Page 13 of Marriage and Murder (The Casebook of Barnaby Adair #10)

CHAPTER 11

I t was too late to reach the inn at Tollard Royal in time for dinner, so they requested a private room at the Haunch of Venison, and after dispatching Phelps, Connor, O’Donnell, Morgan, and Price to take their ease in the taproom, the investigators gathered around the oval table to satisfy their appetites and, ultimately, decide how best to proceed.

As per Stokes, Penelope, and Barnaby’s habit, while they ate, they talked of other things. Mallard, Henry, and Madeline were faintly puzzled by that behavior but followed their lead.

Eventually, their plates were empty, and the liquids in their glasses had sunk to acceptable lows. The serving girls came in and cleared the platters and plates, and Stokes and Barnaby refilled everyone’s glasses.

The instant the door shut behind the girls, Stokes leaned back and ran his gaze over the faces about the table, all turned expectantly his way. He faintly grimaced. “All right. Let’s rejig our thinking. It might be said that my earlier concern over our pursuit of H distracting us from a murderer nearer to hand has been borne out, except that we needed to learn what Monty found when he arrived at the cottage to understand what happened.”

Barnaby inclined his head. “Without Monty’s testimony, which in this instance I believe we can credit, we could not know, much less prove, who murdered Viola.”

Penelope sighed. “I think we all know who the murderer is. The Penroses had a much more powerful motive to remove Viola than anyone was aware of, and while, physical capability aside, Arthur Penrose is vouched for by Jim Swinson, Ida Penrose is not.”

“She has no alibi for the time of the murder,” Barnaby said. “However, she does have an unimpeachable alibi for the time the murderer set on the clock before they broke it.”

“What’s more,” Penelope said, “I believe Ida’s afternoon tea with Iris Perkins and Gladys Hooper was a pre-arranged event. Therefore, Ida knew she would have that unbreakable alibi for three-thirty-three.”

“And,” Barnaby added, “she’s tall enough, and she bakes constantly and makes bread, so she has strong countrywoman’s hands.”

Stokes sighed. “Be that as it may, when it comes to our new prime suspect, we have nowhere near enough information to construct a solid, unchallengeable time line for the murder.”

Henry nodded. “Speaking as a magistrate, you don’t have sufficient information to charge Ida Penrose. She might be the only person known to fit the criteria you now have for Viola’s murderer, but that’s not proof she committed the crime.”

Stokes and Mallard were nodding.

“That means we need to go back and collect the necessary information.” Penelope looked at Stokes. “Due to the distraction of H, we’ve yet to interview several potentially key witnesses.”

When Stokes raised his brows at her, inviting her to continue, she went on, “There are three acknowledged gossips in the village—Mrs. Foswell, Ida Perkins, and Gladys Hooper. Their titles won’t have been bestowed without cause. Ergo, it’s likely all three know more than we’re aware of, given we haven’t interviewed two of them at all, and we spoke only briefly with Mrs. Foswell.”

Penelope looked around the table. “I suggest that my first task tomorrow should be to interview all three ladies and see what they can tell us. I’ve learned it’s best not to ask specific questions. I’ll get more from them by asking general questions about anything they saw or know that might relate to Viola’s murder, then listening to everything they say.” She paused, then added, “Aside from anything else, I’m curious to learn what Iris and Gladys observed during their afternoon tea with Ida.”

Mallard observed, “Very cool, that—murdering your neighbor, then having your other neighbors around for tea and cakes.”

Stokes grunted in agreement, then nodded to Penelope. “You take the gossips. Who or what else have we missed?”

Mallard looked at Stokes. “What about the reverend seeing Pincer in the lane? More like tidying up loose ends, but if the reverend can give you a time, that’ll confirm Pincer’s story, and it’s important we can say that’s solid. That everything Pincer’s told us is the truth.”

Stokes inclined his head. “Good point.” He pulled out his notebook, flicked to a new page, and started making a list. “What else?”

