Page 44 of Marriage and Murder
Her mind slid into the past, to the sense of loss she’d experienced then, and the echo of the same emotion—different degree, perhaps, yet with the same harrowing, hollowing quality—that swirled within her now.
Viola had been sufficiently older that, logically, it had always been likely that Madeline would, at some point in her life, have to organize Viola’s funeral.
But not yet!
As she thought of the reality facing her, Madeline still felt buffeted by the unexpectedness and the associated shock.
With a mental effort, she forced her mind into the slightly detached state necessary to consider which hymns and prayers Viola would have wanted. Given their years spent so closely entwined with the church, Madeline knew the possibilities by heart and could also cite the scriptures her sister would have preferred to have read.
She decided on the content, then juggled the order before committing the whole to memory. She would discuss her proposed service with the minister tomorrow in what would be the last assistance she would ever render her sister.
That, and seeing justice done and Viola’s murderer caught.
Those words resonated in Madeline’s mind as the carriage slowed to turn south, then a short way on, turned west, onto the last stretch of lane toward Ashmore.
With nothing else to occupy her thoughts, Madeline found the silence weighing on her increasingly heavily, increasingly oppressively.
On impulse, she rose and tapped on the panel in the carriage’s ceiling.
It promptly opened, and Connor asked, “Yes, miss?”
“Please pull up just ahead.” She dropped back to the seat and looked through the window. “At that stile coming up on the left.”
The carriage slowed, then rocked to a halt.
Before Madeline could open the door, Connor dropped down and opened it for her. “Is there a problem, miss?” he asked.
She summoned a smile. “No, no. I just need some air.” She took the hand he offered and climbed down to the lane. She glanced up at the driver, who was looking down with some concern, and smiled reassuringly. “Nice as this carriage is, I feel I’ve spent too many hours today cooped up inside it.”
As both men relaxed, she tipped her head southward, over the fields. “The path beyond the stile leads to the woods at the rear of Lavender Cottage. It’s not far at all to walk from here, and as I said, I need the fresh air.”
Madeline had agreed to put up with a guard until the murderer was caught, but she couldn’t imagine that embarking on a short, spontaneous walk over open fields to the rear garden of the cottage would expose her to any great danger, and William Price would be waiting at the cottage.
Luckily for her, neither Phelps nor Connor had been present when the matter of guarding her had been discussed, and both responded to her words with smiles of understanding.
“Right you are, then, miss,” Phelps said. “If you’re sure you’re happy to walk the last little way?”
She nodded decisively. “I am sure, yes. Thank you for bringing me this far.”
“Our pleasure, miss.” Connor saluted her, then said, “Here, let me give you a hand over the stile.”
She readily accepted his help, then stood on the other side of the stile and waved the carriage away.
Then she drew in a deep, deep breath, filling her lungs with the sweet scent of scythed hay, and felt the peace that until then had eluded her throughout that day wrap around her.
With a gentle smile, she set off along the path toward the line of trees that screened the rear of Lavender Cottage.
CHAPTER 8
Feeling increasingly easier in her mind and significantly more refreshed, Madeline walked steadily toward the trees. Born in the country yet now living in London, she relished the clear country air whenever she could get it. Her earlier resolution—her commitment to see justice for Viola—still rang in her mind and fueled her determination. As she paced along the old right-of-way, she revisited the investigation and the advances they’d made that day. All in all, matters were progressing as well as she could hope for, and she was truly grateful to God for sending three such experienced and competent investigators to prosecute Viola’s case.
That thought brought to mind Barnaby’s advice that she needed to notify the family solicitor. The Salisbury firm of Farnham and Sons had handled the family’s wills and also the purchase of Lavender Cottage. She underlined her mental note to remember to call at Mr. Farnham’s office tomorrow, after she’d met with the minister at St. Edmund’s Church.
Reviewing what she and the solicitor would need to discuss led to the question of what she was going to do after Viola’s funeral. Would she keep the cottage? She consideredthe possibility but couldn’t see much point in doing so. The cottage had been Viola’s dream, not hers. Her life—well-ordered, comfortable, and secure—awaited her in London…yet if she was brutally truthful, now, with the transitory nature of life so dramatically demonstrated, she had to wonder if that life in London, satisfying though it had been to this point, would continue to be enough for her.
In the long run, would that life fulfill her?
Perhaps it was time to think anew about what her life in the years ahead should be.
