Page 17 of Evidence of Evil
“Didyousee her in the lake?” Solomon asked suddenly.
“Course I bloody didn’t,” Mrs. Phelps said with contempt. “Got far too much to do on my own land.”
Constance cast Solomon a quelling glance. “But you did notice her going toward The Willows with her maid. Did younotice either of them come back again? It would have been dark, but the maid would have had a lantern.”
“No,” Mrs. Phelps said, lining up another large log. “I got better things to do than watch those that got nothing to do with me. I’m busy. In caseyoudon’t notice.” She nodded at Sir Humphrey, though it was more like a glare, and wielded the axe once more.
“Good day, Mrs. Phelps,” Sir Humphrey said wryly, and led the way back out on to the path. “Well?” he asked as they moved on. “Did you learn anything?”
Constance drew in a breath. “She has a wheelbarrow and didn’t like Miss Niall very much.”
Sir Humphrey stared at her. “She doesn’t like anyone. Surely you don’t thinksheis the killer?”
“Not without a better motive,” Solomon said.
Sir Humphrey closed his mouth and rubbed his chin. “I do wonder why she did not at least see the maid going home.”
“Probably because she was asleep,” Constance said. “If she works hard all day from dawn until dusk, then whatever she says about working into the night, she must sleep like—er…a log.”
Some hundred yards further along the road, on the right this time, they came to another house. This was a more substantial cottage, with a front gate and a low garden wall with wrought iron railings, around which was entwined a climbing rose. The front garden consisted of a neat lawn with borders of flowers and pots of herbs by the front door. Ivy grew over the walls in a pleasingly rustic manner.
“Dr. Laing’s house,” Sir Humphrey told them before they could ask.
“He’s the doctor who performed the autopsy?” Solomon said. “Could we call on him?”
Without answering, Sir Humphrey opened the gate and gestured for Constance to precede him. However, when the doorwas answered by a housekeeper, they were told the doctor was out on his calls.
“We’ll try again later,” Sir Humphrey said, turning away with a speed that suggested he really didn’t want to be there. He found the whole business distasteful. In fact, it spoke volumes for his anxiety as well as his affection for his wife that he was prepared to countenance their investigation at all. He certainly hadn’t liked the police poking about, even though he had summoned them for that purpose.
They encountered no further distractions until Fairfield Grange itself. This was a large house, probably about the same size as The Willows, but newer and somehow less imposing.
A morose butler admitted them. It was clear at once that this was a house of deep mourning. The mirrors were covered with black crepe. The servants’ shoes made no sound on the floor, even in the intense silence.
They were led up a dark staircase to a large room also swathed in black crepe.
“Sir Humphrey Maule, sir,” the butler announced. “And Mr. and Mrs. Grey.”
Constance would never get used to that name, she thought as an odd little frisson ran down her spine. No doubt the shiver had more to do with the heavy atmosphere of death and mourning than with her own deception.
“How are you, Niall, old fellow?” Sir Humphrey said, going forward with his hand held out.
Colonel Niall, a fierce-looking man of middle years with military-style whiskers, leapt to his feet as though prepared to be outraged. He swept his gaze over his visitors and beyond—perhaps in search of Elizabeth—and came back to Sir Humphrey slightly mollified. He accepted Maule’s hand, briefly.
“My friends, Mr. and Mrs. Grey,” Sir Humphrey murmured. “They are staying at The Willows for a few days. This is Colonel Niall.”
“How do you do?” said the colonel, flaring his nostrils. “You’ll forgive my lack of hospitality. This is a house of mourning.”
“So we understand,” Solomon said, bowing. “Please accept our sincere condolences on your terrible loss.”
“Thank you.” Colonel Niall waved his hand. “Please, sit down. I’m sure Worcester will bring tea.”
The door opened again and another, much younger man hurried into the room. “Sir Humphrey,” he said almost breathlessly.
Constance had the impression he had bolted here from another part of the house upon hearing who the visitors were. Perhaps he had feared his father’s rudeness, especially if Elizabeth had been present too, for he shook hands warmly with Maule and greeted Constance and Solomon with something approaching relief.
“The colonel’s son, Mr. John Niall,” Sir Humphrey said. “John, my guests, Mr. and Mrs. Grey.”
“Kind of you all to call. Worcester is arranging for tea. I hope you’re well, Sir Humphrey?” John added politely as they all sat.
