Page 58 of Evidence of Evil
“Then we are left with sudden heart failure for no obvious reason—unless you can think of another way someone might have killed her without leaving any sign?”
“I can’t, or I would have said so at the inquest.”
He was very downright, but then, she was questioning his professional judgment.
“Of course you would,” she murmured.
Perhaps he heard the sigh in her voice, for he said more gently, “Take heart, Mrs. Grey. The truth may be obscure, but there is assuredly no evidence against Lady Maule. I believe even the Scotland Yard detectives are about to give up and return to London.”
“Leaving Colonel Niall free to say whatever he likes.”
“Give him time, ma’am. It is not yet a fortnight since he lost his daughter.” He reached for the last piece of toast, almost apologetically.
“Just to change the subject,” she said as he took a bite, “where do lovers meet in this neighborhood?”
He stilled for an instant, either in surprise or distaste or both. “You are asking the wrong man. I may be a bachelor, but I have no time for dalliance. Neither has Dr. Murray. A young doctor in his position has to be very careful of his reputation.”
“And in these parts, I expect everyone is your patient. At least potentially.”
“That is the way I regard it, and I have advised Murray accordingly.”
“I’m sure the advice is sound, and I wasn’t really expecting you to answer from experience, just from hearsay. Every neighborhood has its lovers’ lane or trysting oak.”
“There, you have the advantage of me. There is an old oak where couples carve their initials, but it is rather public for trysts!”
“Oh well, I shall ask around.” She took a last sip of tea and rose to her feet. He stood at once too. “I’m sorry to have disturbed your valuable free time, and thank you for your help.”
In fact, she realized as she took her leave, her last question had been foolish. Frances would not have trysted where other couples might have seen her. But Constance could hardly have blatantly asked about disused cottages with closed shutters or abandoned shepherd’s huts far from prying eyes. She had already outraged the poor doctor enough for one day.
It was at Laing’s garden gate she suddenly remembered Worcester’s words about Frances’s assignations.
“Sometimes she went out in the afternoon and didn’t come home until morning. Other times, she was gone a bare half-hour…”
Which surely meant at least some of her trysts were a less-than-fifteen-minute walk from the Grange. Allowing for no more than a quick kiss and perhaps an exchange of love letters, none of which Constance and Solomon had found in her rooms. Perhaps John had had better luck.
She turned right along the road leading to Fairfield Grange.
Frances had been pulled out of the lake wearing a nightgown her maid recognized but had not seen for some weeks, so her trysting place was somewhere she could keep such personal items, somewhere undercover where she and her lover could spend hours alone together.
On impulse, instead of going up to the gates of the Grange, Constance took a less-trodden path on the left that led betweenfields and toward a wooded area. She had not gone far, however, before a horseman skirted the woods and trotted along the path in her direction. He raised his hand in greeting, and she saw that it was John Niall.
She found she was relieved. She did not really want to go up to the house, which felt so unhappy and tense. Nor did she wish to run into Colonel Niall, whom she remembered as all grief and spite. Compared to those, John was a breath of fresh air.
“Good morning, Mr. Niall,” she said cheerfully as he trotted up to her, removing his hat. “I hope you don’t mind my trespassing.”
“Not in the slightest. In fact, I was on my way to The Willows, now that I’ve stretched old General’s legs a bit.” He replaced his hat and patted his horse’s neck. “Shall we walk down?”
“Why not?” It would be quicker to ask John than blunder about without knowing where she was going.
He dismounted and walked beside her, leading his willing horse by the reins.
Constance cast around in her mind for a way to ask what she needed to know without insulting his late sister.
Eventually, she said bluntly, “I’m looking for a love nest.”
Inevitably he looked startled and then alarmed, with just a hint of hope. “You are?” he said, and sat just a little straighter in the saddle.
“Following a certain path of inquiry,” she said. Was that disappointment in his eyes?Oh dear… “I have reason to believe certain local lovers met in some otherwise unused building, probably on your land. A semiderelict place, perhaps, an old barn, or shepherd’s hut, or woodsman’s cottage? My hope is these lovers might have seen something that would help us, only I need to find where they met to be sure.”