Barnaby said, “There’s the flour down the front of Viola’s bodice.” He smiled at Penelope. “I know what you’re thinking, but we need to ask Mrs. Gilroy what she left Viola for her luncheon that day. Did that flour come from something Viola had just consumed? Or did it come from the murderer?”

Madeline, Henry, and Mallard were confused by this exchange. Seeing that, Penelope explained, “Ida mentioned baking scones that day. That involves flour, and we—Barnaby and I—have often noticed that our cook and her helpers get flour in their cuffs, so even if they’ve washed their hands, the flour still dusts things they touch.”

Madeline nodded. “I’ve noticed the same thing.”

Absorbed in his list, Stokes huffed. “We also have no idea what became of those solicitor’s letters.” He glanced at the others. “We might assume they’re ash by now, but there’s always a chance one of the gossips knows something of them.”

“Especially,” Madeline put in, “if Henry’s recollection is correct and when Viola noticed Humphrey watering her hedge, she had the letter for Henry in her hand.”

Penelope nodded. “I’ll ask.”

“Something else we need to focus on,” Barnaby said, “is finding witnesses to Viola’s movements in the hour between Mrs. Gilroy leaving her at the cottage at noon and the murder. We now know Viola was at the church, in the graveyard, hiding the jewelry, shortly after twelve o’clock. That’s been confirmed by Billy Gilroy and Reverend Foswell, so we can count that as fact. But where did Viola go after that? Did any of the villagers speak with her?”

“If she was dead before one-thirty,” Mallard mused, “when Pincer found her body in the cottage, her movements between, say, twelve-thirty and one-thirty are critical.”

Stokes, who had been studying his list, nodded. “We need to fill in the gap, so tomorrow, here’s what we’re going to do.” He looked at Penelope. “You interview the gossips.”

Penelope promptly looked at Madeline. “It might help if Madeline accompanies me.” To Madeline, Penelope said, “The villagers know you, and more importantly, you’re Viola’s sister. If you’re with me, they’ll be disposed to being helpful.”

“And,” Madeline said, “very likely, they’ll be more accurate, too. You can count on me.”

Stokes looked at Barnaby. “While the ladies are conducting their interviews, I suggest you and I see whether Reverend Foswell remembers encountering Pincer in the lane, and then we should check with Jim Swinson. He and Ida witnessed the altercation between Henry and Viola, and if Henry is correct and Viola had the solicitor’s letter for him in her hand, Jim might have seen that, too, and might have seen what Viola did with the letter after Henry rode away.”

Barnaby nodded. “Good thinking. If Jim saw something, Ida might have, too.”

“Exactly.” Stokes considered his list, then looked at Madeline. “With your permission, after conducting our interviews, we’ll reconvene at Lavender Cottage, put together all we’ve learned, and see if we have enough facts in hand to make an arrest.”

Everyone murmured agreement.

Henry grimaced. “I need to be at the Hall tomorrow morning to meet with my estate manager, but after that, I’ll come down to the cottage to see what’s transpired.”

Distinctly disgruntled, Mallard said, “I’ll have to remain here in Salisbury, but I’ll tell Price he’s to be the representative of the local force.”

Stokes inclined his head. “If we need to make an arrest, it would be useful to have a local with us.”

Stokes looked around, as did Penelope. Everyone looked ready and willing to proceed with their allotted tasks.

“Right, then.” Stokes pushed away from the table. “It’s time to head back to the inn for us, to Glossup Hall for Henry, and Lavender Cottage for Madeline and Price.”

“Indeed.” Penelope rose. “It’s important we behave as if we’re still no closer to identifying the murderer. The last thing we need is for Ida to decide that her continued good health requires her to go off on a jaunt somewhere.”

The others huffed in agreement, then everyone made their way out of the pub and headed for the carriages.

The following morning, Penelope, Barnaby, and Stokes, traveling in the Adairs’ carriage, arrived in good time at Lavender Cottage. O’Donnell and Morgan rolled up in the police coach soon after, having left the inn a good fifteen minutes ahead of the faster carriage.

