'And you've come to Little Sefton to ask Victoria about this matter?' Mrs. Hart wanted to know. 'My dear, why don't you stay the night, and face this visit first thing in the morning? I'll be happy to lend you whatever you need. The guest room is always ready, it will be no trouble at all.'
I believed her and was sorely tempted. But I would lose another day. And besides, Simon was coming to Little Sefton for me. 'You're very kind, Mrs. Hart, but if I'm wrong about Victoria, I must look elsewhere. It's too late to call on the Meltons tonight, but I can be in Diddlestoke very early tomorrow.'
Mr. Hart was staring at me. 'The other person was Serena Melton.'
I sat there, my cup halfway to my lips, and looked at him over the rim.
'What? The other person, you say?' I set my cup on the small table at my elbow. 'I don't understand.'
'I didn't think to mention it. She came to Little Sefton to see Victoria. It was the day Michael went to the play. But Victoria wasn't at home and apparently the maid and the cook had been given the afternoon off. She came here next to ask if Michael knew where Victoria had gone and how long it would be before she came back. She apologized. She didn't know anyone else in Little Sefton to ask.'
'But-I didn't think those two got on well together. Victoria and Serena.'
'They don't. You see, there's the matter of the house in London. The two of them haven't agreed on what's to become of it. Mrs. Melton feels that since Meriwether died after Marjorie, he inherits. Victoria's contention is that the house had belonged to Marjorie's aunt on her mother's side, and therefore reverted to the Garrison family. I expect Mrs. Melton came about that. She did say something about papers.' He smiled. 'We hear the gossip-and of course Michael knows a little about Marjorie's affairs.'
I remembered something Michael had said about the house in London remaining fully staffed while the question of ownership was being resolved.
'I'd have thought they'd meet in London-neutral ground.'
'Apparently she hadn't been able to reach Victoria, and as she was coming up from visiting a friend who lives south of us, she decided to stop by.'
'And you told her that Michael had gone to London with Victoria.' I couldn't help the undercurrent of surprise in my voice. It was so unexpected.
'I saw no reason not to,' he said defensively.
Of course he wouldn't have. While the Harts disliked Victoria, they would have told Serena the truth if asked, unaware of what might happen as a result of a few words.
'I shouldn't worry about it if I were you,' I replied, not wanting to add to their distress. 'But I'm glad you told me.'
'I hadn't given it another thought,' he went on. 'Until you mentioned the Meltons.' And that was probably true as well. The point of Serena's visit had been to find Victoria, not to betray Michael.
'Did you tell Michael about Mrs. Melton stopping by?'
'I don't believe I did. We'd retired long before he arrived home.'
'And Mrs. Calder-did you say anything about Michael going in search of her?'
'No, no. Mrs. Melton said she might catch them up before the curtain rose. She asked if they were having dinner before the play. I told her I thought not, as Michael wished to see a friend before dinner. At that point she said she thought she'd go directly home instead, that she was already rather tired.'
'I think you did mention Mrs. Calder,' Mrs. Hart said. 'I'm sure of it.'
'Absolutely not. I just said a friend. I'd have remembered.'
'It doesn't matter.' By the time Serena reached Melton Hall and told her husband, he couldn't have reached London in time to kill anyone. Unless-unless of course he was in London already, and she telephoned him to tell him she had arrived safely, but had missed Victoria after all.
She wasn't there. You won't believe this, but she and Michael Hart are attending a play together. Marjorie must be turning in her grave. No, I don't know what play-probably the one everyone is talking about…
Even so, even if such a conversation took place, it didn't link Helen Calder, Michael Hart, and Jack Melton.
Nothing had changed. I looked at the clock on the table by the window. I couldn't wait much longer. It would be too late to call on anyone.
I said, 'I hadn't realized the time. I must go.'
Mrs. Hart started to say something, then changed her mind.
Mr. Hart, rising, said, 'I'll go with you. Let me fetch a coat. And a light.' He paused to look out the window. 'I don't think that mist has lifted.'
'No, you mustn't-' I began, then thought better of it. Caution, my mother often told me, was the best protection. He was gone only a few minutes, returning with a lightweight coat over his arm and a torch in his hand.
'You'll be careful, won't you?' Mrs. Hart asked him, her eyes on me. 'Not that I expect any trouble, but you never know, do you?'
We left her sitting there, and I wondered if she would go to a window and watch our progress, once the door was closed behind us.
I wrapped my arms around me against the damp, then realized that I was cold because of nervousness. Matching my pace to Mr. Hart's, using the torch as my guide, I tried to get my bearings. The mist gave everything a strange softness, changing shapes, obscuring distances. I thought in passing that the mist would delay Simon. He wouldn't care for that.
We walked in silence past other houses, shadowy forms with no details, their windows only a smudge of brightness. I heard laughter from one as a door opened and then closed, a brief rectangle that loomed and vanished. A dog barked, sudden and shrill, sending my heart into my throat. I thought we must be near the church on the other side of the road, but there was nothing to see. Three more houses, one with a cat sitting on a low stone wall, jumping down to twine around our legs as we came closer, before trotting back to wait for the summons to its dinner.
When we reached the walk to Victoria's door, through gardens that were black shapes until the torchlight touched them, Mr. Hart stopped.
'Here you are,' he said, gesturing to a house I could barely perceive.
I said, 'Will you wait here? She might speak more freely if I seem to be alone.' He was about to protest, but I said, 'Don't worry. I'll stay within calling distance. I promise.'
He didn't like it, but he stopped, flicking off his torch, and I went on up the walk. Nearer the door, white flower blossoms glowed in the darkness on either side of the flagstones, guiding me to the door where two stone urns held topiary trees.
I lifted the knocker, still uncertain about what I would say to Victoria when she opened the door.
But she didn't.
I knocked again.
Nothing.
I called, 'Victoria, I know you're at home. It's Elizabeth Crawford. Please let me in. It's important.'
I thought she would ignore me, but she must have been near the door, because after a moment it swung open. She was standing there in the sudden glare of lamplight from the entrance hall, her face in shadow. I could feel her antipathy.
'I've told you. He'll hang, and there's nothing you can say to me that will move me to do anything about it.' Her voice was quite calm, unyielding.
'I want to ask you about Jack Melton.'
That caught her by surprise. She must have been expecting me to begin a passionate defense of Michael Hart instead.
'What about Jack Melton?' Her voice now was wary, but her face was still expressionless. I couldn't read anything there or in her eyes.
'He was Marjorie's lover. Did you know? We all thought it must have been his brother, Captain Melton. But it wasn't. What we don't know is how Jack Melton found out that Michael was on his way to London with you, the night Helen Calder was attacked. But Serena told him, didn't she?' I was probing, to see where it led.
'I don't know what you are talking about.'
'She was here-Serena Melton-the day you drove up to London to see the play. She went to speak to Michael
