snapped this afternoon after discovering that Mr. Scrimshank was one of the guests for tea? Had she, however unreasonably, considered this another act of betrayal on Betty’s part and taken the snuffbox in retaliation?
“What are you thinking about?” Ben came up beside me.
“This and that.” I continued to stare at the chest.
“You look troubled.” His gaze was intent.
“A man dropped dead less than an hour ago.”
“It was sad and startling, but-”
“Betty thinks Lady Fiona poisoned his brandy.”
“Don’t tell me you believe her? Mr. Hardcastle was just saying that the poor old gentleman was well over ninety, making it unlikely he had the heart of a twenty-year-old. His doctor is amazed he’d kept on ticking this long. That cupful of brandy alone might have been enough to finish him off.”
“That’s the sensible view,” I agreed, wishing that I didn’t sound so stilted but not able to help myself. Had Ben swept me into his arms I would have felt he brought Val in tow. Perhaps sensing this, he put his hands in his trouser pockets and began talking about Betty.
“You can’t go by what she says, Ellie, she’s dealing with a lot of issues: the lottery win, her problems with Ariel, and… whatever else she’s got on her mind.”
“Such as?”
“Tom. You could see how he reacted to her behavior at that ridiculous seance.” This was the moment to tell him about the false Madam LaGrange, but I didn’t. Childishly, I decided that if he could have secrets so could I. Receiving no response, he continued. “There’s always stuff going on in any marriage that outsiders aren’t tuned in to.”
“Are you speaking about them or about us?” It was out. I told myself I felt better. Nothing was worse than the distance growing between us. I saw the hesitation in his eyes, waited for him to say something-anything-but when he did I wished I’d left things alone.
“Ellie, I’m caught up in a situation that I would have given anything to avoid. But it was flung at me, and there it is. I want to talk to you about it, but that might complicate things even more. Also I gave my word to-”
“Val? Or, as you call her, Valeria?” I almost choked on the words.
A muscle tensed in his cheek, but he kept his hands in his pockets. “She feels so guilty. Ellie, you’ve probably come to your own conclusion and think I’m behaving like a cad.”
“Heaven forbid! You’re my knight in shining armor!”
The drawing room door opened, making an end to our tete-a-tete. All at once there was activity. By the time the body was removed and its entourage, including Mr. Hardcastle, had departed, I was not the only person looking less than cheery when we gathered in the drawing room. Ben and Tom stood in silence; Mrs. Malloy said her feet were killing her and sank into a chair. Only Betty displayed an interest in chatting about the death, and even she gave up on this idea when Ariel flung herself down on a sofa and began sobbing uncontrollably. Galvanized into unexpected speed, Tom knelt at her side, patting her heaving shoulders and looking around in accusatory alarm at his wife.
“Betty, what’s set her off?”
“How should I know?”
“You’re always getting at her.”
“That’s not true.” The green eyes flashed. “Most often it’s the other way round. Oh, move over, do!” Betty knelt down beside him. For that moment they looked like a set of concerned parents, thinking only of their child.
“What’s the matter, Ariel love?” Mrs. Malloy asked from her chair, while Ben and I hovered in the background.
“It was so sad! His eyes were open and he was looking at me, like he was asking me to tell him he wasn’t really dead. He was such a tiny little old man, not big enough to look after himself properly.” Ariel raised a tear- drenched face. “It’s different talking about death when you’ve never seen it. I wish I’d never made cracks about wanting people out of the way.” She turned away from Betty and her father. “And I never again want to hear about murders. It’s like tempting fate to come up with another dead person.”
“You see, Betty!” Tom got to his feet. “What have I been saying for weeks about this nonsense of yours regarding Lady Fiona? It was bound to lead to trouble, and now it has! You’ve filled my daughter’s head with fear. If she doesn’t have a nervous breakdown, it won’t be your fault!”
It was time for Ben, Mrs. Malloy, and myself to clear out. Seeing that Mrs. M wanted to talk and not feeling up to a heart-to-heart, I said I had a headache that would only cure itself if I went for a lie-down in a darkened bedroom. Ben started to say something, but I waved a hand and headed upstairs.
I rarely get headaches, but I was not fibbing about this one. A couple of aspirins later, I crawled under the bedclothes and willed myself to sleep. It took some doing, but finally Val’s triumphant voice stopped telling me she was an Irish rose and I was a dandelion growing where it wasn’t wanted. Ben reduced his pleas for my forgiveness to an incoherent muddle. Blessed oblivion.
When I opened my eyes and looked groggily at the bedside clock, it was several hours later. I would still have benefited from taking off my head and putting it on a hat stand, but that was mostly because doing so would have made thinking more difficult. The physical pain had eased considerably. For several minutes I contemplated the advisability of getting up. I was thinking that perhaps I had better do so when Ariel stuck her head around the door and asked if I would like something brought up on a tray, everyone else already having had dinner. Her eyelids were still puffy and she looked in need of a good night’s rest.
“Or perhaps you’d rather just go back to sleep, Ellie.”
“I think I’ll do that. Good night, Ariel.” Suddenly the best possible move seemed to be total inaction. No thanking anyone, especially Ben, for bringing me a heartening bowl of broth; no being drawn back into the Hopkinses’ emotional turmoil. Tomorrow would be better or worse. Either way it would be there. For now I would burrow back down and hope to be asleep when my husband came to bed… or didn’t.
When I awoke the next morning, the other side of the bed was still warm. Ben had come and gone, like a visitor showing up when no one was home. I was filled with a wild longing to run and find him, to tell him the business with Val was madness and when we got back to Merlin’s Court he would realize it had been no more than a midsummer night’s dream. But I realized, as I set one foot on the floor, that I couldn’t bring myself to grovel. Pride balked at the idea, and fear raised the ugly possibility that he had no wish to be saved from his folly.
After taking a hot shower that did nothing to warm me, I went downstairs in the wake of Mrs. Malloy, who had just come out of her bedroom.
“How’s the head, Mrs. H?”
“I’m still wearing it.”
“Now, don’t go getting snappy with me.” She eyed me severely.
“Sorry.” I folded my arms.
“You should see yourself, standing there all defensive. Come on, what’s the bother?” She can always get to me when that kindly light beams from her eyes, like the last hope for a drowning sailor. “Trouble with Mr. H over that Val woman?”
“However did you guess, Mrs. Private Detective?”
“From the soppy way she was looking at him at tea. If you ask me, he looked downright embarrassed.”
“An awkward situation for both of them.”
“Yes. Well, don’t go thinking yourself into trouble, like Tom accused Betty of doing. Just you cling to the thought that it’s always darkest before dawn.”
“It
“You’re right.” She followed my gaze. “Unless it’s telling wicked falsehoods, as wouldn’t surprise me in this house, where-present company excluded-taking what anyone says for fact could be a big mistake.”
“Does that include Mrs. Cake?”
“Why?”
“Breakfast doesn’t have its usual appeal. Ben and I aside, Tom and Betty could benefit from some time with Ariel without our looming presence. Why don’t you grab a slice of toast and come with me to talk to Mrs. Cake?”
“I’ve already had several chats with her. That’s what I wanted to bring you up to speed on, Mrs. H, when you
