“That may be so…” I began carefully, but she cut me off with a wave of her hand.
“Mark my words. The inquest will show tomorrow that he was killed.”
“Even if that’s so, it doesn’t mean that Mrs. Hodges was responsible, secret or not.”
“But, you see, I haven’t told you the most striking fact as of yet.” She paused, and I couldn’t help but feel she was enjoying the intensity of her tale. “I saw her walking from the direction of that field after the races. She had been at her booth, selling honey, before the races started. She would’ve had no reason to be in that field.”
“Perhaps she was merely taking a walk during the races,” I suggested lamely. “After all, she doesn’t much care for festivities.”
“That might be the case. But why, then, did she leave the festival and then appear later in different clothes?”
I considered this. I hadn’t noticed it at the time, but she was right. Mrs. Hodges had been wearing a different dress when I saw her in the tea tent. “You think she had blood on her clothes.”
“The weather was fair and the ground dry. What other reason might she have had to change her clothes?”
It was fairly compelling circumstantial evidence, as far as it went. “Did you say anything to the police about this?”
“Not yet. That Inspector Wilson was rushing around, ordering people about. There wasn’t time. Besides, he thought it was an accident like everyone else. I don’t think the man would know a murder if it hit him on the head. It’ll be the doctor that will find out what really happened. Jordan’s always been a clever man.”
I opened my mouth, not quite sure what to say. Should I tell her that Milo had similar suspicions? Somehow, I thought I should keep this information to myself for the time being. It didn’t much matter, anyway, as Lady Alma was already rising to her feet.
“Pass this information along to your husband so it doesn’t take him by surprise at the inquest. I thought you should both be aware of what’s to come. I won’t keep you longer. And, anyway, I need to change the poultice on Medusa’s leg. Good day, Mrs. Ames.”
And with that, she turned and walked briskly out of the room without waiting for my response.
* * *
I HAD A good deal to discuss with Milo that evening when he returned home from London. I managed to keep from mentioning Bertie’s death during dinner, as I knew the servants would be curious about what we had to say. I thought it would be best to keep things as quiet as possible. It wouldn’t do, after all, for word of what we knew to get back to the killer, whoever he might be.
I still had my doubts about Mrs. Hodges, but I certainly didn’t intend to rule her out.
At last we were alone in the drawing room, drinking our after-dinner coffee as Milo smoked. I sat on the velvet divan near the fireplace and Milo sat in a chair by the open window, as I had been sensitive to his cigarette smoke as of late. Since I had overcome the morning sickness of the early stages of my pregnancy, few things had made me feel ill, but the strong scent of cigarettes did. In consequence, Milo had been smoking much less.
It was nice in the room with the window open, for the weather remained pleasant. We had a small fire crackling in the grate to ward off any chill, but the occasional cool evening breeze blew across the room, bringing with it the scent of the early lilacs outside.
I might have thought it a very romantic evening on another occasion, but tonight my mind was elsewhere.
“Lady Alma was here today,” I told Milo, breaking into the comfortable silence.
“Was she?” Milo asked, rising from his chair to toss his cigarette out the window and pull it closed. “Was she still in a state about her horse?”
“No, about something else. She thinks Mrs. Hodges killed Bertie.”
He turned to look at me. It was hard to tell what his reaction to this bit of news was, for he said nothing, waiting for me to continue.
I quickly related my conversation with Lady Alma that day and her certainty that Marena’s mother was the killer.
“I find it hard to imagine that Mrs. Hodges would bash someone’s head in,” Milo said contemplatively. “Then again, she’s always been an utter gorgon. Perhaps such a thing would be just to her taste.”
“This is a serious matter, Milo.”
“I’m being serious,” he replied, though the corner of his mouth tipped up ever so slightly. “I wonder what kind of secret he knew about her?”
“One does wonder, doesn’t one?” I replied. “I find it hard to believe that she has been able to hide anything major for all these years.”
“What’s more, how did Bertie come to know it?”
“Mrs. Busby mentioned that they caught Bertie in the vicar’s office and that a lock on one of his drawers was broken, a drawer that contained confidential records.”
“What kind of records?”
“As to that, she was very vague. She claimed the vicar wasn’t entirely sure what might have been in the drawer. But I didn’t have the opportunity to speak with him directly.”
“Perhaps we might find a way to bring the matter up to him.”
I smiled at him, glad he seemed inclined to let me investigate rather than protest my involvement as he usually did. “I do adore you when you say things like that.”
His blue eyes flashed wickedly. “I adore you all the time, my darling, but I will take what admiration I can get from you.”
I laughed. “You know perfectly well that I am putty in your hands.”
It was his turn to laugh. “If that’s the case, you are the most unmalleable putty I’ve ever come across.”
“Well, perhaps not putty, exactly,” I conceded. “But I’m awfully fond of you.”
“Awfully fond, eh? You shouldn’t make such extravagant declarations,” he said dryly. “I’m likely to grow conceited.”
He came over to me, and, placing his hands on the back of the divan on either side of me, he leaned down, his mouth very close to mine. “Have I told you how beautiful you are?” he asked in a low voice.
I looked up at him, my heart picking up the pace. It sometimes still startled me how very much I loved him, even after all this time. “Not tonight,” I said, rubbing a hand along the lapel of his jacket.
“You’re exquisite.”
He leaned to brush a teasing kiss across my lips then pulled away, his mouth moving to my jaw and then just below my ear. “Of course, when I say ‘we’ might investigate, I mean me,” he murmured against my skin. “You’re not to wander about the village asking people questions, not in your condition.”
“Milo!”
He kissed me again then, and, though I found it very annoying when he used his charms to silence my protests, I couldn’t help but enjoy it. I slid my arms up around his neck and disregarded the matter for the time being. There would be time for this argument tomorrow.
* * *
I DID NOT go to the inquest the following morning. Milo said it wouldn’t do for me to sit all day in a hot and crowded room, and I had to admit that I agreed with him. Walking around the village and short visits with suspects was one thing, but sitting for prolonged periods on an uncomfortable wooden chair in an airless room was quite another.