Page 88 of Ghost in the Garden
Duggin actually laughed. “How would I know? She’s mistress of the house, isn’t she?”
Constance pounced. “Meaning that nothing much happens in this house withoutherknowledge either?”
That got Duggin’s attention, and his eyes were murderous. “Youare accusingher?”
Of course. It had to be Angela he was protecting. She had always known that. So, it seemed, had Solomon.
“You think she isn’t capable of killing?” he asked. “Or of jealousy?”
Duggin had himself in hand again. “She knew her place was safe. She was his wife, had all his respect.”
“Not sure tumbling his mistress beneath his wife’s roof shows a lot of respect.”
Duggin turned his villain’s glare on Solomon this time. “Really? Not sure you’re going to fit in here, Mr. Lovebird.”
“I don’t intend to, Mr. Duggin.”
“Then you’d better stay away, hadn’t you?”
“You’re protecting her,” Constance said. “Everyone is, or trying to. But the thing is, you can’t protect her with lies. We need to know the truth to get justice for Mr. Lambert.”
Something flickered in his eyes then. Guilt? Shame? Acknowledgment that he’d almost forgotten his master in support of his mistress? “That needn’t trouble you or the peelers.”
“It’s a new world, Mr. Duggin. The peelers are everywhere. You know that, or you wouldn’t be setting Iris up for them.”
“I ain’t setting anyone up. If you can’t see the truth—which is none of your concern anyway—that ain’t my problem. That inspector’s round there now arresting Iris Fraser.”
Constance doubted that. Sergeant Flynn had said nothing about it. But either way, she would never budge Duggin from his story. He had been too well primed, and only one person could have done that. The woman who commanded his loyalty, even above what he had always owed her husband.
Or…who else could matter more to Duggin more than either of the Lamberts? His own flesh and blood.
Goldie.
Why on earth would Goldie have killed Lambert? Had he been having an affair with her too? More to the point, had Duggin found out and taken an axe to his master?
Melodrama. Speculation without any evidence whatsoever… No, Constance was clutching at straws, because she still didn’t want it to be Angela…
Duggin’s transfer of loyalty had more likely happened over years, without his daughter’s involvement, probably without any of them noticing. The staff were all afraid of Lambert, but Angela had their love. And she knew her husband’s business inside out. She had been grooming herself to take over, though no doubt her discovery of Lambert’s betrayal with Iris had been the last straw, determining the timing and the ruthlessness of his removal.
Lambert had been a frightening man with an unexpectedly vulnerable edge. Constance had caught a glimpse of that the night she walked in on him in Angela’s bedroom. Angela, on the other hand, was a vulnerable woman, bound in steel…and the fire of revenge.
Duggin had either murdered Lambert on her orders, or he had let her into the cellar to do it herself.
No blood on her clothes, she reminded herself. And none on Duggin’s. And yet they had to be in league. One of them had done it. She knew it but would never get Duggin to admit it. She needed to persuade or even trick one of the other servants into giving something away. The truth was so close that she could touch it…
She stood abruptly, blinking at the chair where Ida Feathers always sat. A cold dread twisted in her stomach.
“Why is Mrs. Feathers not cooking?” she asked.
Duggin gestured with his curled hand toward his mouth in the universal sign for drinking.
“And you’re allowing it?” Constance said in disbelief. “Now?”
“She’ll still rustle up something tasty in time,” Duggin said. “You’ll see.”
Ida knew everything, all her mistress’s business. And she was a drunk who talked too much. Though she’d never dropped any incriminating remarks in Constance’s hearing, she had been quite open with her, a stranger, over her gin-spiked tea… In her moment of triumph, would Angela allow that risk to continue? With policemen all over the house?
“I’d better make sure she is well,” Constance said firmly.
