Page 77 of Marriage and Murder
But Arthur was already shaking his head. “No.” His voice was faint. “Why…?”
Ida swung to face the investigators as if she could explain her actions to them and they would understand. “I gave her a chance to back down, but she wouldn’t. She said she’d take the land if it was the last thing she did. Well”—Ida shrugged—“telling me that was the last thing she did, so there.”
Curious, Penelope asked, “You really don’t think you’ve done anything terribly wrong, do you?”
Ida recrossed her arms and looked at Penelope, then she jutted her chin at Barnaby. “If someone were going to take his land—land he’d slaved over for years and that was his passion—wouldn’t you do something to stop them?”
Penelope conceded, “I would do something, certainly, but I assure you that no matter the circumstances, no matter how fraught the situation, I would never stoop to murder.”
Ida stared at Penelope, then sniffed contemptuously and looked away.
Stokes glanced at O’Donnell and Morgan and summoned them with a jerk of his head. Returning his gaze to Ida, he formally announced, “Ida Penrose, I’m arresting you for the murder by strangulation of Viola Huntingdon on Thursday, October fifteenth, in Lavender Cottage in Ashmore village. You will be held in Salisbury pending the next assizes.”
Ida didn’t look at Arthur. Instead, she glared at the experienced sergeant and constable who approached. Afterforcibly securing her hands in front of her, O’Donnell and Morgan each took one of Ida’s arms and, having to push a little to get her moving, steered her onto the orchard path. Penelope, Barnaby, and Stokes stepped aside and watched Ida, her head still arrogantly high, being led away. She made no attempt to look back but marched on between the policemen, through the gate Constable Price held wide, past Henry and Madeline, who had drawn to one side, and on around the house.
Penelope looked at Arthur Penrose. Shattered, disbelieving, and overcome were some of the words that sprang to her mind, but Jim Swinson had his arm around the older man’s shoulders, all but holding him up, and when Penelope caught Jim’s eye and raised her brows, Jim nodded. “I’ll stay with him.”
Penelope turned away from the grief progressively etching itself into Arthur’s face.
She took the hand Barnaby offered and gripped tight, and together, they followed Stokes out of the orchard.
Henry, Madeline, and Constable Price joined them as they trailed O’Donnell and Morgan and their captive to the lane, where Phelps had the police coach waiting.
Wordlessly, they all stood around the front gate and watched as Morgan and O’Donnell helped Ida to climb inside, then they shut the barred door on her and climbed up to take the reins Phelps relinquished, while Price climbed to the rear bench.
As soon as O’Donnell, Morgan, and Price had settled, Stokes nodded to them. “Straight to Salisbury. Mallard will be waiting to take her in charge. Then join us back at the inn.”
The Scotland Yard men saluted, as did Price, then Morgan flicked the reins and set the old coach rolling ponderously out of Ashmore.
A sound like a gasp drew Penelope’s attention to the group of villagers who had gathered on the green. Iris Perkins and Gladys Hooper were there, along with men Penelope took to be theirhusbands, as well as Reverend Foswell and Mrs. Foswell, and the Gilroys, mother and son. There were others, too, presumably from other village cottages. All watched in somber silence as the police coach rolled off, taking away Ida Penrose, someone most there had known for much of their lives.
It was a sober, rather sad moment, and each appeared sunk in their own thoughts; no one wanted to engage in any conversation.
Similarly wordless, Penelope linked her arm in Barnaby’s and, with Stokes and Henry and Madeline following, walked toward Lavender Cottage and their carriage with Phelps back on the box and Connor up behind. Henry’s curricle was waiting a little farther along the lane.
As she grasped Barnaby’s hand and climbed into their carriage, Penelope wondered how many others in the immediate vicinity were, like her, thinking of how many lives had been changed forever by one single, violent act.
They gathered in quiet relief and slowly burgeoning cheer in the private parlor at the King John Inn. After seeing Ida Penrose into her cell in Salisbury, Mallard returned with the Scotland Yard coach and joined the company.
In recognition of their help, Barnaby and Stokes invited O’Donnell, Morgan, Phelps, and Connor, as well as Constable Price, who had returned with Mallard, to join the gathering in the private parlor.
Once all their glasses were charged, Stokes raised his tankard, called for quiet, and thanked those assembled for their assistance in what had proved to be a tricky case, then called for a toast all around to Justice’s ultimate triumph.
Cheers duly followed, and everyone drank.
As she lowered her glass, Penelope observed, “And if, as we should, we are to learn from the mistakes we made, then surely, the lesson from this case is to always—always—be sure to talk to the gossips first!”
Everyone laughed and drank to that, too.
Mallard, whose attitude to the Scotland Yard contingent had changed significantly from what it had been when he’d first encountered them, was quick to add his thanks to the interlopers on his patch. He raised his glass to them. “Much as it pains me to admit it, we would never have taken up the murderer—the right person for the murder—if it hadn’t been for your dogged persistence and insistence in following the logic of things. That’s taught me and my men something, and for that, I do thank all of you.”
After the Londoners had gracefully smiled and accepted that accolade with another quaff of their drinks, Henry, standing beside Madeline’s chair, cleared his throat, and when everyone looked his way, he hoisted his tankard and declared, “I, too, wish to propose a toast of thanks to all those who came to Ashmore village and helped apprehend the murderer most surprisingly lurking in our midst. While there will be shock and sadness among the villagers, I also know, from experience”—he half bowed to Stokes—“that if a murder isn’t properly solved, then the inevitable niggling questions remain and, eventually, blossom into distrust and wariness, which ultimately destroys the very village life that all those who live in small communities hold so dear.”
He looked around the gathering and raised his glass to them all. “So on behalf of the village of Ashmore, I thank you all for your help in solving the murder of Viola Huntingdon.”
“And,” Madeline said, her tone firm and strong as she raised her glass and looked around the company, “I, too, would like toadd my thanks to all involved. You have ensured that justice is done. Mere hours before you arrived in the village, I swore to Viola I would seek justice for her, and you’ve helped me achieve that goal, and for that, all of you have my undying thanks.”
The others smiled and inclined their heads graciously, then Mallard humphed. “Small villages—you’d think nothing out of the ordinary ever happened there, and in that, you’d be very wrong. Why…”
