Page 16 of Marriage and Murder
“No,” Penelope agreed. “Not if they passed up garnet earbobs. They’re very much in fashion at the moment.”
Barnaby glanced at Stokes, then ventured, “It’s difficult to see the theft of jewelry of such lowly worth as sufficient inducement to murder.”
A momentary silence fell while they all digested that.
“The only logical way,” Penelope eventually said, “for the theft of the jewelry to be the motive for the murder is if the theft was in progress and Viola walked in on the thief and recognized him. Then the threat of exposure becomes the motive.”
“That won’t wash,” Stokes said. “Viola was killed in the parlor, not anywhere near where we believe she kept the jewelry, and there were no signs of her having fled there or of her fighting off an attacker.”
“Huh,” Penelope said. “So much for that idea.”
Madeline had been nodding. “I, too, have been puzzling over how the missing jewelry links with Viola’s murder.” She glanced at Barnaby. “As you pointed out, the aquamarines are pretty, but not valuable enough to lure any serious thief.” She shifted her gaze to Stokes. “To my mind, it keeps coming back to this ‘secret admirer, H.’”
“As to that,” Penelope said, “we’ve heard that you suggested that Lord Glossup was the man involved, as his name is Henry and there are no other gentlemen around whose names begin withH, and there is a similarity between the manner of your sister’s murder and that of his lordship’s late wife. However, the earlier murder was committed by someone else, who, indeed, confessed to the crime, and his lordship was in no way involved.”
“As it happens,” Stokes said with a faint smile directed at Penelope, “I was the investigating officer in charge of that case, and we unquestionably caught the right man. Consequently, any suggestion his lordship is responsible for your sister’s death appears to be pure conjecture. We’ve checked with the senior man in Salisbury”—Stokes glanced at Price, presumably to make sure he was paying attention, which he was—“and there are no facts to support any case against Lord Glossup.”
To their joint surprise, Madeline sighed and admitted, “I realized I’d allowed my grief and ill-judged rumors to sway my judgment. On calmer and more rational reflection, I mustaccept that an argument about a dog being a dog isn’t a motive for murder, no matter the degree of heat involved. And yes, I can readily see Viola getting exceedingly hot under the collar over that. Quite aside from being very proud of her garden, she was something of a prude and tended to overreact to such occurrences.”
At that point, Constable Price cleared his throat, and when they all looked his way, he colored slightly, but gamely volunteered, “I’ve asked around, Inspector, and several people say they’ve spotted a man, a gentleman by his dress, walking over the fields just north of here.” With his head, he indicated the rear of the cottage. “No one saw him close up, not enough to identify. Could have been his lordship, far as anyone could tell, but the thing is, Glossup Hall lies south of the village, and I’ve never seen his lordship walk anywhere—he rides all about on that great bay hunter of his. Yet it seems this other gentleman was always on foot, and as it’s easy to get from the fields to this cottage via the wood, he might have been the one who visited Miss Viola in secret, like.” Price looked at Madeline. “Her secret admirer and all.”
Stokes nodded. “Good work, constable. We’ll need to speak with the villagers who saw this man later, but for now…” He returned his gaze to Madeline. “Do you have any idea who your sister’s secret admirer might be?”
Madeline’s lips thinned, and she shook her head. “She wouldn’t say. I pressed her in my letters, but she clung to the information.” She paused, then went on, “Viola hadn’t had any suitors previously, and I think, when one came knocking, that she wanted to keep him, well, to herself for a time.” Madeline looked at Penelope. “If that makes any sense.”
Penelope nodded. “It does. She wanted to glory in the moment, and at the same time, from what you’ve said of her, shewas very likely insecure enough to fear people thinking it was somehow wrong. She was forty-two, I think you said?”
Madeline nodded. “And she felt her age weighing on her—I know it troubled her, that she was alone and growing older. All those sorts of thoughts. But I have to say, she was never so taken with any gentleman as she was with this H, whoever he is. She was inherently suspicious and critical—some might say hypercritical—of others, especially unmarried men, but in her eyes, H could simply do no wrong. She was quite moonstruck, and in all our correspondence—we exchanged letters every week—she referred to him as ‘my secret admirer, H.’”
“Secretadmirer,” Barnaby said. “She specifically labeled him that?”
Madeline nodded. “Virtually all the time. She wrote that he was handsome—very handsome—and utterly charming.” She made a faint, derisive sound. “He must have been to have won her over so completely.”
“How long ago did she first mention him?” Stokes asked.
“About two months ago,” Madeline said. “I last came to visit in late July and left in early August, and he didn’t feature at that time. I would have known if Viola was trying to hide something from me, and she wasn’t—not then.” Madeline frowned, clearly thinking back. “I believe she first mentioned meeting some gentleman later in August, and by September, she’d started to refer to him as ‘my secret admirer, H.’”
Stokes looked up from his notebook. “I understand you arrived here on Saturday.”
Somewhat grimly, Madeline nodded. “Just as Viola’s body was being taken from the cottage.”
“That must have been a terrible shock,” Penelope observed.
“It was.” After a moment, Madeline focused on Stokes. “But to answer your unvoiced question, Inspector, Viola and I exchanged letters every week, mid-week. Last Thursdayafternoon, I received her letter penned and posted on the morning of the Wednesday before, and all seemed entirely normal.” She paused, then added, “Other than—and this is me reading between her lines—she seemed extra excited about H’s next visit, and I got the strong impression she was expecting him to ask for her hand, if not at that time, then very soon after. She was, perhaps understandably, excited beyond description, which is more or less how she put it.”
Madeline drew a deeper breath and went on, “Then on Friday afternoon, I received another, entirely unexpected letter in a very different tone. In it, Viola railed at Fate andHand wrote that she’d been betrayed and that she should have known better than to trust him and that I would understand once she explained, but the long and short of it was that she begged me to come down and support her.” Madeline shrugged. “Of course I came. I was on the train first thing Saturday morning and arrived here early that afternoon, only to discover she’d been murdered.” She paused, then added, “I nearly fainted when I saw her body. Constable Price was here and helped me inside, then sent for Mrs. Foswell and the Reverend, whom I know quite well.”
Penelope was frowning. “This unexpected letter—did you bring it with you?”
Madeline blinked, then reached into her skirt pocket and pulled out a creased sheet of paper. She smoothed it out, looked at it for a moment, then handed it to Penelope. Speaking to Stokes, Madeline said, “I would like to keep the letter.” Her gaze shifted to the sheet in Penelope’s hands. “Those are the last words Viola wrote to me.”
Stokes thought, then nodded. “I’ll make a copy, and you can have the original back.”
“Thank you,” Madeline murmured, her gaze on Penelope.
Having scanned the letter, Penelope opted to read it aloud. “Dearest — please, I implore you, if you can at all manage it, come down to Ashmore as soon as you can. I have discovered that H is a monster! He has deceived me most dreadfully and betrayed my trust at the deepest level. I should have known better than to place any faith whatsoever in a snake such as he, but I was dazzled. Charmed! You’ll understand when I tell you his name! Please come immediately. I’m not sure how to manage the matter, but I am determined—determined is underlined three times—to see him pay for his perfidy! I need your wise counsel, my dear, and pray I will see you soon. Your loving sister, Viola.”
Barnaby had been studying Madeline, and in a deliberately matter-of-fact vein, observed, “It appears that your sister shot off the letter to you on Thursday morning and was killed on Thursday afternoon.”