As Madeline and Price were ready and waiting to do their parts, the group congregated in the front hall.

After consulting his notebook, Stokes looked at Morgan and Price. “O’Donnell can remain at the cottage while you two go and interview Mrs. Gilroy. We need to know what she left Miss Huntingdon for her lunch on that Thursday. Once you know the answer, report back here.”

“Aye, guv,” Morgan said, and Price nodded.

Stokes glanced at Barnaby, Penelope, and Madeline. “We may as well go together to the rectory, but I suspect we’ll part ways there. Once you’ve finished your interviews, come back here, and we’ll do the same.”

All agreed, and Penelope led the way from the cottage. Madeline fell in beside Penelope as she set a brisk course for the rectory, with Barnaby and Stokes pacing behind.

As they neared the rectory gate, Penelope glanced at Madeline, then looked over her shoulder at Barnaby and Stokes. “We have to remember to elicit information spontaneously. They have to offer it without us prompting.”

“Indeed,” Stokes replied.

Penelope marched up the path to the rectory door and tugged the bell chain. A few moments later, Mrs. Foswell opened the door. Her face lit as she took them in. “Good morning, Mrs. Adair. And Madeline, dear, I’m very glad to see you.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Foswell.” Madeline glanced at Stokes and Barnaby, waiting behind her. “Inspector Stokes and Mr. Adair were hoping to have a word with Reverend Foswell. Is he in?”

Mrs. Foswell looked past Madeline at Stokes. “Good morning, Inspector. Mr. Adair. My husband’s at the church, setting the hymns for tomorrow’s services. You should find him in the nave.”

“Thank you.” Stokes and Barnaby tipped their heads to the reverend’s wife and turned and walked on to the church.

Madeline and Penelope remained on the stoop, and when Mrs. Foswell’s gaze returned to them, Penelope smiled. “Madeline and I were hoping to have a word with you, Mrs. Foswell. We’re trying to gain a clearer view of Viola’s movements immediately prior to her death.”

“Oh, well.” Mrs. Foswell looked pleased. “Do come in, my dears, and sit, and I’ll happily tell you what I know.”

Once they were comfortably ensconced in armchairs in the neat parlor, Penelope began, “You see, we now know Viola was up at the church shortly after twelve o’clock, and according to your husband, she left and headed back toward her cottage. We need accurate information about where she went once she left the church.” Penelope opened her eyes wide. “We hoped you might know of someone who saw her.”

Mrs. Foswell beamed. “Why, I did, of course. I was in the front garden, such as it is, pulling up weeds when Viola came down from the church.”

“Do you know when that was?” Penelope asked.

Mrs. Foswell paused, then firmly declared, “It must have been almost twelve-thirty.” She eyed Penelope, then said, “I’d seen her go up to the church—striding along very determinedly, she was—at a little after twelve. I was in the garden already, but Viola was so…well, intent on something that she didn’t see me, and I didn’t call out to her. But I was weeding by the gate when she came down, and although she looked rather distracted yet still determined, as if she was thinking furiously about something, I stood up and greeted her.”

Penelope tipped her head. “What did you and she say?”

“After we’d exchanged greetings—and I could see she was torn about getting on—I asked if she’d found what she’d been looking for at the church. I assumed she’d been seeking spiritual support, and she agreed that she’d found what she needed.”

That had been a hiding place. Penelope looked at Madeline and saw the same thought in her eyes.

“And then,” Mrs. Foswell went on, “Viola apologized and said she couldn’t dally, as she had an errand to run before she returned to the cottage.”

“An errand?” Penelope managed to mute her surprise. “Did she mention anything about what this errand was?”

“No,” Mrs. Foswell replied, “although I did find the notion puzzling.” She spread her hands. “What errand could she possibly have had in our village, small as it is? And it must have been in the village, as she implied she was expecting a visitor at the cottage, which is why she needed to return there soon.” Mrs. Foswell paused, then added, “Viola could see I was curious, both about the errand and the visitor, and she reached over the gate and squeezed my hand and said she’d visit the next day and explain.”

