Page 65 of Evidence of Evil
Humphrey’s voice drifted in from the hall, growing closer.
Darby closed his mouth and swallowed. “Quite clear.”
“All of it?” Solomon said softly.
“All of it,” Darby said between his teeth.
It was the best Solomon could do without beating the man to a pulp. The strength of the itch in his fists to do just that surprised him. It was almost as if Constance really were his wife.
“I don’t think he killed Frances, though,” he said reluctantly to her after luncheon, when they went upstairs to fetch coats and hats for their walk.
“Don’t you think he’s just the sort of man to dump her in someone else’s lake once she’s no more use to him?”
“No, I think he’s the sort of man to simply walk away if he killed her, and that would only have been an accident. He doesn’tcareenough to kill.”
“He cares for himself enough,” Constance said contemptuously. “If Frances threatened him, as she was prone to do…”
“He genuinely thinks his wife could believe no ill of him. He would just find another woman to bother. Like you. And by the way, I doubt he will trouble you again.”
She searched his face, a faint smile lurking on her lips. “Did you threaten him, Solomon?”
He grimaced. “I think I promised him. We are none of us so different, are we?”
She took his arm. “Oh, I think we are.”
And just like that, his spirits lifted. She knew he was her champion, and she liked it. So did he.
Almost embarrassed, he seized his hat. “I’ll have a quick word with Sir Humphrey and then meet you in the front hall.”
He found Maule in his study poring over estate ledgers, which he shoved aside with clear relief when Solomon entered. He was obviously a conscientious man, but the business side of things did not come easily to him.
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Solomon said, “but I need your help on a delicate matter. The more we discover about Frances Niall, the more questions it throws up. We know she lied for malicious reasons when she felt the urge, but she also sought the truth. Did you know she had inquired into the death of your first wife?”
Maule’s bushy eyebrows flew up. “Gillian? Why?”
“I don’t know. She may just have been shaking the tree to see what fell out, but—forgive me—was there any reason to imagine your wife died from any cause but the one given by Dr. Laing?”
“None that I know of.” He looked genuinely bewildered. An old pain drifted back into his eyes.
“Was she taking any medicine at the time?”
“Not then, no. Her fever had abated several days before, and her appetite was returning. She really seemed to be on the mend.”
“Did Frances ever imply to you that she was suspicious of your wife’s death in any way?”
“Never. But maybe there was talk in the village. It wouldn’t necessarily reach my ears.”
He spoke bitterly, and Solomon was not surprised. After all, the man was dealing with gossip against his second wife.
“People do talk,” Solomon said with vague sympathy. “It isn’t always malicious. Again, I apologize, but I’m going to ask you something else indelicate. The trouble is, to get at the truth that will exonerate Elizabeth, I need to know exactly what that is. Did you ever meet Frances clandestinely, either before she went to India or after she came home?”
“Never,” Maule said stiffly.
“Then it was truly impossible that she could ever have carried your child?”
Maule looked ready to explode, which was answer enough in itself. The trouble was, could he believe that answer?
“Did she ever inveigle—or try to inveigle—you into an assignation?”
