Chapter Six
“Beatrice!” Ada Penhollow’s voice quivered with outrage. “How can you say such a thing?”
When Beatrice shrugged, Mrs. Penhollow turned to Fiona and me. “Joshua did not have the most engaging manner, but he was always trying to help people.”
“Whether they liked it or not,” Beatrice added.
“It’s true, he got on the wrong side of people from time to time, but you can’t imagine that anyone would want to do him harm.”
Beatrice patted her mother’s hand. “I think you may be giving people too much credit.”
At that point the maid returned with the tea tray. Mrs. Penhollow was clearly in need of a restorative. I hoped tea would be enough. Fiona directed the maid to set the tray down by her and proceeded to prepare the brew.
I returned my attention to Beatrice. “Who is it you think might have wished your father ill?” That was a rather paltry way of asking who might have wanted to kill him, but for Ada Penhollow’s sake, paltry might be more palatable than straightforward.
Beatrice returned to her chair and folded her hands in her lap. Tipping her head to the side, she allowed her gaze to drift upward. “Well, there’s the man from Cromer who wanted to be coroner.”
“That would be Owen Timms,” Fiona said.
“Yes.” Beatrice nodded. “I don’t know how my stepfather managed it, but from what I heard, the council was on the brink of appointing Mr. Timms to the office, and the next thing we all knew, my stepfather had the job.
” She made a helpless gesture. “Isn’t that the sort of thing a man might commit murder over? ”
Mrs. Penhollow shook her head, but before she could protest, Beatrice went on. “My stepfather’s dog has been killing chickens on the property to the west of here. Five chickens he’s killed! That man might be angry enough to murder him.”
“Those were my husband’s chickens,” Fiona said, handing a cup of tea to Mrs. Penhollow.
“He has been meaning to come by and speak to Dr. Penhollow about Cloud, but you may rest assured that he held no ill will toward him. Or the dog. And allow me to remind you he is the magistrate, and as such, he is bound to uphold the law, not violate it.”
“Fair enough,” Beatrice said. “We’ll take him off the list, but there is a family from the village.” She shook her index finger. “The Rallisons—”
“That’s enough!” Mrs. Penhollow said, putting an end to her daughter’s tally. “This list of people who would murder your father is a product of your own fancy. Just like Lady Fiona’s husband, none of them would commit such a crime against us, and shame on you for thinking they would.”
Beatrice gave her mother a look of sympathy. “Dearest Mama, you tend to endow people with your own good qualities. Everyone is not as kind and gentle as you wish to believe.”
“Then that must make her all the more surprised to hear you include yourself on this list of yours, Mrs. Appleton,” I said.
“What possible reason would you have to murder your stepfather?” It occurred to me in the next instant that this might be something far too delicate to discuss with Fiona and me.
But then again, it was she who had brought it up.
Mrs. Penhollow sputtered objections, but Beatrice merely raised an eyebrow.
“I suppose I was exaggerating. My motive would serve better in a play by Mr. Shakespeare than in reality, but my stepfather thwarted my engagement to one man, the one I cared for, and married me off to another. A man I”—she sighed—“tolerate.”
She must be referring to the vicar. I wished I hadn’t asked. This was not only extremely personal but, as Beatrice had suggested, Shakespearean, as well.
“Though I disliked my stepfather and was furious with him for what he did, I would not have resorted to murder. After all, the damage is already done, isn’t it? It would be pointless to kill him now.”
“Beatrice!” Mrs. Penhollow was clearly distressed by her daughter’s revelation, or perhaps it was her cavalier attitude about her stepfather’s death.
“The two of you may not have been close, but he did feed, clothe, and house you, and I know you feel some gratitude for that.” She glanced at me. “Beatrice would not have harmed him.”
“True. At this point, I’m more likely to murder my husband.” Beatrice chuckled, whether at the thought of her husband lying dead or the absurdity of her killing him, I wouldn’t venture to say. Fiona may have thought this woman witty, but if this was a joke, her humor was a bit dark for my liking.
“But I haven’t,” she was quick to add. “Killed him, that is. He is safe at home, unwilling to venture out in this damp weather. At least that is how I left him.” She clapped a hand over her mouth.
