Page 24 of Evidence of Evil
“Breathe down their necks,” he said patiently. “Was he paying close attention? Coercing them in any way?”
She sighed. “No, not that I could see. But I still doubt they would say anything bad about her in front of him.”
“Do you think there is any bad?”
“She does seem a bit too good to be true, doesn’t she? Except, I suppose, that the night she died, she sent the maid home without a light. Which makes her thoughtless, rather than bad. Beyond that and Elizabeth’s now-understandable antipathy, I see only good.”
“She went to church regularly, too.”
“Anyone can go to church,” Constance said dismissively. “Was she involved in good works?”
“Visiting the sick, at least when she was young, long before she went to India. It gave her a notion to be a doctor, and her horrified parents largely put a stop to it.”
Constance showed a spark of interest. “I wonder if Elizabeth knows that?” But her mind had jumped back to more personal matters. “If she was almost engaged to Sir Humphrey before they went to India…why did she go? Obviously, Colonel Niall had no choice but to go where he was posted, but Frances was of age. Why didn’t she marry Humphrey and stay here?”
“Was he still in mourning for his first wife?”
“It must have been more than two years since her death. And in any case, if things had progressed so far, would a proud papa, on the verge of making an excellent match for his daughter, take her to the other side of the world at precisely the wrong time? Why wouldn’t he have arranged for her to stay with a relative or family friend?”
“I don’t know,” Solomon confessed. “Such matters are beyond me. But does the breaking of such an understanding not reflect poorly on Maule’s honor?”
“You would certainly expect it to cause coolness between the families,” Constance agreed. “But it didn’t, did it? They saw a great deal of each other, more than Elizabeth was comfortable with. In fact, there seems have been no ill feeling at all until Frances died.”
“Perhaps they were just being terribly polite to each other, but the ill feeling rankled and that is what is now causing Niall’s wild accusations against Elizabeth.”
“Maybe,” Constance said.
“No, I don’t believe it either. In any case, it hardly explains the murder.”
“I can’t help hoping that everyone was right the first time and there was no murder. We need to talk to this Dr. Laing.”
*
When Mrs. Greyleft the kitchen, using the back door, John Niall gazed after her uneasily. She was somebody well beyond his experience. She had absolutely no right to be interviewing his father’s servants, but in the circumstances, the whole household had to appear to be doing everything in its collective power to reach the truth of who had murdered Frances.
It was not thewhothat bothered John so much. It was thewhy.
Blinking rapidly, he became aware that the eyes of all the servants were upon him. Bingham, Frances’s maid, had a resentful look about her. Inevitably, she was looking for a new position, with Frances gone. She did not have the ties to the family that most of the other servants did. On the other hand, she was dependent on them for a character to take to her next employer. It was a hold that made him uncomfortable, not least because it could easily expire once she was in her new position.
“Thank you,” he said to the gathered servants. “You have been very helpful once more. Let us hope all these unsettling disruptions will stop soon. I’ll leave you to go back to your duties.”
Bingham went immediately to the stairs, without waiting for the housekeeper’s dismissal. Mrs. Lennard—who, with Worcester the butler, had kept the house running with a minimum of staff during the time the family was in India, receiving John for school holidays occasionally—met his gaze with raised brows. Clearly, she felt Bingham was getting above herself. Well, perhaps the girl was owed that much.
Worcester bowed, allowing John to precede him up the stairs.
“You’ll forgive me, sir, if I point out that it is not right if our people are required to answer the questions of strangers. Not even neighbors, but the mere guests of neighbors.”
“You are right, of course,” John agreed. “I don’t like the prying any more than you do. But my sister was murdered, Worcester. That is more wrong than anything else.”
A thundering on the back door made them both turn back. A chill swept over John that felt almost like despair. The kitchen maid opened the door to the two London policemen, and John almost groaned aloud. Would this never end?
“The truth will out, Mr. John,” Worcester said ominously. “One way or another.”
“Some truths we need to out,” John said, passing through the baize door to the main part of the house. “The rest, for my father’s sake—forallour sakes—we need to keep amongst ourselves.”
Chapter Six
After a shortwait in Dr. Laing’s pleasant parlor, they were shown into his study, which apparently doubled as an occasional consulting room.
