Marjorie was all right. Helen replied that she was probably worried sick about Meriwether. Let's face it, pilots don't have very long lives, do they?'
Juliana said, 'Well, I can vouch for the fact that she didn't spend much time with her usual friends. I invited her to several parties, and she declined.'
'Which could mean,' Cynthia commented dryly, 'she must have made new friends.'
'Still, you must have seen her somewhere. Dining out, volunteering somewhere, the theater.' Serena looked around the room, inviting comment.
Cynthia, sitting by the window, peered over her glasses. 'Well. Since you ask. There must have been a man.'
Serena bristled. 'That's disgusting!'
'Is it?' She ran her fingers through her fair hair. 'Look, we're not the innocent lambs we were in 1914, are we? If Marjorie stopped seeing her friends and family, there's probably a good reason. She had new friends-or she had something to hide. And what would she have to hide, if it wasn't a man?' Cynthia added bitterly, 'She's not the first, Serena, and nor will she be the last. You're fortunate, you know where Jack is, even if he's not at home. He isn't off in France or God knows where, being shot at, and his letters coming in bunches or not at all, and you're left wondering if he's dead or wounded or missing. You can't stand in judgment of Marjorie, you haven't lived with her fears.'
Serena said, 'She never said anything to me about any fears.'
'No, I'm sorry. But you're Meriwether's sister, you had your own worries there. I expect she didn't want to add to them.'
Mary said, trying to pour oil on troubled waters, 'There's been nothing more in the newspapers. Have the police made any progress at all?'
Serena gave her a cold, hard look. 'The inquest was adjourned at the request of the police, citing the ongoing inquiry into her murder by person or persons unknown.'
Mary answered mildly, 'I was in France, Serena. I didn't know.'
Nor did I.
Cynthia held her ground. 'There's no use asking us about Marjorie. Talk to her sister. It's possible she knew more about what was going on. Marjorie may have confided in her.'
'I doubt it,' Patricia interjected. 'My impression was that they didn't get on.'
Serena turned to Cynthia. 'You seem to feel there was something to hide. No one else does. It must mean that you know something you aren't willing to tell me.'
'If you're asking if I know who murdered her, I don't. She avoided all of us these past few months. Even you, if you think about it. One doesn't advertise adultery, Serena, but the signs are there. If you haven't noticed them, I'm sure the police have. If the man she was seeing killed her, then she threatened him somehow. But I hardly think, knowing Marjorie, that she would do such a thing. So who else could it be? That's a matter for the police. But you won't get anywhere unless you look the truth in the face.'
Patricia winced. We were all feeling decidedly uncomfortable. One didn't discuss such things openly, and yet Cynthia had.
Juliana was bent over her ball of yarn, rewinding it after dropping it, avoiding looking at any of us.
I shot a quick glance at Serena's face. I don't think she'd bargained for someone as strong willed as Cynthia.
And then Serena surprised me. She said, 'I don't want to believe there was someone else. After all, Marjorie was married to my brother. But I'm grateful for your honesty. I'll speak to the police. I wasn't supposed to mention it, but they're of the opinion now that someone noticed the rather fine lozenge brooch she was wearing when she was killed. It's missing, of course. Along with her purse. These new friends she possibly made-the police ought to be aware of them. Surely it won't hurt to look into who they are.' She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece and set aside her knitting. 'I think the gentlemen have had long enough to bore themselves to death. Let's rout them out and have our tea brought in.'
She turned away to ring for tea, but her shoulders were stiff, and I thought she wouldn't soon forgive Cynthia for being outspoken and voicing what Serena already knew to be true.
As for a missing brooch, Inspector Herbert hadn't asked if she was wearing it at the railway station.
Serena had just lied to distract Cynthia and the rest of us from any thought of a lover.
She went in search of her husband and his guests.
A silence filled the room after she'd gone. I realized the sun now coming through the window was warm on my feet. I shifted a little in my chair.
Everyone looked at me as if I were about to speak.
Finally Mary said, 'I didn't know where to look when she was talking about Marjorie.'
Patricia said, her voice irritable, 'We'd be liars if we didn't admit that we've been curious about what happened.'
'Well, she certainly put paid to any more gossip, didn't she? I think we all must have had in the back of our minds that Marjorie must have done something to lead to her death. Making her as guilty as whoever killed her,' Cynthia said. 'The police should have made it clear about the missing brooch. It would have quelled a good deal of speculation and talk.'
I put my knitting into its bag and said, 'I'm cross-eyed from counting stitches. At least the sun has come out. It will be good to walk a little after tea.'
The others turned to me as if I'd changed the subject on purpose. Which I had.
CHAPTER FIVE
Lying awake in my bed that night long after Mary was asleep, I considered Serena's lie about the brooch.
It had been a foolish thing to do. She was bound to be found out when Marjorie's murderer was caught and tried. I couldn't help but wonder what other lies she might have told people who came too close to the mark, as Cynthia had done.
And Cynthia Newley had brought up a very interesting point. That if Marjorie was meeting a man in places where neither of them was known, she was outside that safe circle of acquaintances and familiar surroundings that made it possible for women to move about London on their own. If her murderer had come from those shadows, the chances of finding him would be very slim indeed.
On the other hand, if the killer wasn't a stranger, Serena was running a risk openly digging for information. Just as one of her guests might unwittingly know this person, one of them might just as unwittingly tell him how close Serena was coming to uncovering the truth.
None of her efforts would bring her brother back to her, even if she could personally hand Marjorie's killer over to the police.
I was surprised that Jack Melton hadn't reined in her attempts to question his guests. But perhaps he saw this as a harmless way to deflect her grief and anger. And he could always say, later, 'You must remember how recent it was, and how upset she's been, especially since the police have got nowhere.'
I drifted into sleep and dreamed not of murderers but of India. It's strange how smells and sounds come back so vividly in a dream. The dust, ancient and full of an exotic mix of scents from dung to rare spices. The muffled sounds of car wheels in the distance, harness bells jingling, and the creak of wood as the oxen put their shoulders into pulling. The feel of the dry wind on one's face, just before the monsoon rains come. Voices in a bazaar, a dozen different dialects, all talking at once. I was back in a familiar and happy past, safe in a world I knew so well, my father walking through the compound gate, Simon Brandon at his heels.
Sunday morning it rained again. Not just the occasional shower, but a hard steady rain that had no intention of going away.
Most of us went with Serena to attend morning services at St. Ambrose Church in Diddlestoke, and listened to a homily on faith in times of trouble. The rector, aptly named Mr. Parsons, was eloquent. Most of the congregation were wearing black, although the Government had tried to persuade people to eschew mourning, to
