Page 20 of Evidence of Evil
“Siblings tend to grow up quarreling constantly,” she said, “and yet are the closest of friends. Was it like that with you and your sister?”
“Not really,” John said. “Frances is—was—six years older than me. I was always a child to her.” He shrugged, leading the way downstairs. “We were not together much. In fact, I was at school in England most of the time she was in India with my father.”
“Still, a brother’s insight can be helpful. Can you think of anyone who might have wanted to harm your sister?”
“No,” John said, shaking his head. “The police inspector asked me the same thing.”
“I gather she was a beautiful and fascinating lady,” Constance said.
Before John could respond, Sir Humphrey said brusquely, “Look, I have to get back to The Willows. Would you mind awfully if I abandoned you to find your own way home?”
“Not in the slightest,” Solomon said.
Through the hall window beside the door, an arriving carriage was visible.
“Drat, it’s the vicar,” John said in hunted tones. “He means well, but he always winds my father up with his platitudes.”
“It might be good for him,” Constance said, and John blinked at her in surprise.
“Perhaps,” Solomon said, “I’ll just go and have a word with the vicar myself.”
“I thought you wanted to speak to the servants?” John said with a first hint of irritation.
“I shall join you in the kitchen, if I may, in just a few moments.” Solomon was already following Sir Humphrey out the door, no doubt to obtain an introduction to the vicar. “Constance?”
“Of course.” She smiled at John. “You don’t have to come with me either.”
“No, no, it’s better if I do,” John said hastily, glancing again toward the front door, now closing behind Solomon. A brace of rather pleasing glass lanterns of matching bulbous shape stood on the table there, reminding Constance that the dead woman’s lantern had not been found. Although, if she had brought it back here that evening before she died, would anyone have noticed?
As they walked to the back of the house, John said ruefully, “It’s an excuse to avoid the poor old vicar, to be honest.”
Constance returned to her interrupted question. “Being so beautiful, your sister must have had many admirers.”
“She always seemed to,” John said vaguely. “She never paid much attention to any of them, though. Except…” With his hand on the baize door to the servants’ quarters, he glanced back at the front door.
Constance’s stomach twisted. She halted, staring at him. “Except… Not Sir Humphrey?”
“Didn’t you know?” John said with surprise. “Frances and Sir Humphrey were more or less engaged when my father hauled her off to India with him. She always assumed she would marry him when she came home.”
“Only he was already married to Elizabeth,” Constance said slowly. No wonder the two women hadn’t liked each other.
Chapter Five
Solomon’s desire tospeak to the vicar was driven more by hope than expectation of learning anything useful. For him, Frances Niall was still a very shadowy figure, eulogized as beautiful and charming and the light of everyone’s life, as the dead often were. And yet no one had told him in what way she was charming and clever. Mrs. Phelps had made some off-hand remark about herfloating aboutbut offered no real criticism of the dead lady.
In fact, even the Maules were reticent. They had given no clear picture of who Frances Niall was, even though they must have known her well.
Right now, Maule had clearly had enough of investigating his neighbors and was anxious to get back to his own life, but he paused long enough to greet the vicar, who had just emerged from his ancient carriage—an amiable-faced, slightly stooped man who might have been any age between fifty or sixty, clean shaven, with white, thinning hair.
“This is a friend of mine, staying at The Willows with us for a while,” Maule said. “Mr. Solomon Grey. Grey, Mr. Irvine, our vicar.”
“How do you do?” the vicar said civilly before turning back to Maule. “You have just come from our friend the colonel? How did you find him?”
“Oh, you know,” Maule said awkwardly. “Struggling and angry. Can’t blame him for that. You’ll forgive me if I rush off? Ihave neglected my duties of the day. Good day, Irvine. Grey, I’ll see you at luncheon, no doubt.”
“A terrible business,” Solomon said to keep the vicar with him as Maule dashed off, “the death of Miss Niall.”
“Terrible indeed,” Irvine said heavily. “I truly cannot credit that any of my parishioners could have committed such a heinous act. I am sure there has been some mistake and it was all a tragic accident.”
