Page 28 of Marriage and Murder
Stokes got down first, followed by Barnaby, who turned and gave Penelope his hand. She gripped it and climbed down into the lane. After shaking out her skirts, she looked ahead and found a modest and rather ancient-looking cottage before them.
As they walked toward the simple wooden gate, she took in all she could see. Despite its age, the cottage appeared as well cared for as it could be, with whitewashed walls and paintwork in good condition, and the thatch, if not recent, looked sound.
They filed through the gate, and Penelope surveyed the garden beds that filled the areas on both sides of the narrow gravel path that led to the front door. While uninspiring in their autumnal state, the neatly laid-out beds had hosted rows of vegetables. Most varieties had gone to seed, but there were still turnips and spinach to be had.
Stokes had waved Price to precede them, and he led them to a low front door.
As Penelope and Barnaby joined Stokes before the stoop, Price knocked solidly on the wooden panel, then stepped back and to the side.
It was a quiet country backwater, and while they waited, Penelope heard the distinctivethwackof an axe sinking into wood. Then footsteps approached on the other side of the door, and it opened to reveal a woman of middle age with worn-down features in a thin, angular face framed by faded blonde curls.
The expression in the woman’s washed-out-blue eyes was all anxiety combined with nervousness.
Smiling reassuringly, Penelope stepped forward. “Good morning, Mrs. Gilroy. I believe you know Constable Price.” She waved in the young constable’s direction, hoping the sight of his familiar cheery face would ease the woman’s nerves. “And this”—Penelope indicated Stokes—“is Inspector Stokes, sent down by Scotland Yard to investigate Miss Huntingdon’s murder. My husband and I”—a brief wave included Barnaby—“often assist Inspector Stokes in cases such as this.”
To Penelope’s eyes, Mrs. Gilroy appeared to be the country version of the typical charwoman. She was tall for a woman, but thin with it. She was neatly dressed in well-worn but scrupulously clean clothes, over which a clean bib apron had been tied. Her hands bore testimony to her occupation, being large and strong-looking but with reddened skin and slightly swollen knuckles.
Having taken that in during her introduction, Penelope capped her words with “We would just like to ask you a few questions about Miss Huntingdon—Miss Viola, that is.” Penelope summoned a sympathetic expression. “Finding her body must have been quite a shock.”
Mrs. Gilroy blinked, then responded, “Oh, horrible, it was.” She glanced at the men, then looked back at Penelope, and hernervousness receded a fraction more. “You’d best come inside, then.”
Rather awkwardly, Mrs. Gilroy stepped back, and Penelope walked into the small cottage’s tiny parlor. Following her, Barnaby and Stokes had to duck to avoid the lintel.
“This way, then.” Mrs. Gilroy squeezed past the men and led the way to two armchairs angled before the fireplace. The house’s parlor comprised the front section of a single room that stretched the length of the cottage. A small deal table with three straight-backed wooden chairs filled the central third, while the kitchen with its range, counters, and sink took up the final third of the space.
Judging by the bowls and dish on the counter, Mrs. Gilroy had been assembling a pie.
She ignored her endeavors and hurried to fetch the wooden chairs.
Price immediately went to help, and Stokes took from Mrs. Gilroy the chair she had lifted. “Please,” he said, “use one of the armchairs and leave these to us.”
Penelope sank into one armchair and beckoned Mrs. Gilroy to take its mate.
She did so with some reluctance, even if the knitting bag beside that chair suggested it was her usual place.
After turning two of the wooden chairs to face the armchairs, Barnaby and Stokes sat. As before, Constable Price elected to stand by the front door.
Sensing that a direct, matter-of-fact approach would get the best results, Penelope explained, “We’re trying to get some idea of Miss Viola herself. Can you tell us how you found her to work for?”
With her hands lightly grasping her apron, Mrs. Gilroy took a moment before offering, “Well, she wasn’t an easy mistress, but she was fair. I’ll say that for her. She was very particularover how everything had to be done and fussy over her food, but once you found out what she wanted and gave her that, she was happy. To begin with, years ago when I first started with her, she’d watch over me shoulder all the time, trying to find fault, but these days, she left me to get on with things without any real fuss.”
“I see. Now,” Penelope continued, “we understand that on the Friday morning past, you went to the cottage as usual. Did you notice anything amiss when you entered the house?”
Clearly remembering, Mrs. Gilroy frowned. “Not at first, but thinking back on it, I’m fairly sure the back door wasn’t locked.” She glanced at Stokes. “Miss Viola usually locked the kitchen door at night on account of the rear garden abutting onto the woods and the fields beyond, and really, anyone could walk in if they’d a mind to it. She was careful like that. On Friday last, I had me key, of course, and I put it in the lock as usual and turned it, but the lock was already undone.” She looked at Penelope. “I didn’t think anything of it at first. I thought she must have forgotten to lock up the evening before or perhaps gone out for something earlier that morning.”
Penelope nodded, and Stokes asked, “When you entered the cottage, where did you expect Miss Viola to be?”
“I thought she’d be up in her bedroom as usual.” Mrs. Gilroy’s nervousness had ebbed entirely, and she answered freely. “She’d normally be getting herself up and ready for the day, and she’d come down when I called that I had breakfast on the table.”
Stokes nodded and made a note in his book.
“When you first stepped into the kitchen,” Barnaby asked, “did anything strike you as out of place?”
Mrs. Gilroy frowned. “The flour bin wasn’t properly closed, and a couple of cupboard doors weren’t quite shut, either.” She looked at Penelope. “That wasn’t how I left things, but Thursday—the day before—was one of my half days off, so I thought Miss Viola must have been looking for something…” Mrs. Gilroy pulled a face. “Only she was always so finicky about everything being neat and in its right place, I was a bit surprised she’d left the doors and bin that way.” She shrugged. “But I just shut them and got on with my work.”
“Was there anything else you noticed?” Stokes asked.
“I do remember thinking it was awfully quiet—I didn’t hear any stirrings from upstairs—but I thought Miss Viola must have decided to have a lie-in for once, so I just went on with my usual chores… Oh, that’s right.” She looked at Stokes. “There were no Thursday-evening dishes waiting on the drainer for me to put away. I thought that was odd, but decided she must have done the putting away herself. She sometimes did but not often.”
