Page 70 of Ghost in the Garden
“Dead?” There was disbelief, almost incomprehension. If they were acting, it was very good. But then, they didn’t have the key to cellar either. Only Duggin had, and they had left him alone with Angela.
Constance clutched hard at Solomon’s arm. He glanced at her, but before they could speak, the baize door swung open again and Angela herself came through, white and stunned.
“Pat, go and fetch a policeman,” she said.
“Apoliceman?” Pat repeated, as if she had asked him to fetch in the plague.
She nodded. “Go now.”
Pat closed his mouth and ran off to obey.
For a moment, Angela stood very still. Her face was rigid with some superhuman self-control. Constance focused on her hands, which grasped the folds of her elegant gown. They were trembling with shock. Much like her own.
“Go back to the kitchen with Duggin,” Angela said to Pat. “We’ll search the house, but not until the police have gone.”
Pat and Duggin vanished through the baize door in silence, and at last Angela regarded Constance, though her gaze flickered once to Solomon and back.
“Come with me,” she said abruptly.
Chapter Fifteen
Angela led themto her parlor, which was in semidarkness. She did not appear to notice, merely sat down. Solomon turned up the lamp and lit a few candles. Light flared across the severe bones of Angela’s face, and it struck Constance irrelevantly how beautiful she was, especially with this new vulnerability softening her usual appearance.
“How could this have happened?” Angela said hoarsely, although it was obvious she was not yet ready to listen to answers.
By way of silent comfort, which was all she could offer, Constance sat down close to her. Angela was not a woman who would appreciate being touched. Solomon took the stopper from a decanter and sniffed it, before pouring amber liquid into a glass and bringing it to Angela.
She took it mechanically, gazing into the glass. “Brandy. I kept it here for Caleb, for when he joined me here to talk.” Her lips twisted. “I prefer gin, myself—it’s low and common like me, eh, Mrs. Silver? Do I tell the policeman who you really are?”
“Yes, but not in front of your staff if you don’t want them to know.”
“A lot of things will come out now…things I would rather keep private.”
The humiliation of her beloved husband’s faithlessness, for one thing. There could be no misunderstanding that padded bedchamber.
Or did she mean Lambert’s connection to Gregg? Or evidence of other crimes that might be found at the house? Constance doubted the latter—apart from the blood on the cellar floor where Gregg had died.
Another shiver of acute discomfort shook her. Why would Lambert leave such evidence of that worst of all crimes, amongst all his efforts to keep the house and his future respectable? Or at least legal.
“Just tell the police the truth, Mrs. Lambert,” Solomon advised.
Angela swallowed some brandy. “I hired you for a quite different investigation. You found my answer, but just too late…”
Constance exchanged a quick, puzzled glance with Solomon.
“You don’t have to stay,” Angela said listlessly.
“We will,” Solomon said. “At least until the police have gone.”
Angela seemed both surprised and relieved by the speed with which she appeared to be about to get rid of the uniformed police constable whom Pat brought to the parlor. This individual stood to attention, his tall hat clutched under his arm. He had already been shown the body, and merely took a note of everyone’s name before warning severely that no one was to leave the house for the time being, and that his colleague would be guarding the dwelling.
“Is that it?” Angela said, incredulous and yet relieved. “You’re going now?”
“Not until the detectives get here, ma’am,” the constable said woodenly.
Angela’s gaze flew in alarm to Constance and Solomon. “Detectives?”
“They’re trained to find the evidence that will lead them to the culprit,” Constance said.
