.”
Feeling that she—and Stokes and Barnaby, too—now had a very much firmer grasp of Madeline and her background as well as Viola’s, Penelope glanced at Stokes, wordlessly passing him the questioning baton.
Accepting it, he said, “We were told you’ve reported that some of your sister’s jewelry is missing, presumably the items the murderer searched for and took. Can you describe the pieces?”
“I can tell you about the bracelet,” Madeline said. “It was my mother’s, and my father passed it on to Viola on her twentieth birthday. She loved that piece and was deeply attached to it. She would rarely go on a visit anywhere without it on her wrist.” Madeline went on to describe a simple antique gold setting framing seven decent-sized aquamarines. “I understand the stones were considered rather fine. As for the necklace, I neversaw it. Viola said it had been given to her by her ‘secret admirer, H,’ whom she’d met since I was last here in early August. She wrote to me that the necklace was made to match the bracelet, and she described it as a beautiful and thoughtful gift.”
“So this secret admirer definitely gave her the necklace?” Barnaby asked.
Madeline nodded. “He did, sometime in September, and she said it matched the bracelet perfectly. She was over the moon about it and giddily happy with it and him. Until this past week.”
“Before we move on to why her opinion of the man changed,” Stokes said, “are you certain both necklace and bracelet are gone?”
“Yes.” Madeline sounded quite sure. “I know where Viola would have kept them—where she kept the bracelet—and I’ve checked, and they’re definitely not there”—she glanced at Constable Price—“or anywhere else in the areas I’ve been allowed to search.”
“Were any other items taken?” Penelope asked.
“No.” Madeline frowned, puzzled. “Viola had some quite nice garnet drops and a silver cuff, and they are still in the box on her dressing table.” She glanced at Price. “I had William check.”
“So,” Penelope mused, “it was only the aquamarine set—the bracelet and necklace—that was taken.”
Madeline nodded, and Barnaby put in, “That suggests that this wasn’t any random robbery conducted by someone after sellable goods.”
