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“Goodness, no,” Lady Blanders says. “That’s Sproton House. It belonged to my husband’s uncle, Thorton Thorton-Graham, but the poor fellow had a run of bad luck, blackjack in Monte, I believe, and had to pawn it off. Now, it’s a luxury spa with a renowned hair salon. Quite an improvement.”
“Is it nearby? I’d love to get a massage,” Amity says.
“Not too far. In Whitby, a few hours’ drive. If you go, you must try their frangipani body wrap. It’s brilliant.”
“Do you go there often?” I ask.
“I’ve been going once a month for years.”
She stands up. “Will that be all?”
Wyatt and Amity seem as surprised as I am with the abrupt endto the interview. As we stand and start for the door, Wyatt turns and says, “Oh, one more thing.” He sounds like a real detective, casually asking an important question on the way out. “Mind telling us where you were Saturday night?”
“Not at all. I was dining with my dear friend Demetra Sissington, at the King George. Eight o’clock reservation. I drove myself there and back, was home at ten fifteen. I’d say you could check with Dissy but she’s gone to Mustique. I suppose you could call the maître d’. He seated us himself. I had the snails. Divine. Went right to bed, isn’t that right, Mrs. Crone?” She looks to the hall. “Mrs. Crone?”
The maid walks in, wincing with each step. “Yes, Your Ladyship?”
“When was I home from dinner Saturday night?”
“Ten fifteen, Your Ladyship.”
“And what did I do?”
“The usual, Your Ladyship. Green juice with cardamom extract, face mask, bed.”
“And where were you between eight and ten p.m. that night?” Wyatt asks the maid.
“Here, of course.”
“Why ‘of course’?” Wyatt says.
“The green juice doesn’t make itself,” she says.
Lady Blanders turns toward us, waving a hand to dismiss her servant. “Ask any of the other staff, they’ll vouch for her. Gladys Crone is absolutely trustworthy. She’s been with me forever, since before I was married. Knows me like a favorite book—though, come to think of it, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen her reading.”
She watches the maid move slowly out of the room. “Do something about that walk of yours, Mrs. Crone. Hot soak or something. It won’t do.”
Lady Blanders turns back toward us. “So, you see, I have an airtight alibi. And even if I didn’t, what could my motive be? Why would I possibly want to murder Tracy Penny, a common hairdresser? What is she to me? An utter insignificance.”
And with that, Lady Blanders bids us good day and stares at us until there’s nothing to do but turn and leave.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
We wait to speak until we’re across the courtyard and presumably out of earshot of Lady Blanders and any of her alleged staff. And then we all burst out laughing.
“She has got to be bogus,” Wyatt says.
“One million percent,” I say. “Roland and Germaine would know that a bunch of Anglophile Americans would be disappointed if we didn’t get to encounter a grand lady in a grand home so they created Lady Magnolia Blanders.”
“And hats off to her Oscar-worthy mash-up of Queen Elizabeth, Nancy Mitford, and the Dowager Countess What’s-her-face fromDownton Abbey,” Wyatt says.
Amity agrees Lady Blanders was playing a part but still thinks she might be the real owner of Hadley Hall. “Did you notice how she said ‘home,’ like it had two syllables? Just like the Queen inThe Crown. I think she was genuinely posh. In my town at home, they do house walks to raise money for the local schools, and there’s always some fabulously wealthy person who opens up their home, both to show it off and to help make the benefit a success. And it doesn’t matter which one is the motivation.” She stops and looks back at Hadley Hall, which from this vantage point looks alittle creepy. “It was a thrill to be in there, wasn’t it? The tea was top-notch.”
Amity consults her map and directs us toward a path under some oak trees that look like they’ve been growing for millennia. It’s marked as a bridle path. A little farther on is a small sign that reads,WILLOWTHROP VILLAGE, 1.1MILES. There was a more direct route all along.
“We have to find a motive for Lady Blanders,” Wyatt says. “They would not have made her the last person to see Tracy Penny alive without providing a clue why shemighthave killed Tracy.”
I disagree. I argue that Lady Blanders was included for our entertainment, not because she has a role in the murder. She had never met Tracy before Saturday and didn’t know anyone in the village. She’s an outsider.