“What if someone knew he was considering revealing it and decided he had to be silenced?” I suggested, trying to keep the excitement from my voice.
Milo considered this. “It’s possible.”
I wished now we had pressed Bertie when he asked the question. But there was no guarantee he would have revealed anything to us. And we had no way of knowing that he’d be dead a short time later.
Whose secrets might he have had access to? The first person that came to mind was Lady Alma. Was it possible that she had had something to do with his death? Casting my mind back, I could not recall having seen her at the festival before the races. In fact, she had arrived at the enclosure late and out of breath. That would have been about the time Bertie was killed.
Lady Alma and Bertie had had a close relationship, almost a friendship, though neither of them probably would have couched it in such terms. Might her feelings for Bertie have taken a turn in a more romantic direction? I quickly pushed this idea aside. Lady Alma had never shown any interest in men or marriage. She was rumored to have turned down several marriage proposals in her youth, choosing instead a life of solitary independence. From all I had seen, it had suited her well.
But it was still possible she might have had motive to kill him.
Though it wasn’t nice, perhaps, I could picture it being the sort of murder Lady Alma would commit. She would have been brisk and efficient about it, eliminating the object of her scorn with a few well-placed blows.
“Do you think Lady Alma might have killed Bertie?” I asked. “Perhaps there was something she wanted to keep quiet, and Bertie found out about it.”
“The same might be said for any number of people.”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
He studied me. “Have you some particular reason to suspect Lady Alma?”
I shook my head. “No. And I suppose she would have been able to get the bit in Medusa’s mouth if anyone would. Nevertheless, we’ve learned not to rule people out, haven’t we?”
“We have indeed,” he said, coming to me. “But this time it’s not our concern. I can already see that mind of yours spinning, and I don’t want you to worry about it, darling.”
“I’m not worrying, particularly. Just thinking.”
He let out a sigh as he turned to leave me to my bath. “That’s how it always starts.”
* * *
THE DOCTOR CAME to visit the next morning after breakfast.
“I thought it best that I looked you over after your recent … excitement,” he had explained when Grimes had shown him into the morning room.
“I feel perfectly fine.”
“Yes, I’m sure you do. But it doesn’t hurt to be cautious, now, does it?”
I was certain that Milo had put him up to this. Milo, though he gave every appearance of being completely sanguine about my condition, had been watching me like a hawk ever since he had discovered I was pregnant. As my husband had hastily departed for London after breakfast, I could not even shoot him angry looks as I gave way to the suggestion and led the doctor up to my bedroom.
It wasn’t exactly comforting to know that, only a few hours ago, the doctor had been examining the dead body of Bertie Phipps. I suppose that was the sort of contrast that made up a doctor’s life: the never-ending cycle of life and death.
The examination proved satisfactory; the baby was much less exuberant this morning than it had been the evening before but still sufficiently active to assure the doctor of its progress. I told him I had been eating and sleeping well and taking exercise.
At last he put his Pinard horn in his black bag and sat back in his chair. “Still planning to have the baby here, rather than in London?”
“I think so, yes.”
My mother was quite adamant that I wasn’t going to give birth in a hospital. “Filthy places,” she had sneered. “Full of disease and all manner of unpleasant things. I gave birth to you in the comfort and cleanliness of my own house. If it was good enough for me, I think it should be good enough for you.”
Milo, surprisingly enough, seemed to agree with her on this issue. “You’ve got the best care here that you could want,” he had told me. “And Thornecrest is much more comfortable than the flat.”
Dr. Jordan said he saw no reason why I shouldn’t have the baby at home. In truth, I liked the idea of staying in my comfortable room much more than I did going to a strange place. But there was still some time to make my final decision.
“A good four weeks yet, I should imagine,” he said. “I’ve known a good many first-time mothers to go past the expected date. Just try to rest and not overexcite yourself.”
This was as good an opening as any.
“It was quite distressing about Bertie,” I said, hoping he might have some sort of comment on the subject.
Dr. Jordan was not the sort of cheery country doctor one might hope for when probing for information. He had always been a bit stiff and formal, though certainly kind enough. I didn’t hold out much hope that he was going to give me information about Bertie’s unfortunate death.
“You’d do better not to think about it. A woman in your condition ought to think pleasant thoughts.”
I clenched my teeth before I could retort on just what I thought of his apparent wilting violet philosophy concerning pregnant women.
“Mr. Ames had … blood on his clothes,” I said, as though it had been very upsetting to me. “I suppose … I suppose it was Bertie’s blood.”
“It might have been the horse’s,” he said, neatly sidestepping my question.
“But poor Bertie hit his head, didn’t he? On a sharp stone from the wall? My husband and Lady Alma have always kept that wall in such excellent repair. I don’t know how that stone might have come loose.”
He looked up at me, his gaze narrowing ever so slightly. I think he suspected what I was about and was trying to decide which tack to take.
Surely he must have known that Milo would have told me about the cause of Bertie’s death. Then again, perhaps not. Perhaps he thought that Milo treated me with kid gloves, especially in my condition.
At last, he made his reply. “Bertie’s death was most unfortunate, Mrs. Ames. But I don’t think you should concern yourself with that. You’ve much happier things to think about. We want you in a good frame of mind when the delivery comes.”
It seemed there was nothing for me to do but take the most direct approach.
“My husband tells me he has reason to believe that Bertie Phipps was murdered.”
To the doctor’s credit, his face revealed nothing. I suppose he had had a good deal of practice at concealing his thoughts over the years. A doctor needed tact, after all, and the ability to conceal a reaction to unpleasantness. And it was unpleasant to him, I was quite sure, to have the matter put so openly.
“As I said, Mrs. Ames. That’s nothing you need to worry about.”
I could see I wasn’t going to get anything else out of him. It was disappointing, but I had known better than to expect much. An idea occurred to me, however, and I decided to try one more change of tactic.
“Lady Alma is very distressed, I suppose.”
He looked at me rather closely, I thought, but I maintained an air of perfect innocence.