Appointed to Die (34 page)

‘Oh.'

‘You see,' she explained, dropping the carrier bags on the counter and reaching down to stroke the dogs, ‘I thought that she might be needing a bit of support – George told me that she'd been to the early service in the cathedral this morning, all by herself. She doesn't usually attend any of the weekday services.'

‘I didn't realise that you were on friendly terms with Mrs Latimer,' said Lucy.

‘Oh, I'm not. Far from it.' Pat shook her head. ‘Our paths just haven't crossed that often – she spends most of her time in London, and, as I said, she doesn't regularly attend services at the cathedral. We've had the Latimers here for a meal once, naturally, though at the end of the evening I didn't feel that I knew her at all – she doesn't expose very much on the surface. And all she wanted to know about me was where I buy my meat! But it seemed just common decency to go to see her, and offer help if it were needed.'

David was curious. ‘And what did she say?'

Pat laughed astringently. ‘That she didn't need or want my help, that she could manage very well on her own. I said that I'd be happy to attend services with her, just to offer a bit of moral support, and she replied that it wouldn't be necessary – that it looked better if she were alone!'

‘Ah!' David had seen this sort of thing before in the course of his work. ‘The grieving wife, bearing up bravely in the face of adversity, supporting her falsely-accused husband with her public prayers.' His smile was cynical.

‘That can't be true,' Lucy objected.

‘I'm afraid so, my dear,' confirmed Pat. ‘All very calculated, probably after lengthy consultation with her father.'

‘But she must be upset about her husband being in gaol.'

‘She didn't seem very upset. In fact, when I offered my sympathy, she said that Stuart was his own worst enemy and was probably better off where he was – that it was about time he learned some humility, and that being in gaol might be a salutary experience for him!'

Lucy shook her head in disbelief. ‘The more I hear about Mrs Latimer, the sorrier I feel for the Dean!'

That evening there was little pooling of information and opinions around the kitchen table. David felt constrained by his misgivings about Evelyn Marsden; he felt that to voice his suspicions would distress not only Pat but also Lucy's father and the Bishop. So the main topic of conversation was David's appearance on the evening news. ‘Do I really look like that?' he groaned. ‘Is there really that much grey in my hair?'

‘You looked very distinguished,' Pat insisted stoutly.

‘You were wonderful, darling,' added Lucy. ‘I was so proud of you.'

After supper Jeremy dropped by, which further discouraged discussion of David's investigations. Jeremy had seen David's appearance on the news, had rung the house in London to find out from Lucy what was happening, and had discovered from Todd that Lucy was in fact in Malbury, just next door, so he had been unable to resist calling round.

But it was Jeremy, onerous as his presence was to David, who said the thing that David would later remember from that evening. ‘I realise that I'm in the minority,' he said, laughing. ‘I must be just about the only person in Malbury who wants to see the Dean get off. After all, without him, where will the plans for the Cathedral Centre be? And where does that leave me?'

CHAPTER 34

    
They go up as high as the hills, and down to the valleys beneath: even unto the place which thou hast appointed for them.

Psalm 104.8

Approaching Evelyn Marsden's house, Lucy could see her clearly, sitting in her perch above the Close; it gave her an idea for a question to ask, when the time was right. Miss Marsden must have seen her as well, for she answered the bell quickly. If Evelyn Marsden was surprised to have two uninvited visitors in as many days, she was too polite to say so. ‘Hello, Miss Kingsley,' she greeted her.

‘I was passing this way,' said Lucy, ‘and thought I'd call to tell you how sorry I was about Canon Brydges-ffrench. It must have been a terrible shock for you – I know that you were close.'

There was an indrawn breath. ‘Yes. Thank you, Miss Kingsley. How very kind of you to think of me. Would you like to come in and join me for a cup of tea? Can you spare the time?'

‘That would be very nice,' Lucy agreed.

While the tea, in the silver teapot, brewed, there were the inevitable pleasantries about the weather (cold, but what could you expect in November?) and the fact that the evenings were drawing in. Lucy, sensing the emotion beneath Evelyn's controlled and matter-of-fact exterior, was reluctant to mention the events of Monday. As Evelyn picked up the black wool and began knitting, Lucy, like the Dean before her, seized upon the activity as a possible neutral topic of conversation.

