Page 66 of Evidence of Evil
“Only to go for walks. I told you, she would follow me sometimes. Before India.”
“And were you never tempted to—”
“No.” Maule’s glower was thunderous. “What in the world are you getting at, Grey? Do you suspect me of killing her? How am I supposed to have done it?”
As it happened, Solomon had an idea about that. It had come to him when he thought of the first Lady Maule in her sickbed,recovering from fever. Frances Niall, in her nightgown, had probably also been in bed. Someone’s bed.Abed.
He sighed. It was a pity to end a burgeoning friendship. He rather liked Maule. And his wife. But he had to know.
“Would Elizabeth kill to protect you?”
Maule stared at him, apparently deprived of words. Solomon didn’t speak either, though he began to suspect he should have mentioned this idea to Constance first.
“From what?” Maule demanded. “From accusations of killing my first wife? You think Frances put the idea in her head, so she killed Frances?”
“It crossed my mind. Women can be unexpectedly fierce when protecting those they love.”
“So can I,” Maule growled.
“For the record,” Solomon said, standing up, “I don’t really believe it. Constance certainly doesn’t. These things have to be eliminated, preferably by proof of some kind. In its absence, I’m merely looking for opinions. And I think you have doubts of your own concerning your wife.”
“Not about murder!” Maule exclaimed. “And they’re not doubts, just things I can’t get out of my head.”
“What Frances said about her.”
He nodded curtly. “Doubt is worse than anger sometimes. Wouldn’t it bother you, Grey? If such things were said aboutyourwife?”
Solomon almost laughed, although it wasn’t really funny. “Trust what you know,” he said with a quick, lopsided smile, and walked out in search of Constance.
She was in the hall, in low-voiced conversation with Elizabeth, although both smiled brightly at him as he approached.
“Have a pleasant walk,” Elizabeth said lightly.
*
By the timehe had told Constance about his conversation with Sir Humphrey, they were almost at Sarah Phelps’s cottage. Her lips tightened when he talked of Elizabeth killing to protect her husband, but she did him the courtesy of considering the theory.
“Do you believe him?” she asked.
“Yes, I think I do. But…”
Mrs. Phelps was glaring at them from the opening into her yard. Without warning, Constance veered across the road to speak to her. Solomon trailed after.
“Good day, Mrs. Phelps,” Constance said cheerfully. “How are you?”
The old woman grunted in a discouraging kind of way, which Constance ignored.
“You make up herbal remedies for people in the village, don’t you?” Constance said.
“Makes me a penny or two.”
“Did you ever make any for the first Lady Maule?”
Mrs. Phelps curled her lip. Her eyes were watery today, but still fierce. “Don’t be daft. The likes of her don’t trust anything not prescribed by physicians at vast expense.”
“Did Frances Niall ever ask you for any herbal remedies?”
“No, and I wouldn’t have given her any if she had,” Mrs. Phelps said rudely, and stomped off, coughing rather horribly into her shawl as she went, then vanishing through a gate in the back of her yard.
