“Were they arguing?” I asked, curious about the tenor of their interaction.
“Not that I could tell. But they had the look of two people that knew each other. They were comfortable together, if you take my meaning.”
“You didn’t much care for Bertie Phipps, did you?” I asked.
Her brow furrowed. “I didn’t care for Marena chasing after him. She’s not a good girl, and I knew what kind of trouble could come of it.”
If she had disapproved so heartily of wholesome Bertie, I shuddered to think what she would say when she realized Marena had taken up with Darien.
“Perhaps you’re too hard on her,” I suggested. “Marena’s a lovely girl.”
“She’s her father’s daughter,” Mrs. Hodges said darkly. “When she started asking about him, I knew there would be trouble.”
Mrs. Hodges’s husband had died many years ago, long before I had married Milo and moved to Thornecrest. No one, it seemed, knew much about him, for he had died before Mrs. Hodges came to the village, but I couldn’t help but think that Marena must have inherited her good looks and sunny disposition from him.
“Well, thank you, Mrs. Hodges,” I said, taking up my jar of honey. “You’ve given me a good deal to think about.”
“There’s more to all of this than meets the eye,” she told me as I reached the door. “I’d be wary of digging too deep.”
“I shall bear that in mind.”
I crossed back through the garden and exited the front gate. Sliding into the backseat of the car felt rather like making an escape.
I wondered if I should go to the village and confront Imogen about what Mrs. Hodges had told me. I realized, however, that a short time in the woman’s company had drained the energy from me. Detective work was very tiring in my condition.
By the time I returned to Thornecrest, I was feeling weary indeed. So it was with no great enthusiasm I received the news that my mother had rang and left word she intended to arrive in a week.
“Maybe she’ll be detained again,” Winnelda said, in an attempt to cheer me.
“I very much doubt it,” I answered with a sigh.
My mother had been visiting more often since I’d become pregnant, and I was very much afraid that this time she meant to stay with us until the baby was born. At least I still had a week before she came. It would give me time to brace myself.
I had completed the nursery, so I would not need to finish it while contending with her input. There was, however, still the matter of a name to be settled. Milo and I had different ideas of what we wanted to call the baby. I preferred traditional names like Mary and Alice or Thomas and Henry. Milo said that he thought we ought to choose something a bit more exotic.
I supposed that Amory and Milo weren’t the most traditional of names, and it had never done us any harm.
My mother, who in every other matter adhered to the strictest conventions, had chosen an uncommon name for me on the basis of familial loyalty hedged by prudence. Her favorite great-aunt was named Delilah Amory, but she had balked at so scandalous a given name. “There was nothing Christian about Delilah, now, was there?” she had once noted.
And so she had compromised by bestowing her aunt’s surname upon me. Though I might have been more glamorous had I been christened Delilah, I supposed that Amory was fairly well-suited to me.
My middle names were the more traditional Rosamund Frances, so I supposed we might use one of those if it was a girl. Milo’s were Anthony Lucien, but he had said he didn’t care for either of them enough to give them to a child. He was especially opposed to Anthony, which had been his father’s name.
My mother, though she would never deign to say so directly, had made several comments that had informed me that she would not be displeased if the baby were to be named after her or my father. I had dutifully added Luella and Franklin to the list of possibilities.
I had no doubt my mother would be advocating for them for the remainder of my pregnancy.
“I found a trunk in the attic, madam, when I was looking for baby things,” Winnelda said. “I didn’t open it, but it was near the nursery furniture, so I had Nathan bring it to the nursery for you to look at later.”
I had been so lost in thought that I had forgotten she was still in the room.
“Oh. Excellent. Thank you, Winnelda.”
She looked at me closely. “Are you feeling all right, madam? You look a bit peaked, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
“I am a bit tired,” I admitted.
“Why don’t you lie down for a bit before tea?” she suggested. “It will do you good.”
“Yes. I think I shall.” Though I would never have admitted it, I was in dire need of a bit of rest.
I supposed that now, with the baby’s arrival nearing and my mother’s impending visit, was not the ideal time for a murder investigation. Perhaps Milo was right; perhaps it would be best to let the police handle things.
Unlike Milo, however, I could not just abandon Darien to his fate. He might be a thoroughly unprincipled young man, but I didn’t think he was a killer. And, whatever Milo said, I felt it was our responsibility to help him.
I needed to speak to Imogen about what Mrs. Hodges had told me. I found it very suspicious she had left out the fact she knew Bertie Phipps. What was the relationship between them, and what had she been doing in that field shortly before he died?
She had told both the inspector and me that she had seen Darien there, but apparently no one had thought to question her about why she had been in that spot to see him.
There was still information to gather and avenues to be explored. But it could wait until I’d had my nap.
As I drifted off to sleep, I had a sudden thought: today had shown me that I could count my blessings. My mother might drive me to distraction, but at least she wasn’t Mrs. Hodges.
* * *
AS LUCK WOULD have it, the next opportunity for investigating presented itself at my doorstep that afternoon.
“Inspector Wilson is here asking for Mr. Ames, madam,” Grimes said as I took my tea in the small sitting room.
I didn’t hesitate. “I’d like to speak with him. Show him in, please.”
Grimes had no discernible change in expression, but I could sense that he was not exactly thrilled with this request. He knew, as everyone did, the sort of intrigues in which Milo and I had been involved over the past years. Though he would never comment upon such things and had, naturally, kept his feelings on the latest developments within the Ames family to himself, I was sure that even his well-honed sense of professionalism must be strained by this point. Grimes was of the old school, and we were all behaving in much too modern a fashion for his tastes.
He made no further comment, however, and left to show the inspector in as I considered how best I might be able to use this unexpected visit to my advantage.
To be honest, I was not entirely encouraged by the fact that Inspector Wilson was on the case. He had always seemed a pleasant enough gentleman in our brief encounters, and I had no reason to believe that he was anything other than genuinely devoted to the cause of justice. The fact remained, however, that he was not a man of great imagination. He was the sort of person to look at facts and assume the most straightforward interpretation. The evidence pointed to Darien, and so he assumed Darien was guilty.