Page 55 of Marriage and Murder
Henry nodded. “So he told your sister he was a changed man and now went by the name Harold.”
Madeline was nodding more and more definitely. “I can even hear Monty saying that—and what’s more, I can imagine Viola accepting whatever tale he told and giving him the benefit of the doubt. She’d been raised in the church, so to speak, and giving people a second chance, turning the cheek as it were, was an ingrained part of her nature.”
Suddenly sure and remembering what she’d so recently learned, Madeline gripped Henry’s arm. “And there’s more!” In a rush, she told him of what the deacon had just told her. “Hesaw Viola come out of that park across the street.” With her head, she indicated the plot filled with green lawn and old trees. “The deacon thought it rather odd, because from the way she behaved, he believed she’d been hiding behind some trees while watching two men talking, and one of the men matches the description we’ve had from so many others of our mysterious H—which also describes Monty.”
“Did the deacon see if she followed the men?”
“She didn’t. He said they left, and once they had, she came in here”—Madeline waved at the church—“and sat quietly for some time. The deacon said that she appeared shaken, even devastated, but also distracted, as if she had several things on her mind all competing for her attention. He would have spoken with her and offered comfort and support, but he had a meeting with parishioners about a baptism, and when he came out of the office, Viola had gone.”
Madeline turned to Henry. “Everything fits. It was Monty who was Viola’s secret admirer, and she overheard something in the park that made the scales fall from her eyes, and she’d also just learned that he’d stolen her aquamarines. She finally saw him as the snake he truly is.”
Madeline paused, assembling the scenario in her mind. “Viola would have seen all that, and she would have grown angry. She would have taxed him with his perfidy when he next called on her—on Thursday afternoon. When he realized she was furious and intended to expose him and have him taken up—and she did intend that, because she’d hidden the bracelet and necklace, her proof of his crimes—he killed her.”
“And then,” Henry said, captured by her urgency, “he ransacked the cottage, looking for the jewelry so it couldn’t be used to track him down.”
Madeline gripped Henry’s arm tighter. “We have to go and tell the others.”
Grim faced, Henry nodded. “My thoughts exactly. The sooner they hear of this, the better.”
He gave her his arm, and she took it, and together, they walked quickly down the path that led around the church to the lychgate.
In the park across the street from St. Edmund’s, Monty Pincer had spent the past ten minutes trying to convince Seamus O’Reilly’s principal henchman, Johnson, that very soon, Monty would be able to make a down payment on the large amount of money he owed O’Reilly.
O’Reilly was the major moneylender in the district and had been for years. Because O’Reilly, largely acting through Johnson, operated strictly within the confines of the law, the authorities turned a blind eye to O’Reilly’s “business” dealings.
Monty hadn’t wanted this meeting and, on one level, resented being forced to report to Johnson so frequently—essentially at the man’s beck and call—but he didn’t dare not turn up and then discover O’Reilly had foreclosed on the cottage in Bowerchalke, the only asset Monty possessed.
At least he’d been able to choose the venue for these over-frequent meetings. His family had once owned the house that bordered the park on the east, and Monty had spent many a childhood afternoon playing beneath these very trees. Being in the park evoked memories of happier, carefree days, before Monty had grown up and life had turned against him.
Now, he sat on a bench, screened by thick bushes from the street, and worked to convince Johnson to give him just a little more time. Sadly, charm had never swayed Johnson, which left Monty scrambling to cobble together a believable argument. “AsI keep saying, the younger sister is the better bet for me, and she’s significantly wealthier, too.”
He strove for the right blend of confidence and outright assurance as he went on, “I even went to London to make sure of her wealth and discovered she’s a dark horse, indeed. I chatted up her maid, and it seems Madeline has not just the house in Bedford Place—which is much grander than she’d led me to believe—but she also has significant wealth tied up in investments managed by one of the premier firms in England.”
After meeting Madeline in the church on Wednesday, he’d attended another of these meetings with Johnson, and the man’s building impatience had spurred Monty into taking the train to London to confirm Madeline’s wealth. What he’d learned had sent his heart soaring, and when he’d returned on Thursday afternoon and ridden toward Lavender Cottage and spotted Madeline walking across the fields, he’d seized the chance to strengthen his hold on her.
Not that it had worked. And then she’d driven off with Lord Glossup!
The image of Madeline laughing at something his lordship had said rose in Monty’s mind and taunted him. Battling a frown, he thrust the vision aside and refocused on Johnson. Thinking of what he’d just revealed, and that Johnson might find it hard to swallow, plastering a quietly delighted smile on his lips, Monty shook his head and said, “I wouldn’t have believed it of a female, but I know her father was heavily involved in investing, so I expect she learned the knack from him.”
It was hard persuading Johnson of his chances of success when Monty himself was prey to a niggling inner fear that he wouldn’t be able to secure Madeline’s affections. His act of desperation in the wee hours of Friday morning had only sunk his hopes further—and what a close call that had been!
Summoning every ounce of sincerity he possessed, Monty pressed, “I tell you, it’s only a matter of time. Soon, she’ll be eating out of the palm of my hand, and the result will be well worth the wait for you and O’Reilly.”
Johnson was a large, heavyset man, not gentry, but he’d spent years with O’Reilly, who was, and some of the man’s polish had rubbed off on Johnson. He was always neatly and conservatively dressed and, despite his size, could readily pass unnoticed in a crowd. He had a large head and oval face and wore a brimmed hat, the rim of which shaded a pair of smallish but shrewd brown eyes. Johnson’s gaze was sharp, as was his mind, and he rarely missed anything said or seen.
Now, Johnson turned to look at Monty with an expression of deep skepticism wreathing his face. “Let me get this straight,” Johnson rumbled. “Wednesday last week, you told me you were off to pop the question to this rich spinster that you’ve been courting over the past months and that any day, you’d be able to make a sizeable down payment. Then on Saturday, you tell me it’s all off, because the spinster’s younger sister has turned up, and she’s even more wealthy, and so now, you’d ditched the older one and were focusing on the younger one, and because the younger one had always held a torch for you, it would all go smoothly. ThenthisWednesday—two days ago—you told me all was on track with the younger one, and any minute now, I’d hear wedding bells. Butnow, you tell me you need yet more time to come up with even a small contribution.”
Monty struggled not to react to the menace rippling beneath Johnson’s even tones. He never raised his voice, yet just that tone sent visceral fear racing through Monty’s veins. He fought to preserve a calm, confident expression. “That’s right. I haven’t yet got the cash, but plainly, I’m good for it. Obviously, I can’t simply waltz up and ask the younger sister to marry me. I have to manage the transfer of my affections in a believable way. Thelast thing I need to do is make the younger sister suspicious, but I swear, she’s well and truly on my hook. After all, she’s nearly my age and still unwed. What does that say to you? And there’s no one else lining up to claim her hand, even though she’s a ripe plum just waiting to be plucked.”
“And squeezed, heh?” Johnson’s cynicism rang loud and clear. He studied Monty, then shook his head. “It never ceases to amaze me that spinster ladies don’t see right through men like you.”
Monty smiled. “It’s part of my charm.”
Johnson snorted. “No doubt.” He paused, clearly weighing the situation, then he huffed. “All right. I’ll give you until Sunday. Meet me here then, same time. And you’d better have some good news and something to put against your account.”
Hugely relieved, Monty assured him, “I will.”
Johnson clearly remained unconvinced. “Just remember, don’t try to scarper. Like I’ve said before, there’s no way you can outrun O’Reilly’s reach.”
