Chapter Eleven
“Mrs. Hazelton, Mrs. Chesney, how kind you are to call on us.” Henry Appleton, the vicar, was a portly man somewhere in his middle thirties, with a round face, wispy fair hair, and a ready smile.
Hetty and I had left the children outside under the supervision of Fiona, Christine, and Lissette and had found the vicar in the assembly room that had served as a theater a few days ago.
He was sorting through a table heavily laden with food.
There were golden loaves of bread, bowls of butter, meat pies, covered dishes, and full pots of soups and stews.
“I’ve had reports of roof damage and homes that became somewhat waterlogged,” he said, “but as you can see, it appears that everyone in the parish is able to cook and has an ample supply of food.” He beamed a smile as he waved a hand over the bounty.
“This is all from the members of your parish?” I asked. “How generous they are.”
He leaned close to me. “Some much more than others,” he said with a wink, then moved back.
“But, indeed, we are blessed. I’ve sent inquiries out to the surrounding area to see if there are any families in need of sustenance.
If not, then I believe we shall invite the parishioners back here for a feast this evening.
” He chuckled. “It’s one way to bring everyone together. ”
“Then I hope you won’t say no to a donation to the church fund,” Hetty said. “It’s possible your flock will need assistance to purchase supplies and make repairs.”
“Perhaps gifts for the children,” I added. “It is Christmas, and those with repairs to make might have nothing left for extras. You can expect a donation from me, and I’m sure Lady Fiona will wish to contribute, as well.”
“You are so right, Mrs. Hazelton,” he said. “How kind of you to think of them.”
“It is nothing.” And it might keep me off the list of those the vicar considered less charitable. “You must have a great deal to manage between helping the villagers and dealing with your personal loss, as well.”
“Ah, yes,” he said. “Beatrice’s father. Such a sorrowful business. Beatrice told me it was you who came upon him yesterday. And that you and Lady Fiona called on her mother and gave them both the news. I thank you for that. It is never an easy task.”
“How is your wife and her mother?” Hetty asked. I know she was concerned for their well-being, but now that we were considering poison, I was also interested in any subtle nuances of his response.
“Ada is persevering, but I can see she is just as devastated over his passing as Beatrice. She is with Ada now.”
How strange. Beatrice had appeared anything but devastated when Fiona and I spoke with her yesterday. And the Digby ladies didn’t seem to expect Beatrice to grieve her stepfather’s passing. Mr. Appleton had spoken with all sincerity, though.
“Beatrice seemed quite stoic when we spoke with her,” I said. “But one never knows how one will react to such a loss.”
Mr. Appleton nodded in sympathy. “Indeed, though they would seem to be somewhat distant as a family, I do believe their love for one another ran deep. I know from personal experience that Dr. Penhollow was a bit overbearing and gruff in manner, but Beatrice loved him as a father, which is much stronger than any perceived slights.”
“Slights?” Hetty’s brows shot up. “From her father?”
Mr. Appleton smiled and waved a hand. “Beatrice may have thought so, but I think it was truly nothing more than rivalry between sisters. Dr. Penhollow acted as all fathers do—by doing the best he could for his children. Beatrice was wrong to fault him. Besides, she is happy now.” He beamed another smile. “We are quite happy together.”
A glance at Hetty told me she was as unconvinced as I.
Beatrice seemed more resigned to her life than happy with it.
And how could her sister have had anything to do with Beatrice’s current situation?
Beatrice had been quite clear it was her father she’d been angry with.
Vicar Appleton might know his wife better than we did, but I wondered if he was living in a false paradise.
And now I had to wonder if Beatrice had access to poison.
With no idea how long we’d be in the village, Fiona had let the coachman go when we stopped at the pub, so we returned to Hadley Grange on foot.
We were nearly home before Hetty, Fiona, and I had the opportunity to speak in relative privacy.
By mutual consent, we chose not to speak about the investigation around the children, at least not again, but when we reached the estate grounds, Grace and Gregory took Rose by the hand, and the three of them raced to the manor.
“Tell me about your conversation with the vicar,” Fiona said as soon as they were a reasonable distance ahead of us.
“The villagers are not in dire straits, but I told him we’d both be making a donation to the church fund, anyway,” I told her.
She waved away my guilty smile. “I expected to do so, but did you not ask him about his wife and the Penhollows?”