Mrs. Foswell’s expression grew troubled. “Only, of course, she didn’t, because by then, she was dead.” She looked at Penelope. “Was it her visitor who killed her?”

Penelope shared a swift glance with Madeline, then said, “We don’t believe so, which is why your information has been so helpful. Until speaking with you, we had no idea Viola ran an errand before returning to the cottage.”

Mrs. Foswell’s expression lightened. “In that case, my dears, I’m very pleased to have helped.”

“Now”—Penelope collected Madeline with a glance—“we must get on.”

They rose, and as Mrs. Foswell showed them to the door, she said, “I do hope that you take up this murderer soon so that the villagers can get back to their normal lives. It’s been rather discombobulating not knowing what to think.”

Penelope and Madeline smiled politely and left.

As they walked back onto the lane, Penelope murmured, “If the murderer is who we believe, it will be some time before this village can resume its normal ways.”

Madeline nodded, then with Penelope, paused and turned as the sound of footsteps alerted them to Barnaby and Stokes’s approach.

The men joined them, and at Stokes’s encouraging wave, they walked on a few paces until they were out of sight of the rectory, then halted.

Stokes promptly reported, “Reverend Foswell confirmed that he encountered a man of Pincer’s description along the Tollard Royal-Ashmore road at about two-thirty on the afternoon Viola was murdered.”

“So that part of Pincer’s tale is true,” Penelope said.

“And that,” Barnaby said, “increases the likelihood that everything he told us was the truth. At the very least, we can be certain that he wasn’t anywhere near the cottage at three-thirty-three.”

“There was no way,” Stokes said, “for the murderer to know that Pincer would call and find the body so soon after the event. They’d assumed no one would, probably not until the next morning when Mrs. Gilroy came in.”

Penelope nodded. “The murderer was counting on that so that the time of death would be accepted as three-thirty-three.”

“I can’t see any reason to disagree with Johnson’s assessment of Pincer,” Barnaby stated. “He’s no murderer, which means Viola was killed before one-thirty.”

Penelope sighed. “There’s really only one person who could have done it. Viola spoke with Mrs. Foswell at about twelve-thirty and had returned to the cottage and been killed with the murderer gone by one-thirty.”

“And,” Madeline put in, “Viola told Mrs. Foswell that she had an errand to run before returning to the cottage.”

“Did she, indeed?” Barnaby met Penelope’s eyes. “Let’s pray that your gossips can shed some light on that.”

“I certainly hope so,” Penelope replied.

Stokes looked ahead, up the village’s main street. “We still need more facts to nail down our case.” He glanced at Penelope and Madeline. “While you two consult your remaining gossips, Barnaby and I will circle around and try to find Jim Swinson.”

“Oh,” Madeline said. “I saw Jim and Arthur earlier. They were at the far corner of the orchard, rebuilding part of the wall. If you walk back to the cottage, then along the boundary wall, you’ll find them easily enough.”

Stokes and Barnaby thanked her and strode off for the cottage.

Penelope and Madeline walked more slowly up High Street. Approaching the three-way junction, Penelope debated, “Iris Perkins or Gladys Hooper?” She looked questioningly at Madeline. “Whom should we interview first?”

Madeline nodded to the cottages lining Noade Street, just ahead. “The Perkinses’ cottage is closer. It’s that one, just along Noade Street.”

Penelope looked at the cottage to their left. “Well, then. Let’s try there first.”

Penelope studied the Perkinses’ aptly named Ivy Cottage as she and Madeline walked up the neat stone path. The small stone cottage was almost buried in the creeping embrace of a rampant ivy, with tendrils reaching up to the roof and stretching out across the slopes.

On the veranda, Mrs. Perkins was sitting in a rocking chair with her knitting needles flashing.

