If that was the way he wanted it, that was the way it would be.
“You needn’t worry,” I said coolly. “I shan’t breathe a word.”
* * *
ONCE I WAS rid of Milo the next morning, after a strained breakfast in which neither of us went out of the way to be pleasant to the other, I went about plotting my next course of action.
As far as I could see, there were, besides Darien, six possible suspects: Mrs. Hodges, Marena, Lady Alma, Imogen, the vicar, and Mrs. Busby.
Mrs. Hodges was under consideration based on Lady Alma’s suspicions. Granted, I had only Lady Alma’s word to go on. It was common knowledge, however, that Mrs. Hodges had never approved of her daughter’s young man. Perhaps there was some motive of which we had no knowledge. There was, too, the question of whether he might have learned something about her, some secret she wished to keep hidden.
Marena was a suspect for the obvious reason: a lover’s quarrel of some sort. Though they had parted ways, she was still angry at him for having struck Darien. Might she have confronted him and hit him in a fit of passion? I thought it unlikely, given how distraught she was at his death. But, then again, guilt and grief had many of the same symptoms.
As for Lady Alma, it was possible Bertie knew something about her and she had killed him to hide it and then tried to lay the blame elsewhere, claiming Bertie had learned a secret about Mrs. Hodges. I didn’t like to think such a thing of Lady Alma, but it was possible.
Imogen wasn’t necessarily a good suspect. After all, she hadn’t known Bertie. But she had implicated Darien in his murder. Was it possible she had committed the crime in order to frame the man who had scorned her? It was a bit far-fetched, but not impossible.
Then there was the vicar and Mrs. Busby. While I was reluctant to include them, I could not entirely discount them. After all, Bertie had allegedly broken into the vicar’s desk drawer. Had he discovered something that one of them thought it necessary to kill to conceal?
I sighed. There were so many possibilities and none of them much better than the last.
I decided the best place to start would be with Mrs. Hodges, especially as it was apparently she who had some secret that Bertie had known.
I had Markham, our driver, drive me to the Hodges home. It was a small, tidy cottage set away from the village. Contrary to Mrs. Hodges’s stern personality, the house had a cheery appearance. The shutters were painted a bright yellow and the fence was a spotless white. There was a profusion of flowers around the outside: hyacinth, daffodils, narcissus, and foxglove. All the better to attract the bees she loved.
I stepped from the car and noticed a bicycle resting against the gate just as Marena came out of the house.
She looked up when she saw me, froze for a moment, and then came quickly toward me. Her hair appeared windblown, though she had just come from inside, and her face was red.
“Oh, Mrs. Ames. Have they arrested Darien?” she asked. “Have they really?” She was gripping the gate so tightly her knuckles had turned almost as white as the wood.
Word certainly traveled fast in the village.
“Do try to calm down, dear…”
“But my mother just said someone had been arrested, that it was a relation of yours. I had to get out of the house before I screamed…”
“Listen to me, Marena,” I said, gently but firmly. “You’re not going to do Darien—or yourself—any good by going to pieces. You must calm down. Do you understand?”
My schoolmarm tone of voice seemed to do the trick, for she nodded. Drawing in a deep breath, she brushed the loose strands of hair from her face and seemed to collect herself.
I reached out to pat her hand, noticing her grip on the gate had lessened ever so slightly. “That’s better, isn’t it? The best way to face the news is calmly.”
“Then they did arrest him?”
“Yes, but…”
As I was afraid would be the case, she burst into tears as soon as I confirmed the story. I felt sorry for her, especially as I was fairly certain Mrs. Hodges had not been at all sympathetic.
“Did you tell your mother about your relationship with Darien?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No. She merely told me that some relation of yours had been arrested. I had to try to hide my distress from her. When I saw you, I couldn’t bear it any longer.”
I looked back toward the door of her mother’s house, wondering if I should take her inside. I was fairly sure Mrs. Hodges would only make the situation worse.
Marena sniffed loudly then and looked up at me, her eyes bright. “He didn’t do it, Mrs. Ames. I know he didn’t.”
I studied her, her tawny eyes filled with tears. I didn’t know what to say to her. She appeared as though she truly believed what she was saying. But how could she know? She had been acquainted with Darien for less than a fortnight.
“The police will investigate the matter thoroughly. I’m sure they’ll come to the truth.” I was a bit disgusted with myself for repeating Milo’s platitudes when what I really wanted to do was tell her I was investigating the matter. I knew, however, that I couldn’t afford to take anyone into my confidence.
“But … what will happen if…” she whispered.
I knew what she was asking. What would happen if Darien were convicted of the crime? I didn’t feel as though Marena was in the best state of mind at the moment to dwell on the possible outcomes.
“We won’t worry about that now,” I said gently.
“That girl did it, didn’t she?” she said suddenly, anger sparking in her eyes. “She told the police, mother said. I think she’s the one who killed Bertie.”
“What girl?” I asked, reluctant to share the information with which Imogen had entrusted me.
“Imogen. She probably killed Bertie and tried to frame Darien for it.”
I had considered the same possibility, but hearing it aloud made it seem even more unlikely than it had in my head. “Wouldn’t she have just killed Darien if she were so desperate for revenge?” I pointed out.
She shook her head stubbornly. “She has something to do with all of this, I’m sure of it.”
“Well, if Darien is innocent…”
“Oh, but he is!” she cried. “He would never do something like that, never.”
“I’m not disagreeing with you,” I said, knowing that we wouldn’t be able to resolve this situation here in front of Mrs. Hodges’s gate. “We shall just wait and see what happens. I’m sure the true killer will be brought to justice in time.”
“Yes. Yes, I’m sure you’re right.” She suddenly seemed to take note of our location as well, almost as though she had appeared at her mother’s house without really realizing it.
“But … but what are you doing here, Mrs. Ames? How did you know I was here?”
“I didn’t, in fact. Actually, I came to see your mother.”
A frown flickered across her face. I thought she looked almost worried. It passed quickly, however. “Mother’s not feeling very well, I don’t think. She denies it, but she’s not a well woman.”
It crossed my mind, unkindly, that I would have thought, given Mrs. Hodges’s iron disposition, that she would outlive us all.