“No, but they won’t understand that, will they? “
“I think they might.”
“Besides, I read how you found the person who killed that young girl last Christmas. And the thing in Scotland before that. You figured it out before the police did. I hoped you could help me find my mother’s killer.”
“I’ll do what I can, of course, but you will have to talk to the police eventually.”
She gathered the robe closer around her neck. “I was so desperate, so unhappy when father died. I tried to find Colin. I didn’t see why we shouldn’t get married as we’d planned. I guess he didn’t want to be found.”
“So you went to stay with your aunt.”
“I wasn’t given a choice. Poor Aunt Winnie—it can’t have been easy for her. I regret my behavior. I’ve learned a lot since then—about love, about telling the truth.” Her face crumpled. “The thing is, I really thought Colin loved me.” Her thin face colored. “I’d never felt important to anyone in my whole life until I met him. And then he was gone. My mother said he used me to get my money, but I refused to believe it. I still can’t believe it.”
Was she trying to convince me or herself? If Colin Wardle was “too handsome for his own good,” as Sheila Parker put it, would he have fallen for a girl like Lucy Villiers without a wealthy father?
Unkind. My conscience stung me. Who knew what kind of upbringing Colin had endured? Who knew what he’d seen in the trusting girl who’d loved him with all her heart?
“I only met your mother once. Tell me about her.”
“I know it sounds strange, but I never really knew her. We talked about schedules and school uniforms—never about important things. I learned to keep my thoughts to myself.”
“I’ve been told she loved her jewelry.”
“Passionately.” Lucy looked at me with her deep brown eyes. “I think it was her way of pretending my father loved her.”
“They didn’t get along?”
“Oh, they got along very well—when he was away, which was most of the time.”
“Did she ever mention the legend of the green maiden? Did it have some special significance for her?”
Lucy looked puzzled. “You mean that pageant thing they do at the May Fair? I don’t think so—why?”
“Just a thought. Here.” I handed her a cloth napkin to dry her face. “I know it’s a sensitive topic, and if you don’t want to talk about it, I understand, but why did your mother send you away?” I pictured the lovely, pale face I’d seen at the shop, the way Evelyn Villiers’s mouth had hardened when she’d pledged never to let her daughter get her hands on the art collection. That wasn’t something Lucy needed to know. At least not yet.
“I was a complication in her life, an unwanted third wheel. Until I came along, she and my father traveled all over the world. They must have been in love then. And of course, she blamed me for my father’s stroke. The stress of finding Colin and me sneaking off that night must have sent his blood pressure out of control. I’d never seen him so angry. He wouldn’t listen to reason.” She sniffed. “Eloping was our only chance at happiness. My parents ended that.”
“Do you have any idea where Colin is now?” It occurred to me Lucy might have returned to Suffolk, in part, to find him.
She shook her head. “Probably married, kids. He said he wanted a dozen.” She smiled at the memory. “His mother might know.” Lucy swallowed.
“Where does his mother live?”
“I wish I knew. She used to live right down the street from Aunt Winnie in Dunmow Parva.”
“And she didn’t know where her son was either? Back then, I mean.”
“I never had a chance to ask her. She’d already moved away.”
“How did Colin happen to work for your father?”
“I suppose Father met Colin in Dunmow Parva. He used to visit Aunt Winnie a lot. At the time I assumed he saw himself in Colin—the son he never had. My father grew up in that village. Someone gave him an opportunity, and that made all the difference. He loved me—I know that—but we were never close.”
“Lucy, are you aware you stand to inherit a lot of money?”
“The trust fund.” She nodded. “I won’t pretend it won’t help. I’m working in an office, doing fine. Bills are paid. But I’d like to travel, meet someone, have a house of my own one day.”
“You never did—meet someone, I mean?”
She shook her head. “I know it sounds pathetic—it probably is—but I’m still in love with Colin.”
It was time to mention Ivor. “If you read the newspaper accounts, you’ll know about the stolen Chinese pottery. The thing is, Lucy, by taking possession of it on consignment, Mr. Tweedy became legally responsible for its loss. Since no one knew how to contact you, your mother’s solicitor is suing him on your behalf. I want you to know Mr. Tweedy is prepared to reimburse you in full, but he’d prefer to do it without involving the courts. Would you consider working out a payment plan?”
“Sure. I don’t want to cause trouble, Kate. I just want to find out who killed my mother. After all the grief I caused my parents, it’s the least I can do.”
All the grief she’d caused? From what I’d heard, Lucy was the victim, not the villain. She probably needed counseling, something I was in no position to offer. What I could offer was a safe place to stay the night if she needed one. In the morning, I’d call Tom.
“Where’s your car?”
“Parked near the church.” She pulled off the towel and shook out her hair. “Stupid to take off without so much as an umbrella.”
The dryer beeped.
I stood to retrieve her clothes. “Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?”
“I have a room at the Premier Inn on the Sudbury road.”