Iris Perkins was an older woman with a soft, round figure and a face to match. Her expression was warm and welcoming. “Do come up, Madeline dear. And who’s this?”

Madeline introduced Penelope, who smiled and nodded to the older woman. “I like the color of your wool.” It was a bright, vibrant blue. “My sons are small, and they’d love that color.”

Iris chuckled. “My grandchildren love colorful socks—the rascals say the colors help warm up their feet. All nonsense, but the socks are practical, and knitting them gives me something to do to pass the time.” Iris waved them to wicker chairs. “Do sit down, ladies.” Her gaze shrewd, she observed, “I’m sure you didn’t come here to admire my wool.”

“No, indeed.” Penelope sank onto a chair and fixed her gaze on Iris. “We’re seeking information about Viola Huntingdon’s movements in the hours before she was murdered.”

Madeline said, “We’ve just learned from Mrs. Foswell that Viola came down from the church, past the rectory, at what must have been almost twelve-thirty. We’re not sure where she went after that and wondered if you might have seen her.”

Penelope’s heart leapt when Iris started nodding.

“I did see her that morning,” Iris said. “I was sitting right here.” She tipped her head toward the green, and Penelope and Madeline looked in that direction and realized that from her vantage point on the veranda, Iris had an excellent view of the triangular junction where the three lanes that defined Ashmore met, as well as a slice of the pond and green beyond.

Iris went on, “I saw Viola walk up from…well, I assumed she came from her cottage, but as you can tell, I can’t see that far around the corner. But I supposed that’s where she’d come from, and I saw her walk through the junction and on down High Street, toward the church.”

Penelope tipped her head. “Do you remember what time that was?”

“Well,” Iris said, “it must have been a little before quarter past twelve. I’d seen Pat Gilroy walk around and down toward her cottage at least five minutes before, and she leaves Lavender Cottage on the dot of twelve, so when Viola walked past, it must have been about ten minutes past the hour.” Iris nodded. “She was heading south, I assumed to the church or the rectory.”

Penelope bit back a smile. She was always amused by how people remembered things by linking this event to that. “Thank you. That’s very clear. Viola did go to the church. She was there for a little while, then she spoke with Mrs. Foswell for a few minutes, no more, then headed back in this direction.”

To Penelope’s delight, Iris nodded. “That fits, because I saw her coming back this way. She turned toward Green Lane, but then she stopped, right in the middle of the junction where I could see her, and opened her bag. That tapestry bag she always carried. She rummaged in there and pulled out what looked like a letter, but thinking back, it was longer and folded and had some sort of seal on it, more like something official.”

Penelope shot a warning look at Madeline. That had to have been one of Farnham’s letters. Returning her gaze to Iris, Penelope asked, “What did Viola do next?”

“Well, she grasped that letter in one hand,” Iris said, “and she looked ahead down Green Lane and, really determined-like, marched on and out of my sight.”

Penelope lectured herself not to try to fill in what might have happened next. Carefully, she confirmed, “So you didn’t see where she went with the letter.”

Iris grimaced. “I did think to go down to the pond, just to see what was going on. Viola looked so set on doing something with that letter, but Gladys Hooper was coming for a bite, just a small one to tide us over until afternoon tea with Ida. She’s one as bakes such mouthwatering things, one doesn’t want to go for tea with a full stomach.”

Penelope tried not to look disappointed. “I see.”

Iris smiled understandingly. “However, if you want to know what Viola did next, you should go and ask Gladys. She’d been to visit her old aunt as lives farther out along Green Lane and was heading back to have lunch with me. So she was walking along Green Lane at that time, coming this way.”

Iris paused and studied Penelope and Madeline with shrewd eyes. “I could tell you what Gladys said Viola did next, and what we thought it might mean, but for your purposes, it’s probably best you hear that from Gladys herself.”

Despite her impatience, Penelope had to agree. She glanced between Madeline and Iris. “Where does Gladys live?”

Madeline pointed up the same lane. “The Hoopers’ house is just up Noade Street.”

