Page 14 of Marriage and Murder
Stokes had been studying the house and obligingly swung the gate wide. At that instant, the cottage’s front door opened, and a young man looked out. He saw them, and his expression lightened, and he came quickly down the path. Judging by his crisp blue uniform and his eager expression, Penelope deduced that they were about to meet Constable Price.
By the time he reached them and halted, Constable Price had taken in Penelope and Barnaby’s presence, and he was nolonger so certain whom he was welcoming. Clearly deciding not to assume, he opened with “Can I help you?”
Stokes smiled approvingly. “We’re hoping you will. Constable Price, I take it?”
“Indeed, sir.” Price looked hopeful. “And you are?”
“Inspector Stokes from Scotland Yard, and these two are Mr. and Mrs. Adair. They act as consultants to Scotland Yard in certain investigations.”
Price nodded respectfully. “Welcome to Ashmore, Inspector, ma’am, sir.” He looked at Stokes. “Sir, as instructed, I’ve kept everyone out of the parlor and away from the area where the body was found and the medical examiner says the murder took place. But I’m afraid I haven’t been able to keep the victim’s sister, Miss Madeline Huntingdon, out of the house entirely. She stayed at the rectory on Saturday and Sunday nights, but on Monday afternoon, she insisted on moving back here, to the room she customarily uses when she visits. I did get her to agree not to touch anything in her sister’s room, which is where most of the searching took place.”
“Good work. That was sensible thinking.” Stokes was sincere in his approval, and Price relaxed. Stokes waved up the path. “Now, please lead the way and guide us. The parlor first, I think.”
“Yes, sir!” Price came to attention, turned smartly, and strode for the front door.
As she, Stokes, and Barnaby followed, Penelope noticed that both men were smiling, as was she.
“Ah,” Barnaby murmured to Stokes, “to have the enthusiasm of youth.”
Stokes’s smile deepened, and he murmured back, “Regardless, I’m sure we’re all grateful that he’s managed to preserve the scene to the extent he has.”
“Indeed,” Penelope murmured, engaged in a critical survey of the large garden beds to either side of the path. Despite theseason, the plantings offered up a profusion of color and artful displays composed of flowers and foliage. The path from the gate to the door was not quite straight and, as it wended slightly this way, then that, afforded varying perspectives of the garden’s vistas.
They reached the front door, and Stokes waved Price ahead, then gestured for Penelope to follow. She did, entering a narrow front hall at the rear of which, to the right, an even narrower staircase ascended to the upper floor. To her immediate left, an open door gave onto what appeared to be the fateful parlor, while farther down the hall, opposite the bottom of the stairs, another door presumably led to the kitchen.
As Penelope paused at the parlor door and Barnaby and Stokes halted behind her, a woman stepped off the bottom stair and turned to face them.
She was tallish, with a stately figure and glossy reddish-brown hair gathered in a loose bun on top of her head. Her heart-shaped face, with its peaches-and-cream complexion, hosted a pair of large hazel eyes, a straight nose, and a determined if rounded chin. The woman moved toward them, and Penelope noted that she had excellent posture, which, combined with her other features, rendered her quite striking.
Her pallor and the lines of grief etched in her face made her identity obvious.
Penelope stepped past Price, who had halted by the parlor door, and extended her gloved hand. “Madeline Huntingdon?”
The lady frowned slightly but nodded and instinctively reached out and lightly grasped Penelope’s fingers. “And you are?”
With her other hand, Penelope waved at Stokes. “This is Inspector Stokes of Scotland Yard, who has been called in to take charge of your sister’s sad case. I am Mrs. Adair, and myhusband and I act as official consultants to Scotland Yard and are often called on to assist in cases such as this.”
“I see.” Having taken stock of them, Madeline Huntingdon looked faintly overwhelmed.
Penelope offered their condolences on her sister’s death, and Barnaby and Stokes echoed the sentiments.
Stokes glanced through the doorway at the disarranged parlor, then refocused on Madeline Huntingdon. “We appreciate that this is a difficult time for you, Miss Huntingdon. Perhaps we might sit in the kitchen, and you can tell us what you know of the circumstances of your sister’s death.”
Madeline visibly rallied, and a hint of determination entered her gaze, along with a tiny spark of curiosity directed Penelope’s way. “Yes.” Madeline stepped back and gestured to the kitchen door. “Please, do come through.”
Penelope waved Madeline forward and followed, the men at her heels.
The kitchen proved to be a squarish area, with the range built into the inner wall and the back door directly opposite. Counters ran around the wall, with cupboards above and below, and a sink sat beneath a window that overlooked the rear garden.
“We can sit and talk in here.” Madeline led them through an archway in the far wall to where a small round dining table circled by four straight-backed chairs sat in a nook at the corner of the ground floor. Windows on two sides shed ample light into the small chamber. As she claimed one of the chairs, Penelope noted that a door in the inner wall connected the dining room with the parlor and was glad it was firmly closed.
As the men claimed seats and Price took up an unobtrusive stance in the archway, Penelope turned her attention to Madeline Huntingdon and saw that Madeline’s gaze had fixed on the closed door, and there was a haunted expression in her really very fine eyes.
Thinking to distract Madeline and set the tone for the interview, Penelope asked, “Was anything in the kitchen disturbed by the murderer?”
Madeline’s attention immediately refocused, and she looked at Constable Price. “I have to admit I’m not entirely sure.” Returning her gaze to Penelope, she explained, “Mrs. Gilroy had come in all unknowing, and she would have immediately tidied anything out of place.”
Stokes drew out his notebook. “We’ll ask Mrs. Gilroy when we speak with her.”
