Page 75 of Murder at the Dinner Party
Birdy pointed to the butler’s office next to Mrs. Turner’s near the end of the corridor. I’d half expected her to say it was in the courtyard outside. Mrs. Danvers’ housekeeper had told Harry she’d overheard Mr. Hardy arguing with a man out there, but perhaps she was mistaken, and it was a woman.
“What did they argue about?” I asked.
Birdy shrugged, then glanced past me to the doorway.
I spun around, preparing an excuse for Mrs. Turner, but it wasn’t the housekeeper who stood there, staring at us through swollen eyes rimmed red. It was Betty.
I took her hand lest she run off. “Just the person I wanted to see. Come with me into the parlor.”
She allowed me to lead her to the staffroom. I closed the door that led to the kitchen and the second one that led to the corridor. “Will this take long? I have work to do.”
“I just have a few questions.” I opened my hand to reveal the bottle in my palm.
Tears filled her eyes.
“I found this oil of pennyroyal under your mattress. It’s used to abort a pregnancy.”
She sat on a chair and burst into tears.
I almost crouched before her, but if she were the killer, it was a vulnerable position to be in. Instead, I remained standing and kept my distance, ignoring my instinct to offer comfort. I passed her a handkerchief instead, then stepped back again.
“You’re with child, aren’t you?” I asked.
She buried her face in the handkerchief to smother her sobs.
“Given how upset you are, I assume the father is Mr. Hardy, and that you were in love with him.”
She stopped sobbing and lowered the handkerchief. “No! Not him.”
I wasn’t entirely sure if she was lying or not. Her denial was vehement, but that could mean she was violently opposed to the idea of having intimate relations with Mr. Hardy, or it could simply be her eagerness to make me believe her lie.
“You were overheard arguing with him before his death. What did you argue about?”
“He guessed I was with child and blamed me. He said this is what happens to girls with loose morals. He demanded to know who the father was, but I refused to say. He got cross with me and called me all sorts of horrible names. But I didn’t kill him, Miss Fox. I didn’t!”
I set that line of questioning aside for now. I had others I wanted to ask and I was running out of time. “How did you come to be employed here?”
The abrupt change of subject ended her tears altogether and she blinked at me with damp lashes. “My mother heard about the position and suggested I apply.”
“How did your mother hear about it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Have you met Lady Whitchurch?”
Yet another sudden subject change ended her tears completely. “No.” She wiped my handkerchief across her eyes. “She sends a basket of food once a month to my mother in the shelter, but she doesn’t deliver it herself.”
“Do you know why she sends your mother a basket once a month?”
“She’s kind.”
“Your mother hasn’t worked for the Whitchurches in years. Why would she send her food now?”
“I s’pose because my mother’s spirits are low after her accident, and we’re very poor. My wages aren’t enough and if this baby stays in my belly…” Her face crumpled, but she didn’t cry. “If you see my mother, Miss Fox, please don’t tell her. She doesn’t know. She’d be so angry with me for succumbing to temptation. She thinks fallen girls are sinners, you see. She won’t understand.”
“That you loved him?”
She looked down at the handkerchief scrunched in her fist.