“Aye.” Iris nodded. “And at this hour, you should find Gladys there, getting lunch ready for her husband and sons.” Iris paused, her gaze on Penelope and Madeline, then said, “You tell Gladys I said she needs to tell you all she saw—and heard, too—that morning. She’s one as sometimes thinks to hold back a bit for later, if you know what I mean.”

“Thank you.” Penelope’s gratitude was entirely genuine.

“Indeed.” Madeline smiled and nodded at Iris as she and Penelope rose. “I’m truly grateful for your sharp eyes.”

Iris smiled widely, the action deepening the creases in her soft face. “Aye, and those same eyes have seen you and his lordship driving about. Take my advice—you won’t do better than to snare that one. No matter any misguided rumors, he’s a good man.”

Penelope met Iris’s eyes and smiled broadly back.

Madeline, slightly flustered and blushing, nodded, turned, and escaped from the porch.

After exchanging a last nod with Iris, still smiling broadly, Penelope followed.

Barnaby and Stokes paced along beside the stone wall that marked the disputed boundary between Lavender Cottage land and the acres attached to Penrose Cottage.

They’d cut across to the wall from the front gate of Lavender Cottage, making their way across clipped lawn and dodging around trees. On reaching the wall, they’d turned north and trudged along.

Looking over the chest-high wall, Barnaby watched the side of Penrose Cottage fall behind them, then the plot that housed the Penrose kitchen garden ran along the other side of the wall.

To their right, the rear garden of Lavender Cottage spread out, mostly laid to kitchen garden beds as well.

“Hello.” Looking ahead, Stokes paused, then walked on. “What’s this?”

They were roughly midway down the kitchen gardens, and the feature Stokes had spotted was a crumbling stile built against the wall.

They halted before it, and Barnaby pointed to a bare patch of ground in front of the stile. The earth held the clear imprint of a shoe. “That’s not a man’s boot.”

Stokes crouched and examined the shape outlined in the softer ground, then he rose and nodded. “No, it’s not. And it’s coming from the Penroses’.” He looked over the wall to where, some way away, the rear of Penrose Cottage could be seen. “Someone recently came over this stile, heading for Lavender Cottage.”

Barnaby crouched and examined the lightly grassed areas around the base of the stile, then pointed. “And here’s where she went back.” He rose and looked around.

“Well,” Stokes said, “we now know how she went back and forth between the cottages in a very short space of time.”

“And,” Barnaby said, waving to the bushes around the immediate area, “without being seen. Other than from the rear of Penrose Cottage, no one”—he swung around, searching—“in the lane, in the orchard, or anywhere else, for that matter, can see this spot. Bushes or trees cut off the sight lines in virtually every direction.”

Stokes looked, too, then nodded. “That means there’ll be no witnesses, but it’s something we needed to know.”

After a last look at the stile, they continued on and, eventually, came upon Jim Swinson and Arthur Penrose refitting stones into a crumbled section of the wall and mortaring them into place.

Both men were happy to pause and give their attention to Stokes and Barnaby.

After exchanging greetings, Stokes said, “We were wondering, Mr. Swinson, when you saw Miss Huntingdon on the morning she was killed, when she berated Lord Glossup over his dog’s behavior, whether you noticed if she had anything in her hand.”

Jim Swinson frowned slightly, clearly thinking back to the moment. Slowly, he nodded. “She was carrying some sort of paper—like a folded packet of some sort. I thought maybe she’d shake it at his lordship, but she didn’t.”

“Did you see what she did with the paper after his lordship rode off?” Barnaby asked.

Jim instantly replied, “Aye. She glared after his lordship, clutching the paper tight, then she put it—shoved it, more like—into her bag, that tapestry one she always carried when she was out and about.”

Barnaby exchanged a glance with Stokes. Now they knew why the killer had upended Viola’s bag.

Stokes looked at Jim. “As I recall, Mrs. Penrose was standing beside you at the time. Do you think she would remember that paper, too?”