“Of course.” I gave her the gist of our conversation.
Fiona scowled. “Beatrice intimated that her father forced that marriage upon her when she was in love with another. Perhaps the other man was unsuitable, but since Vicar Appleton mentioned sisterly rivalry, I’d venture to guess that Beatrice’s sister managed to choose her own mate.”
“That’s a reasonable assumption,” I said, “but I don’t think it matters. Beatrice only mentioned animosity toward her stepfather, not her sister.”
“I suppose that’s true.” Fiona spoke reluctantly.
“But?” I prompted.
“I’ve always been fond of the vicar. He seems to be such a nice man that I can’t imagine his wife detesting him.” Fiona turned to me with a frown. “Perhaps Beatrice was just being dramatic. Did you get the impression their marriage is unhappy?”
“Not upon speaking with him,” I said. “He seems to think they are as happy as a couple of larks, but I sensed that he would have said that no matter whom he married. I doubt he knows his wife at all.”
“I don’t even know the woman, and I felt suffocated in solidarity with her while we spoke to the vicar.” Hetty’s voice held a note of a sob, but before I could question the emotion, Fiona reacted to her words.
“Beatrice did name herself as a suspect when we first spoke.”
“I remember, but she also recanted that statement, saying she’d more likely murder her husband.”
“Why do people even marry?” Hetty held up a hand. “Yes, of course I understand the usual reasons, but when she clearly dislikes her companion of a lifetime, why would a parent force such a match?”
I studied my aunt, who was clearly distressed—more so than I would have thought this discussion warranted. “Why do I get the impression that Gilliam has asked you to marry him, and you don’t know what to do?” The words were out of my mouth before I’d had a chance to think them through.
Fiona covered a gasp with her hand.
Hetty reddened, then sputtered a bit and shook her head vigorously. “I can’t speak about this now,” she said.
“Forgive me, Aunt. I had no business asking such a question.” I reached out to comfort her, but she jerked away and rushed to the house, leaving Fiona and me staring at her quickly receding back.
“I think you may have touched a nerve,” Fiona said.
I sent her a glare. “How perceptive of you.”
Fiona wagged a finger at me as we continued our trek to the house. “It was just an observation. You needn’t get testy with me.”
“You are right. I apologize. I was just taken aback by Hetty’s response.”
“Do you really think Gilliam has proposed?”
“Either that or he’s dropped hints.” I slanted a glance at Fiona. “Remember, she has asked him to join us for Christmas Day.”
Her eyes widened as she caught my train of thought. “Then whether he’s already asked her or she believes he intends to do so, she has only a few days to decide how to respond. You ought to have a conversation with her. Let her give voice to whatever it is that concerns her.”
“Should I? Truly? You saw how well this attempt went.”
We were walking into the entry hall of the manor by that point, and I was distracted by the sight of the three children outside the closed drawing room door.
Short of Father Christmas, there was only one person I could imagine capturing their attention at this time.
“Perhaps the doctor has arrived at last,” I said to Fiona while handing my coat to Carter.
“Ah, that would explain this gathering of curious children.” Fiona waved a hand at them, then glanced at the butler, who nodded.
“Indeed, my lady,” he said. “James has returned from Aylsham at last with a Dr. Bertram. They arrived about an hour ago. I’ve served him tea and a light repast.”
“Excellent, Carter,” Fiona said, linking her arm through mine. “It looks like your aunt must wait a little longer, Frances, but perhaps that will allow her to examine her thoughts and put them in order.”
I agreed. “And while she examines her thoughts, we can set the doctor to examining the body.”
We shooed the children upstairs to the schoolroom and entered the drawing room together.
A young man rose from his seat on a wingback chair near the hearth.
His youth took me by surprise. Every doctor I’d ever met was at least middle aged—most were significantly older.
Though I suppose they all must have begun their careers at a younger age, I had expected someone with a little experience.
I also noticed that what he lacked in age, he more than made up for in looks, not that I thought that added to his ability in any way.
Or perhaps it did. I suspected many an ailing woman felt her health improve with each passing moment in his presence, as if she’d taken a tonic.
He was a bit shorter than me, which was about average for a man, with an athletic build.
His waving sandy-brown hair surrounded the face of an angel.
After coming to his feet, he gave us a slight bow, signaling Fiona and me to recover our wits and greet him.