Page 5 of Evidence of Evil
If Constance harboredany secret doubts that Elizabeth’s manner might have changed toward her, they were swiftly put to rest as Lady Maule flew down the front steps of her home and embraced her friend.
“Constance! I am so glad you are here. How wonderful to see you.” Elizabeth drew back far enough to examine her and smiled even more broadly. “You are as beautiful as ever.”
Constance examined her friend in turn. Despite the unconventional enthusiasm of her welcome, Elizabeth wore the lady of the manor’s garb quite naturally. Though her eyes betrayed the knock her confidence had taken for some years, only a friend could discern it. To others it probably seemed an endearing shyness due to the fact she had so recently been promoted from governess to wife.
To Constance, her friend was healthy, if not quite glowing with bridal happiness. There were lines of worry and strain about her eyes, some shadows that betokened a lack of sleep. No, all was not well with the new Lady Maule.
“Ha,” Constance said, smiling. “You are being kind to an old lady. Come and meet my—”
“Husband,” Elizabeth interrupted nervously, casting a quick glance at her servants, who were hurrying to remove the baggage from the coach.
Releasing Constance altogether, she thrust out her hand at Solomon, who bowed over it punctiliously.
“Mr. Solomon Grey,” Constance murmured. “Solomon, my old friend, Lady Maule.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened as she took in the sheer beauty and elegance of his person. Although those things were only part of his arsenal. Solomon hadpresence.
“Welcome to The Willows, Mr. Grey,” Elizabeth said formally. “I hope you will enjoy your stay with us. Come, let me show you to your room.”
Room. So they really were to be treated as a married couple. Perhaps there would be a dressing room, or even better, separate bedchambers with only a connecting door. Her mischief had come up against reality suddenly, and the idea of sharing a room—let alone a bed!—with Solomon made her unaccountably nervous.
The Willows was a comfortable manor house of indeterminate age and many styles. Full of odd staircases and passages and changes in ceiling heights and wall decoration, it looked as if each baronet had added something of his own over a period of several centuries. Constance rather liked its asymmetrical, slightly chaotic appearance. It seemed to suit Elizabeth and her wild changes in fortune.
“Did you bring servants with you?” Elizabeth asked, leading through the maze of passages and staircases.
“Oh, no,” Constance replied. “That would have been even more of an imposition.”
“How is Janey?” Elizabeth asked, her eyes dancing just for a moment.
“In good voice,” Constance replied. “But showing promise. Do you have other guests?”
“No, just you.”
Then perhaps there was space to arrange separate rooms…
Elizabeth threw open the door of a bright, spacious apartment containing a large four-poster bed with brocadecurtains that matched the coverings on the chair and sofa before the hearth. The fire burning in the grate added cheerful warmth to an already pretty and gracious room. Like the house, the furniture was of various ages and did not match, but somehow this all added to its charm. A vase of late roses stood on the table before the window.
“This is lovely,” Constance said warmly. Solomon’s trunk and her bags stood beside the bed, as yet unpacked.
“I’m glad you like it,” Elizabeth replied. “And look, it has beautiful views over the park…” She trailed off as they joined her. Her expression had changed to one of anxiety and consternation.
Through the trees, Constance glimpsed an expanse of water—surely the lake where the neighbor had died.
“What happened, Lizzie?” she asked gently.
Elizabeth seized her hand, pressing it hard. “Oh, don’t call me that, Constance. I need all my dignity here…”
Trying not to wince, Constance stared at her. “You’re not saying that…? Elizabeth, doesSir Humphreybelieve in your guilt?” How could any marital relationship come back from that?
But Elizabeth was shaking her head tiredly. “He says not. In fact, he is furious at the implication. But I cannot bear thisfesteringbetween us.”
Solomon, who had been silent all this time, as he often was, turned from the window to look at her. “Will you tell us about this woman and how she died?”
“Her name is Frances Niall. She lives—lived—with her family, over at Fairfield Grange. Her father is a widower, a colonel in the Indian army, recently retired. The family came back to the Grange only a month after we were married.”
“Are there other family members?” Constance asked.
“Her brother John. He is younger, only just twenty-one.” Elizabeth moved restlessly away from the window. “We see—saw—rather a lot of the Nialls. But Frances and I never really liked each other. She thought I was a jumped-up governess, and I thought she was spoiled and sly. We had…words.”