Jim shrugged. “Don’t see why not. She was standing right there, and there’s nothing wrong with Mrs. P’s eyes.”

Stokes inclined his head. “Thank you. That’s really all we needed to know.”

With Madeline beside her, Penelope knocked on the door of Wisteria Cottage. “Although,” she murmured to Madeline, “there’s not a shred of wisteria about.”

Madeline glanced around. “Perhaps they’ve cut it down for the winter.”

“I don’t think you cut wisteria down to the ground,” Penelope replied.

They heard footsteps approaching on the other side of the door, and Penelope summoned a smile as Gladys Hooper opened it. “Good morning, Mrs. Hooper. I’m Mrs. Adair, and I believe you’re acquainted with Miss Huntingdon. We’re assisting the police with their investigations, and we were wondering if we might have a word.”

Madeline put in, “We’ve just come from chatting with Iris. We’re trying to determine my sister’s movements in the hours before she was killed, and Iris suggested that you’d seen where Viola went after she left the church.”

Penelope added, “Viola told Mrs. Foswell that she had an errand to run before returning to the cottage. We wondered if you knew where Viola went after she passed out of Iris’s sight and walked on along Green Lane.”

Gladys’s eyes had rounded, and she beamed. “Oh yes, I did see her, and I saw what happened next.” She waved Penelope and Madeline inside. “Come in and sit down, and I’ll tell you what I know.”

Barely able to contain her impatience, Penelope allowed Gladys to usher her and Madeline into a small, untidy parlor.

“Please excuse the mess.” Gladys hurried around, picking up scarves and caps. “Boys, you know. Well, males in general. It’s a never-ending chore.”

Once Gladys had the place reasonably cleared, she installed Penelope in what was clearly the best armchair and waved Madeline to the other armchair, while she perched on a straight-backed chair and looked at them expectantly.

Penelope inwardly sighed. Apparently, Gladys was one of those who preferred to be led. “We already know,” Penelope began, “that Iris saw Viola pause at the junction and take a folded paper from her bag. According to Iris, Viola then marched determinedly on along Green Lane.”

When Gladys, eyes wide, merely nodded, Madeline prompted, “We understand that you were walking from your aunt’s house to Iris’s for a light luncheon. Your aunt’s house lies farther out along Green Lane, doesn’t it?”

Gladys nodded. “Yes, it’s farther out around the bend.”

“So where were you,” Penelope asked, “when you saw Viola, and what was she doing at that point?”

Gladys fractionally inclined her head as if approving the question. “Well,” she replied, “I was just this side of the bend and walking this way, and Viola was marching—and that’s the right word, mind you, as she was awfully determined—toward me from the junction.”

“Did she see you?” Madeline asked.

“Of course. I’d be hard to miss, just as she was.” Gladys added, “I raised my hand, and she waved back. That’s when I noticed the paper in her hand—she had it in the hand she raised, and I wondered what it was. Didn’t quite look like a letter, not one in an envelope, you see.”

“What happened next?” Penelope asked.

“Well,” Gladys said, “I was hoping she’d slow and wait and speak with me, but instead, she took a few more steps, and then”—Gladys paused, no doubt to allow anticipation of her next revelation to build—“she turned in through the Penroses’ gate.”

Eyes gleaming with the fervor of a true village gossip, Gladys looked at Madeline and Penelope. “Well, that got my attention, as you might imagine.”

“Oh?” Penelope played innocent. “Why was that?”

“Well, Mrs. Adair, all the village knows that Viola and Ida Penrose don’t see eye to eye about much, but especially with that business of the orchard boundary…well, that really soured relations between them.”

“I see.” Penelope nodded. “So you saw Viola go up the Penroses’ front path.”

“Aye, but I saw much more than that,” Gladys said. “I walked faster because I wanted to see what happened. That big old tree in the Penroses’ front yard? There’s a spot beside the fence that if you stand just there, Ida or whoever is at the front door can’t see you.”

