Page 8 of Marriage and Murder
“Nothing. I knocked and waited, then knocked again, but no one came to the door.” Henry shrugged. “So I left. Iris Perkins and Gladys Hooper were leaving Penrose Cottage at that time, and both saw me coming out of the Lavender Cottage gate. I tipped my hat to them, then mounted up and rode home. My staff can vouch for when I got in.”
“Hmm.” Stokes flicked back through his notes. “The information from Salisbury is patchy to say the least. What have you—and I assume the villagers—heard about how and when Viola Huntingdon died?”
Accustomed to hearing testimonies in court, Henry paused to order his thoughts before relating, “Thursday afternoon is one of Mrs. Gilroy’s half days off, so she left the cottage at noon, and she says Miss Huntingdon was hale and whole, if a bit distracted, at that time. Other than that, we haven’t heard much, but I gather that the consensus of opinion is that Miss Huntingdonwas strangled and already dead by the time I knocked on her door.”
“I understand,” Stokes said, “that the Salisbury medical examiner believes the death occurred between twelve and four, and for some reason, the police believe the critical time is three-thirty.” He glanced at Barnaby. “If Henry left the King John Inn at three and called on his tenant farmer between then and four, he can’t have been at the cottage at three-thirty.”
Barnaby smiled. “No, indeed.” He looked at Henry. “I believe you’re off the hook.”
Henry exhaled gustily. “I can’t tell you how relieved that makes me—that there’s some actual evidence that proves I couldn’t have committed the crime.”
“Ask Henry to tell you about the accusation leveled his way,” Penelope said. “There’s a clue or two buried in the words, I would say.”
Stokes looked at Henry, and after pulling a resigned face, Henry recounted the charge he’d faced on the church lawn the day before.
At the end of his recitation, Stokes grimaced with distaste. “My sympathies. That must have been difficult. I had heard there’s a sister who lives in London and that she’d traveled down to Ashmore just in time to see the victim’s body being carted out of the cottage.” He looked at Henry. “I find that timing curious. Can you tell me anything about her?”
“I believe her first name is Madeline. She’s visited the village several times before—I recall seeing her with Viola on multiple occasions over the years—but until Sunday, I had never spoken with her. Apparently, she received a letter from Viola that Mrs. Gilroy had posted on Thursday in which Viola had begged Madeline to come down and assist her in dealing with this ‘secret admirer, H.’” Somewhat diffidently, Henry added, “Arriving atthe cottage at the moment she did must have been a terrible shock.”
“Indeed,” Penelope said. “And I suppose being overcome with grief might go some way to excusing her ridiculous accusation.” She studied Henry. “What does she look like?”
To Penelope’s surprise, Henry faintly blushed. “Well,” he temporized, “I couldn’t actually see her face—her features or her hair. She was wearing one of those black veils over her hat.” He paused, but when Penelope simply watched him and waited, he added, “She’s of about average height, I would say, perhaps a touch taller, with a good figure, and I did notice that she was very well dressed but in a quiet, unobtrusive way.”
That was significantly greater detail than Penelope had expected Henry to have observed. She was suddenly much more curious about Miss Madeline Huntingdon.
Stokes had been jotting. “Right.” He looked up. “So what can you tell me about this secret admirer? Are there any other gentlemen with names beginning withHin the vicinity?”
Henry shook his head. “Not that anyone’s aware of. I’m the onlyHaround. As you know, Ashmore is a very small village, the sort where everyone usually knows everyone else’s business. Yet it seems that Viola had a secret admirer whose name begins withH, but other than that, no one has the faintest idea who he is.”
Stokes frowned. “I remember Ashmore village. I assume it hasn’t changed much with the years, so how on earth did Viola Huntingdon manage to meet with a secret admirer without anyone seeing him?”
Henry replied, “We all now think he must have gone back and forth via the rear garden of Lavender Cottage. The rear of the block is bordered by a thick stand of trees—an old windbreak that’s become an established strip of woodland. Beyond the trees, the fields run all the way to the Tollard Royal-Ashmore lane, which is lined with trees and bushes with open fields onboth sides. It’s possible that someone could have left a horse by the lane—or even on the other side of it—and walked to the cottage across the fields. There’s an old right-of-way that leads into the windbreak, more or less at the back of Lavender Cottage.”
Stokes grunted. “Of course. And, I assume, no neighbors look out over the rear garden.”
“No. The Penroses are the only near neighbors, and there are trees and bushes along their boundary wall that block their view of Lavender Cottage.”
“What about the housekeeper?” Penelope asked. “Mrs. Gilroy. Had she seen or noticed anything?”
“She says not. Indeed,” Henry said, “she seems as shocked as anyone that Viola had a secret admirer and she didn’t know of it. It seems he only visited on Mrs. Gilroy’s half days off—on Thursdays and Sundays.”
“And Miss Huntingdon had no other live-in staff.” Stokes sighed and shut his notebook. He looked at the others. “I believe our next move is to visit the scene of the crime, although we’ll need to call on the Salisbury City Police first to inform them that I’m taking over the case.”
Looking even more relieved, Henry said, “I can put you all up at Glossup Hall, if that suits?”
Penelope exchanged a look with Barnaby and Stokes, then turned to Henry. “Actually, we’ve found it’s best not to stay with anyone involved, however tangentially, in the crime we’re investigating. That way, we aren’t seen as taking sides.”
Henry nodded in understanding. “In this case, that’s probably wise.” He grimaced. “Tongues would wag even more than they are already.”
Stokes uncrossed his ankles and sat up. “As it seems the King John Inn is still the best place to stay, we’ll make that our base.”To Barnaby and Penelope, he explained, “It’s only a short drive from Ashmore.”
Barnaby nodded. “Having our own carriage down there will help, so I suggest we drive down tomorrow morning.”
“Early,” Stokes said. “We’ll need to leave before dawn if we’re to reach Salisbury, speak with the police there, then get to Ashmore in time to start interviewing the locals.” He looked at Penelope hopefully. “I’ll come in time to join you for breakfast.”
She laughed. “I’ll let Mostyn know that we’ll require breakfast before setting out. Shall we plan to leave at six?”
When all agreed six would be early enough, Penelope turned to Henry. “Please do stay overnight, Henry. Then we can all breakfast together and leave at first light.”
