“I’ll tell you, but first there’s—”
A young man in a kilt—his name badge said Angus—interrupted our conversation. After setting down our plates, he pulled a bottle of dark malt vinegar out of his sporran. “Enjoy.”
“But first there’s what?” Tom uncapped the vinegar and doused his fish and chips.
“While I was at Hapthorn, the housekeeper, Mrs. Wright, showed up. It seems Mrs. Villiers owed her wages, so I—”
He interrupted me. “Where was PC Weldon?”
That was the part I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to mention. “She’d gone to visit her grandmother who lives in the village—just for a short while. I locked the door behind her, but then Mrs. Wright showed up with her key, thinking the house was empty. Here it is, by the way.” I handed him the key and told him about the cookie jar and the missing wages. “She’s living hand-to-mouth, Tom. I gave her twenty pounds.”
He put down his fork and turned to face me. “She asked you for money?”
“No. In fact, she was reluctant to take it. But who knows when the estate will be settled, and who knows when she’ll get another job. I would have given her more, but that’s all I had. She said she’d pay me back.”
“You’re a soft touch, Kate.” He shook his head and gave me a conspiratorial smile. “I would have done the same thing—although let’s not mention it to Eacles.” He took a chip and dipped it in the vinegar. “I’ll have the locks changed tomorrow—in case someone else has a key.”
“Mrs. Wright said a man in a dark van would come around from time to time. She thought he did errands or something.”
“We know about him. No name yet.” He reached out and traced my cheek with his finger. “Now, tell me the rest. I’m betting you didn’t let the housekeeper go without a few questions.”
He was getting to know me so well.
I went over our conversation in the kitchen, piece by piece, including what Mrs. Villiers said about the green maiden play—“One day they’ll get it right.”
“Something else got my attention. Mrs. Wright said Evelyn Villiers would sit along the riverbank for hours in fine weather. Remember the bench we saw? The river was important to her. I think we should find out where that photograph above her bed was taken.”
“Kate—” Tom started to object.
I put up my hand. “I know, I know—the photo may be irrelevant. But what about the notations in the book? And what she said when Mrs. Wright brought up the play—“One day they’ll get it right”? That has to mean something.”
“Have you considered that Evelyn Villiers might have been halfway round the bend? Living in isolation for eighteen years would affect anyone’s mental stability.”
“She seemed perfectly sane to me, although she was reluctant to answer my questions.”
“Lots of people don’t like to be questioned—makes my job harder, I can tell you. They hold back bits of information they decide aren’t important, sometimes to protect themselves, but often simply because they resent the intrusion.” He took a bite of his fish. “How’s the inventory going?”
“There’s a lot more to do. I haven’t found that Meissen piece yet—the one on the mantel in the photograph—but so far nothing else is missing except the jewelry, which makes me wonder about the man in the dark van. Maybe he was taking advantage of her, stealing from her. Everyone knew about the art collection, and her penchant for fine jewelry wasn’t a secret. Maybe he took the jewelry, hoping she’d never know it was gone.”
An older couple took the table next to us and ordered cocktails.
Tom lowered his voice. “DS Cliffe is going to interview Mrs. Wright again this week. I’ll give him the heads-up. She might know more than she said. Anything else?”
“I’ve been thinking about what Mrs. Villiers said in the shop—‘wagon bell.’”
“You’ve figured out what it means?’
“No, but Mrs. Wright said Mrs. Villiers would often quote things in what she called the old language—Old English, I suppose. Maybe Ertha Green can shed some light. She was there when it all happened eighteen years ago.”
“If she remembers.” Tom took the last bite of his fish.
“Yes—if she remembers.”
“Good luck.” He looked up as Angus the waiter slid a leather receipt folder on the table.
“No rush,” Angus said. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Tom pulled out his wallet. “I almost forgot—my mother phoned. She’ll be home from Devon on Tuesday. She’d like you to come for dinner Wednesday. Will seven o’clock work?”
“Wednesday—seven o’clock?” I tried to smile. “Of course.”
We stood on the doorstep of Rose Cottage. The tiny porch light lit the angles on Tom’s face as he bent to kiss me. I felt the ground beneath me sway as the months rolled away, and we were back on the dance floor at Glenroth House in Scotland.
“You have no idea the effect you have on me, do you?” he said.
It was so perfectly my own thought that I almost laughed. Instead, I took a huge breath. “Come inside?”
“Wish I could, Kate. I have an early morning staff meeting. Then an all-day trip to Harwich on the coast. Another tip about drug routes from the Continent.”
One more kiss, and I let him go.
Inside on the table, I found a note from Vivian. She and Fergus had dined at Finchley Hall and would be back by nine thirty.
I phoned The Willows. Ivor was still awake, so they put me through. I told him I’d drive out in the morning with Lady Barbara’s carved lacquer plate. He was so thrilled, you’d have thought I was proposing to break him out.
After making myself a cup of tea, I sat at the table and thought about what I’d learned. Missing jewelry. A dark van, possibly with a white logo. Wagon bell. Meissen. The green maiden. A river. They were bits and pieces, shards, like broken porcelain. If there were connections, I couldn’t see them.
I pictured Evelyn Villiers the day she entered Ivor’s shop. There’d been an elegance about her,