‘You knit very quickly,' she remarked, watching Evelyn's flying fingers.

‘Yes. I'm . . . I'm trying to finish this.' Evelyn's voice sounded strained.

‘What is it? A jumper?'

‘It's a pullover.' She held it up for inspection. ‘For . . . for Arthur.' Seeing Lucy's shocked, uncomprehending expression, Evelyn gabbled on in a rush. ‘I started it last week, before . . . Before. And now . . . well, it's to be my last gift for him. I must finish it, so that it can go in his coffin.'

Lucy didn't know what to say. ‘Oh. What a lovely gesture,' she managed at last, deeply touched.

A single tear trickled down Evelyn's cheek and trembled on her chin. ‘I must do it, you see. For Arthur. For all the years . . .' She gulped, stifling a sob; the knitting dropped to her lap and she covered her face with her hands. ‘I'm sorry,' she gasped. ‘You must forgive me, Miss Kingsley. It's just that . . .'

Impulsively, Lucy rose and went to the older woman, kneeling beside her and putting her arms around her. The unexpected gesture of sympathy was too much for Evelyn's self-control; she burst into wailing sobs, crying for the first time since Arthur Brydges-ffrench's death. After a few minutes of sobbing she struggled to speak. ‘Don't worry,' Lucy assured her. ‘You don't have to say anything. Just let it all out.'

So she cried on until the first storm of her grief was past. ‘I loved him,' she managed to say at last. ‘I loved him for so many years. I just can't believe that he's dead. And the way we parted . . . well, we'd had words. I'll never be able to forgive myself for that.'

Lucy squeezed her shoulders. ‘How awful for you. But I'm sure he wouldn't have wanted you to feel that way. I know he would have wanted you to remember . . . what you've shared through the years.'

Evelyn pulled away from Lucy and looked at her searchingly; her eyes were swollen with tears and her face, never very attractive at the best of times, was mottled, ugly. ‘But do you think . . . ? I'd always thought . . . hoped . . . that Arthur loved me. In his own way, that is. I loved him so, you see.' She ended feebly, on a half-sob.

‘I'm sure he did,' Lucy stated firmly. ‘In his own way, I'm sure that he loved you. Men don't always express things as we do, or in the way we'd like them to, but that doesn't mean the feelings aren't there. I'm sure that Arthur loved you,' she repeated.

For the first time there was hope in Evelyn's brimming eyes. ‘Oh, if only I could believe that. I think then that I could just about bear the thought of going on without him.'

To create the opportunity for a private discussion, Lucy and David offered to take the dogs for a walk later that afternoon. Pat accepted, realising perhaps that they needed time alone together, so they set off out of the Close, dressed in borrowed Wellington boots and Barbour jackets and dragged along briskly by an exuberant Cain and Abel.

When they got into the countryside they turned the dogs loose and caught their breath, walking more slowly. Deep shadows were gathering in the valleys between the hills, and the slanting rays of the setting sun illuminated Wenlock Edge, some miles distant. ‘Well?' asked David, when they had at last achieved a normal pace. ‘Did you find out anything?'

Lucy kept her eyes on the dogs, tearing after one another up a steep hill as they shed their customary lumbering lethargy. ‘Evelyn Marsden could not possibly have murdered Arthur Brydges-ffrench,' she stated at last.

‘But why not? She was alone – she doesn't have an alibi. She had a motive, and it was her mouse poison that poisoned him.'

‘You don't understand, David darling. She couldn't have murdered him because she loved him.'

‘Loved him?' he echoed, uncomprehending.

‘Yes, loved him.' She smiled. ‘She'd loved him for years. I know it seems hard to believe – he wasn't a particularly attractive specimen – but she loved him very much. Everyone in the Close knew that she'd hoped to marry him one day, but I think they all just assumed that she wanted the security and the position. That may have been part of it, of course. The fact is, though, that she genuinely loved him. She wouldn't have killed him.'

David was loath to abandon his theory. ‘Not even when he rejected her? When he made it clear that he could never return her feelings?'

