Page 29 of Marriage and Murder
Stokes nodded. “Right. So you started the porridge.”
Mrs. Gilroy nodded, and her hands clutched her apron more tightly. “And once I had it on, I went to tidy the front parlor…”
Every vestige of color drained from her face as she stared unseeing across the room, then her breath hitched, and she looked down and said, “That’s when I found her.”
Gently, Penelope asked, “What did you do?”
Still looking at the floor, Mrs. Gilroy replied, “Well, I screeched a bit, but there was no one to hear. So I took the pot off the stove, then rushed around to the Penroses and told them what I’d found, and Jim ran to fetch William there.” She tipped her head toward Price. “He hadn’t yet left his ma’s cottage, so he came and saw and sent one of the lads from the farm riding to Salisbury with the news. I couldn’t do anything for poor Miss Viola, so after William arrived, I came away home.”
Stokes glanced up from his notebook. “You didn’t return to the cottage at any point?”
Mrs. Gilroy shook her head. “Truth be told, it’d take something to get me over the threshold again.”
Stokes nodded.
“One last question,” Barnaby said. “Do you have any idea who the gentleman Miss Viola referred to as ‘my secret admirer, H’ in her letters to her sister might be?”
Mrs. Gilroy looked taken aback. “I heard the whispers after church, but I thought they were just silly rumors. I’d no idea Miss Viola had a secret admirer.” She paused, then added, “Not that I would have expected her to tell me. Miss Viola wasn’t one to share anything personal with staff. She only spoke to us about our work. Me and Jim, we were there to do our jobs, and that was the extent of it. We weren’t friends, and she wasn’t one of those ladies who likes to chatter. She never encouraged anything of the sort.”
Barnaby inclined his head. “Thank you. We had gathered that about her.”
Penelope nodded. Jim Swinson had said much the same.
Mrs. Gilroy grimaced. “It might’ve helped her if she’d been more chatty.”
Struck by a sudden thought, Penelope asked, “Did you see her when she got back from Salisbury? On the Wednesday afternoon?”
Mrs. Gilroy shook her head. “No. I left for home before she and Jim got back.”
“When you saw her on Thursday morning,” Penelope continued, “did she seem out of sorts? Upset or…?”
Mrs. Gilroy frowned. “Not upset in the sense of weeping. She wasn’t sad. But she was tense and…well, sort of fragile, I thought. Bothered and het up about something, although she never let on about what. But when she gave me that letter for her sister to post, I did sense that she’d reached some sort of decision. She seemed more sure of herself, more confident and settled on her path. Like she knew what she was going to do.”
When Mrs. Gilroy fell silent and looked at Penelope, who then looked at Stokes, Stokes tucked away his notebook and said, “Thank you, Mrs. Gilroy. You’ve been most helpful. Now, I believe you have a son, Billy. Is he at home?”
The instant escalation of Mrs. Gilroy’s anxiety was painfully obvious. Her expression trepidatious, she popped to her feet as Penelope, Barnaby, and Stokes rose. Her hands clasped tightly at her waist, she blurted, “What do you want with Billy?”
In a reassuring tone, Stokes replied, “Just routine questions. We’re speaking with everyone who’s come into contact with Miss Viola over recent weeks.”
To circumvent unnecessary argument, Penelope asked, “Is that Billy chopping wood outside?”
Mrs. Gilroy looked at Penelope, her expression that of a rabbit who’d just recognized a fox.
Penelope smiled brightly. “We’ll just go out and have a quick word.” She moved toward the kitchen. “No need to escort us. Constable Price can show us the way and introduce us to Billy. Your pie is still waiting, and we’ve taken up enough of your morning.”
Hiding a smile at his wife’s managing ways—always so effective—Barnaby followed her through the kitchen and out of the cottage’s rear door. Constable Price leapt into action and took the lead, while Stokes dallied to reassure Mrs. Gilroy that her presence was not required.
Price led them along a grassy path between more vegetable beds.
Billy Gilroy was chopping wood at the far end of the narrow lot. He was a lean, rather slight young man, but from the ease with which he wielded the axe, he had muscles enough. Of average height, he had untidy dark-brown hair, and his pale features were a sharper—less worn—version of his mother’s.
He saw them coming and stepped back from the block, resting the axe head on the ground beside him.
Price nodded to Billy as they halted a yard away. “Billy. The inspector here just wants to ask you a few questions.”
Stokes joined them and introduced himself as well as Barnaby and Penelope, giving Barnaby a chance to study Billy. The lad was nervous and on his guard. His eyes darted to take in Barnaby and Penelope, then he returned his gaze to Stokes and nervously licked his lips. “How can I help ye?”
Stokes hauled out his notebook. “We’re investigating the murder of Miss Viola Huntingdon. We’ve heard that you and she weren’t all that friendly.”