“Now, I suppose I’ve put my foot in it. Should anything happen to him, I shall be the primary suspect. ”
Even if nothing ever happened to him, she had gone a fair way toward making herself my primary suspect. I was growing concerned for Mrs. Penhollow’s safety.
“Perhaps it would be helpful to understand Dr. Penhollow’s activities this morning.
” Fiona’s voice was pitched at least an octave higher than usual.
Her glance begged me to change the subject.
Considering the misery in Mrs. Penhollow’s eyes, discussing something other than her daughter’s aversion to her husband would be a kindness.
“Indeed,” I said. “One of you stated that Dr. Penhollow was meant to be in Norwich today.”
Ada Penhollow was dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. “Yes, that’s right. Some sort of court business. He left early, about half seven.” She drew a deep breath, as if to steady herself. “He wanted to catch the first train.”
“He mentioned something yesterday about meeting with someone early this morning,” Beatrice added.
“Was it a patient?” I asked. “Did he mention a name?”
Biting her lip, she shook her head. “If he did, I wasn’t paying attention.
It was after the play, and I was rather busy getting the assembly room back in order.
I only asked him if he could drop some eggs off at the vicarage in the morning, but he said he’d be leaving early for a meeting.
I assume that would be before catching the train to Norwich. ”
Mrs. Penhollow frowned. “He didn’t mention a meeting to me.
Once he was up and rambling around, I decided I might as well start my day.
” Her eyes filled with tears. “He left the house while I was getting dressed. The first train leaves at eight o’clock, so it would have to have been a hasty meeting if he was still to catch the train. Perhaps with Sergeant Hewitt?”
Perhaps with a killer. “Do you suppose he made this arrangement with someone at the play yesterday? Did you notice him speak to anyone privately?”
Now that I thought of it, I had seen him speaking with someone.
Not anyone I knew, but that counted for nothing since I knew almost no one here.
I’d have to do my best to recall the face of the person.
It might be someone from the village, and killer or not, that person might be able to provide a clue or direction in which we should look.
“Joshua was always friendly with the villagers,” Mrs. Penhollow said.
“I’m sure he spoke to everyone he saw at the play.
I didn’t hear him make any appointments.
” She shuddered and put her hands to her cheeks.
“I still can’t believe you think someone killed him.
Where did you find him? How did you find him? What makes you think he was murdered?”
I finally took up my own cup of tea and told her how we had found Dr. Penhollow.
“I cannot say with any certainty that he was murdered, but at the same time I cannot say he died of natural causes. In the absence of a coroner and, at this point, any law enforcement, we must wait for a doctor to determine the cause of death. If someone did harm your husband, you would want his death investigated, would you not?”
Mrs. Penhollow mopped her eyes and bobbed her head in response.
Beatrice came alert. “I wonder if his death had something to do with the court business in Norwich? Perhaps someone objected to his investigation or the evidence he found.”
“That could be worth looking into,” I said. “Did anyone else know he was headed for Norwich today? Was it only for the day?”
“This is absurd,” Mrs. Penhollow said. “You may investigate all you wish, but I am sure you will find that Joshua died of natural causes. He was an active man, but he was also prone to accidents. I don’t know what case he was working on or who he planned to meet this morning, but I do know no one in the village would resort to murder. ”
Fiona caught my eye and glanced at the door. As much as I wanted to stay and question these women, we had just delivered tragic or, in the case of Beatrice at least, startling news. Considering we weren’t certain Dr. Penhollow had been murdered, further questions could wait.
“I am sure you are right, Mrs. Penhollow,” I said, coming to my feet. “And I hope that we can have a doctor make that determination very soon.”
We promised to inform them the moment we had an answer, repeated our condolences, and took our leave.
Once outside, I looked up. The clouds had come together as one, broken by a blue streak here and there.
They did not appear primed to rain on us, and for that, I was grateful.
The dog bounced around us again as we left the porch.
I took pity on him and threw his stick, then waited as he bounded across the lawn to retrieve it.
“What do you make of this whole situation?” Fiona asked. “Do you still think Penhollow was murdered?”
“I still think he may have been.”
The dog returned, wagging his entire body.
He dropped the stick at my feet but then caught sight of some chickens making their way toward the lane and took off to send them back to the yard.
Hardly the actions of a maniacal poultry killer, but that wasn’t the crime I was investigating.
With Cloud occupied, we headed down the drive.