Page 31 of Marriage and Murder
Stokes looked at Barnaby and Penelope. To Penelope, he said, “It looks like you’ll get your wish sooner rather than later.” He glanced up at Phelps, listening interestedly from the box seat. “It seems we’re off to Salisbury.”
CHAPTER 6
Fifteen minutes later, Madeline walked around the village pond and on down High Street. The church was her destination, and several yards behind her trailed the obedient and unintrusive Constable Price.
Madeline found herself a touch amused by the protective concern the constabulary were displaying toward her fair self, but in the circumstances, with her sister’s murderer not yet apprehended, she wasn’t fool enough to dismiss any action the investigators deemed necessary.
The Adairs and Stokes had drawn up in their carriage just as she’d been about to set out for the church. She’d spent the earlier hours of the morning sorting and packing Viola’s clothes to be given away. There were few of her sister’s things she wished to keep, and the realization of how different their lives had become had weighed on her spirit.
That was why she was heading for the church, hoping to find some measure of peace. The investigators had informed her that someone had attempted to sell Viola’s missing bracelet and necklace, and they were on their way to pursue the trail in the hope it would lead them to the murderer. They’d swappedconstables, taking up the chatty Morgan and leaving the quieter Price to watch over her. As Mrs. Adair had put it, just in case.
Madeline was happy enough to go along with the notion. At that moment, being left totally alone didn’t appeal, which was why, while Henry had been driving her home the previous evening and he’d asked—carefully, even warily—if she might fancy a drive to Shaftesbury to chase away the cobwebs and perhaps have a quiet lunch in a nice little place he knew, she’d accepted with gratitude. She needed to get away from Viola and death and Ashmore for just a little while.
She’d arranged to meet Henry outside the rectory at half past eleven. It was not quite eleven now, so she had plenty of time to seek solace in the church before rendezvousing with him. She’d informed Constable Price of her plans, which he’d accepted readily, merely saying that once she drove off, he would return to the cottage and await her return. His attitude had confirmed Henry’s standing among the wider community. Thinking back, she rather suspected that those who had earlier whispered about him being the murderer hadn’t been all that serious and had been merely indulging in speculation for titillation’s sake.
On reaching the church’s lychgate, she went through and climbed the gently rising path to the open church door and walked inside.
Constable Price followed as far as the door. He scanned the empty church and waited until she sat in a pew halfway down the nave before ducking back outside and tactfully leaving her to her contemplation.
Madeline let the silence wrap around her. She wasn’t a particularly religious person, but she was the daughter of a minister, and the church had been a constant in her life as it had been in Viola’s. She felt closer to Viola, and indeed, her father, when seated in God’s house.
She’d been there for perhaps ten minutes, relishing the peace and feeling her soul grow more and more refreshed, when the side door that led to the graveyard opened. She didn’t look around at first, but on hearing footsteps approaching, expecting to see Reverend Foswell, she turned with welcome in her eyes—only to discover it was Monty who was walking toward her, a typically charming smile curving his lips.
Really, she thought, faintly irritated, he hadn’t changed one iota. That smile was the same smile that, years ago, had captivated her. Now, however, rather than any flutter inside, she had to battle to keep her cynical amusement from showing. The assumption that any female would welcome his presence at any time clearly remained embedded in his brain, along with an expectation that Madeline would again fall for him as her much-younger and far-less-experienced self once had.
Apparently, he was blind to the fact that she’d changed.
True to his customary ways, he gracefully stepped into and sat in the pew in front of her. Placing one arm along the pew’s raised back, he swiveled to smile even more winningly at her. “My dearest Madeline, while I understand that your sister’s death affects you deeply, and I do sincerely honor you for that, it doesn’t do to sink too deeply into grief. That being so, here I am, eager and willing to divert your thoughts.” He affected an expression of genuine interest. “I own to being highly curious about what you’ve been up to since last we met.”
Since you threw me over because I was too independently minded for you?
The words were on the tip of Madeline’s tongue, but—minister’s daughter sitting in a church—she swallowed them unuttered.
She also told herself she couldn’t laugh in his face. Instead, after due consideration, she revealed, “After Papa died, I moved to London. I have a house there and amuse myself well enough.”Building an investment fund, but she wasn’t fool enough to tell him—a self-confessed fortune hunter—that.
“London, heh?” Monty looked mildly impressed. “Do you own the house? That’s quite an investment. Whereabouts is it in town?”
“Near the university.” She strove to keep her tone even. “I have lodgers.”
“Ah.” He nodded as if understanding had dawned. “A lodging house.”
She didn’t correct him. At a stretch, her Bedford Place house could possibly be described as such. “But enough of me. I confess I’m interested in learning of your exploits over the same period. America?” Better she kept him focused on himself, and that had never proved difficult. He had always been his favorite topic.
Sure enough, he brightened and said, “Yes, indeed.” Sadly, he followed that with “But I’m quite puzzled that you’ve never married.”
Several responses leapt to her tongue—such as that her earlier association with him had taught her the unwisdom of entrusting her future to a man—but after considering the best way to bring this discussion to an end, she shrugged and said, “Frankly, I never saw the need. With the inheritance Papa left me, I have enough to get by. But”—she studied him and made an educated guess—“you haven’t fronted the altar, either, have you?”
And given his long-ago-stated intention, that was surprising.
He sighed feelingly. “No. I never found the right lady for me.” The smile he bestowed on her was a too-sweet blend of self-deprecation and fellow feeling. He trapped her gaze and declared, “I should never have let you go.”
She managed not to snort or point out that she hadn’t been the one to break things off. “Tell me what you got up to in America. In the northeast, I think you said.”
“Generally speaking.” He waved expansively. “That said, I spent most of my time in New York. That’s where all the major business takes place. And”—he shifted to face her directly—“if I do say so myself, I feel I left my mark.”
Cynically, she wondered in what way. “What sort of business were you engaged in?” As far as she knew, he had no particular skills.
“It was a bit of this and that. I was really more a finance man, helping to fund various enterprises. It was very lucrative.”