Penelope had to hand it to Gladys. “So you stopped on that spot.”

“O’course I did,” Gladys said. “I wanted to see the fireworks, didn’t I? Not that there were any, as it happened, but I was in that spot, listening, and I heard Viola say to Ida, ‘This is for Arthur.’ And Ida replied, ‘He’s not here. He’s out in the fields.’ There was a pause, then Viola said, ‘Well, I suppose I can leave it with you to give him,’ and I peeked around the tree and saw Viola give Ida the paper Viola’d been carrying.”

Gladys sat back and faintly grimaced. “I thought there’d be more, but I knew I couldn’t stay there and have Viola find me when she came back down the path, so while Ida was looking down at the paper in her hand and Viola was watching her, I scooted on and walked on to the junction. But I stopped there, at the corner, like, and looked back, and I saw Viola come out of the Penroses’ gate and walk on to Lavender Cottage.”

Penelope clarified, “You saw her go through the Lavender Cottage gate?”

Gladys nodded. “I decided that was that, scene ended, and went on to Iris’s for lunch.”

Penelope thought, then asked, “Do you have any idea what time you arrived at Iris’s cottage?”

“Iris had been expecting me at twelve-thirty,” Gladys replied, “and she commented that I was nearly ten minutes late.”

“So,” Madeline said, “you reached Iris’s at just before twelve-forty.”

Gladys nodded. “Seems like.”

“Later,” Penelope said, “when you went to afternoon tea with Ida, did you mention seeing Viola at her door?”

Gladys pulled a face. “Iris and I debated whether or not to mention it, but it seemed like it might be a sore point with Ida, and either way, we could ask Viola herself about it later, which, all in all, seemed the better road. So we didn’t say anything about it to Ida.”

Thank heaven for small mercies, Penelope thought.

“At what time did you and Iris get to Penrose Cottage?” Madeline asked, and Penelope refocused.

“Three on the dot, just like always,” Gladys replied. “That’s always been the time for Ida’s afternoon teas.”

“While you were inside Penrose Cottage, did you happen to see the paper Viola had given Ida?” Penelope asked.

“No,” Gladys replied. “And it wasn’t for want of looking, and Iris didn’t see anything that might be it, either.”

Penelope wracked her brains for further questions. “Have you known Ida and Arthur for long? I assume they’re longtime residents of the village.”

“Yes, they are.” Gladys went on, “I’ve known both since childhood. Ida always had her eye on Arthur, even when we were just girls. There was no one else for her, ever. It had to be Arthur. Just as well that he went along with it is all I will say. Ida was single-minded and utterly blinkered about getting him to the altar. Mind you, she’s been devoted to him ever since, so it’s not as if he didn’t get a good bargain there. Only thing was they never had any children, but that happens, doesn’t it?”

Penelope tipped her head and, as innocently as she was able, asked, “In your opinion, who would you say is the leader, as it were, in that household?”

“Ida, definitely,” Gladys stated. “She’s the one as handles almost everything except what Arthur loves doing—the growing and pruning and such. It’s Ida who sells the fruit and grain and manages the money. But you have to hand it to her, she always makes it seem that it’s Arthur who does it all. She’ll never hear of anyone talking him down. He’s her man, and you could say that he’s her everything.”

Penelope drew in a slow breath, then nodded to Gladys. “Thank you. You’ve been a great help.”

She and Madeline rose, and Madeline offered her thanks as well, and they headed for the door.

In the doorway, Penelope stopped and looked back at Gladys. “One last question. What did Ida serve for afternoon tea?”

Gladys beamed. “Scones. Freshly baked. She makes the best scones hereabouts.”

Penelope smiled and inclined her head. “Thank you.”

She led the way off the porch and on down the path.

Madeline caught up and fell in beside her.

As they walked—increasingly briskly—toward Lavender Cottage, Penelope felt her confidence rise. “Now to put together everything we’ve learned and see whether we have enough to arrest our murderer.”