‘Never is a long time.' Lucy took his hand and squeezed it. ‘As you should well know. Circumstances change. People change. And she's convinced herself that in his own way he
did
love her. Perhaps he did – I don't know. Anyway, it's important for her to believe that.'

‘So she didn't kill him.'

‘No.' Lucy was firm, and her certainty convinced him. ‘The poor woman – David, you should have seen her. She was absolutely devastated by his death.'

‘But she seemed so cold yesterday, so distant. As if she didn't care.'

‘Oh, darling. You really don't understand women. She was trying to put a brave face on it, in front of you. But she broke down completely when I showed her a little sympathy. It was heartbreaking.'

They walked along in silence for a few minutes, hand in hand. ‘But if she didn't do it,' said David finally, ‘who did?'

Lucy shrugged. ‘I wonder . . .'

‘If no one else went to the Deanery . . .'

‘That's something I was going to mention,' said Lucy. ‘It's not impossible that someone else did go to the Deanery.'

‘But what do you mean?' David raised his eyebrows, turning to look at her. ‘Miss Marsden didn't leave the window.'

‘Of course she left the window. You don't think that she could sit there for ten or twelve hours, without . . . answering the call of nature?'

‘Of course! But why didn't she tell me . . .'

‘She wouldn't have mentioned it to you, naturally. Her delicacy would prevent her from bringing it up. She might not even have remembered it. But when I asked her, she said that she'd gone to the loo a couple of times.'

‘And someone . . .'

‘Someone might have gone to the Deanery while she was away from the window. I noticed as I approached her house that she's very visible there in the window, even in daylight. And in the dark, with a light on behind her – she would have to have a light for her knitting – you would be able to see her very clearly. If someone had wanted to go to the Deanery unobserved, they could have waited until she left the window. Or if they were just coming along and she happened to be away from the window, they would have been able to tell that they weren't being watched. After all, I think that most people in the Close probably know that she sits there keeping an eye on things.'

‘Ah.' David considered the new information. ‘So we're back to where we started, then.'

‘Perhaps.' Lucy hesitated. ‘You know that you said, darling, that poison was a woman's weapon. Well, I've been thinking about that. And I was wondering about Rowena Hunt – if there's any woman round here who would be capable of poisoning an old man who got in her way, it would be Rowena.'

David frowned. ‘I don't know what you have against Rowena,' he protested. ‘She's always seemed very nice to me.'

‘Well, of course she would.' Lucy tried to suppress the scorn in her voice. ‘You're a man. And Rowena is a man's woman, if you know what I mean. She reserves all her charms for men. But you have to admit, David, that she's utterly ruthless. She's the sort of woman who likes to have her own way, and will do anything to get it. Including murder, if you ask me.'

He looked stubborn. ‘You've just got it in for her, Lucy. She wouldn't have any reason to kill Canon Brydges-ffrench.'

‘I'm not so sure about that. Don't forget what my father told us – that she wanted to run the refectory and the Cathedral Shop, and the Subdean was opposing her, or rather opposing the Dean, in Chapter. Rowena might have reckoned that if she got rid of him, it would be smooth sailing for her. And didn't she have a grudge against him because of Kirsty? Because he advised Kirsty to go ahead and read Theology, against her mother's wishes?'

‘You're overreacting,' David stated. ‘I happened to see Rowena earlier this afternoon, and she seemed as upset as anyone over the Subdean's death.'

‘You saw Rowena?' It was Lucy's turn to raise her eyebrows.

‘In the cathedral. I went in to have a poke around while you were at Miss Marsden's, and she was at the Friends' stall. Naturally I had a word with her.'

‘You didn't happen to ask her where she was on Monday night, did you?'

‘As a matter of fact I did,' he replied defiantly. ‘Or at least it came up, more or less accidentally. I asked her if she'd heard the sirens.'

‘And what did the fair Rowena say?'

‘Actually, she wasn't very forthcoming,' he admitted with reluctance. ‘She said that she'd been home, but that she hadn't heard the sirens. She didn't seem to want to talk about it. She was so evasive that I thought for a minute that she might be hiding something.'