Chapter Fourteen
Hetty and I left shortly after that exchange. I explained how helpful the journal could be in our investigation, and Beatrice allowed us to take it and provided a netted market bag in which to carry it. We even managed to make it down the drive without the dog jumping on us.
“I presume you wish to call on Mr. Rallison,” Hetty said. “It was a mere nine months ago that Dr. Penhollow murdered his wife, after all.”
“I would certainly like to find out if that is how he views his wife’s death,” I replied. “It doesn’t appear that there were any charges filed against the doctor.”
Hetty muttered something about police negligence. Clearly, she felt strongly that the doctor ought to have known better and had acted irresponsibly.
“As you said, it happened nine months ago,” I said. “If one of the Rallisons felt Dr. Penhollow had caused their wife’s, or mother’s, death, why wait so long?”
“Revenge is a dish best served cold?”
I didn’t know if that was true, but the thought certainly gave me a chill.
On our way to the village, we cut across the very field where we’d found the doctor two days ago. The ground had dried a bit, and the wheat was standing tall again. One would never suspect what had happened here.
Not that we actually knew what had happened.
Or if it had happened here. I sighed. We really had very little information.
“What do you think of Ada Penhollow or Beatrice Appleton?” Hetty asked once we had passed the field and were on the path to the village.
“As suspects, you mean?” I asked. “Beatrice can give Ada an alibi for part of the morning, but if Dr. Bertram determines that Dr. Penhollow could have died before eight o’clock that morning, then it’s still possible that Ada killed him.
Ada also gives Beatrice an alibi for the time after Ada arrived at the vicarage, but it’s hardly dependable when one suspect’s alibi is another suspect. ”
“But if they were both at the vicarage, the vicar ought to be able to verify their presence,” Hetty said.
“Yes, and I intend to ask him, but one of the women is his spouse, and the other his mother-in-law. I would hope we could rely on the statement of a vicar, but”—I shrugged—“he’s also human.”
“I do wonder about Beatrice painting her mother as a saint, but I also find it hard to believe Ada could have moved her husband’s body from their home to the field with nothing but her own strength.”
I stopped and gazed at my aunt. “We need to go back.”
“What? Why?”
I took her arm and led her back to the field.
“I wondered the same thing about Ada … How could she have moved her husband’s body?
At the time, I had no answer, but now I realize she could have used a wagon.
I didn’t notice any tracks, but I was looking for footprints, not grooves from wagon wheels. Fortunately, it’s not too late.”
Unfortunately, there was nothing to find.
The soft ground of the field showed no signs of a wagon or a horse having passed through.
The wheels would have dug deeply into the muddy field and left some obvious impressions, so we moved on to the path.
We spent the next fifteen minutes hunched over, examining the ground both on the path and through the stand of trees. We found no suspicious tracks.
“Can you think of any other way she might have moved him?” I asked.
Hetty placed a hand against her spine and straightened up. “I suppose if she had help, two people might have been able to carry him from the manor house.”
“In the dark? In the rain?”
“If she’d been desperate, darkness and rain wouldn’t have stopped her. The more concerning question is, who would help her move a body?”
“And not just any body, but her husband’s,” I added.
“Beatrice?”
“Only if Beatrice is lying about what time she rose from bed that morning, which was about eight. After that, she and her mother were together at the vicarage from the time Ada Penhollow arrived until they both returned to the manor at about half past noon.”
“Well, that won’t do,” Hetty said. “You found the body before noon.”
“We will definitely have to ask the vicar if he recalls what time his mother-in-law arrived at the church and what time the two ladies left. Desperation can make people do strange things, but even if they returned to Penhollow Manor by ten o’clock that morning, that would mean they were moving a dead body half a mile in broad daylight.
That’s almost more preposterous than doing so in the dark. ”
“Couldn’t they have used a horse to transport him?” Hetty asked.
I scoffed. “Have you ever attempted to lift a dead body onto a horse?”
Hetty took hold of my shoulder and turned me to face her. “Are you saying you have attempted to do so?”
Her expression was one of such shock and horror that I couldn’t hold back my laughter.
“Forgive me, Hetty. It was not me who attempted it, but George. And the body was not dead, but unconscious.” I shook my head.
“His description of the endeavor had me laughing so hard my side hurt. In the end, he decided it was quite impossible.”
“That is a relief,” she said. “But what of a wagon or carriage?”
“We saw no sign of wagon wheels on the path and they’d never get one through the trees.
As for footprints, I see plenty.” I grimaced.
“Including ours, which make it impossible to distinguish whose are whose. Closer to the field, away from the cover of the trees, the ground was muddy, but we saw no tracks or prints when we checked yesterday.”
I straightened and gestured for us to proceed to the village. “Didn’t you speculate that he was poisoned, possibly fell ill, but upon feeling better, he ventured out to catch the train? I wonder if the answer is that simple.”
“Perhaps not so simple,” Hetty said. “We still have to determine who poisoned him.”
“And changed boots with him. That and the logistics of moving the body lead me to doubt Ada’s culpability. And without her help, I don’t see how Beatrice could have done it, either.”
We’d come upon the picturesque cottages just outside the village proper. The storm seemed to have done them no harm. The high street was ahead. A left turn would take us to the train station. Straight ahead was the police station.
“I ought to stop in and tell Constable Ellis about the boots,” I told Hetty. “Do you wish to come with me?”
“I’d be happy for a chance to warm up a bit,” she said and followed me up the step and into the brick building.
Constable Ellis was almost exactly where I had left him yesterday, except this time he was sipping a cup of chocolate, further cementing his image in my mind as Father Christmas. He smiled when we approached him, making his cheeks pop up like round balls.
“Ladies,” he said. “Oi’ve just made a pot of chocolate, and Oi’d be pleased to share it.”
“I’d be delighted to partake,” Hetty said.
I introduced the two of them while we settled into the guest chairs and the constable poured two more cups of chocolate and placed them, steaming, on our side of his desk.
“How are things in the matter of Dr. Penhollow’s death?” he asked. “Has the doctor arrived from Aylsham?”
“He has.” I had removed my gloves and was warming my hands on the cup. “He is still working on the cause of death, but I made a discovery last night that strengthens my belief that Dr. Penhollow met with foul play.”
The constable was sipping his chocolate but lifted his brows in question, so I told him about the boots and Martha Rallison. He nodded along while I presented my information.
“Did Mr. Rallison ask the police to investigate Martha Rallison’s death? I’m told they felt the doctor was responsible.”
Constable Ellis blotted chocolate from his whiskers. “Never heard of any investigation. Oi suspect Ralph just needed someone to be angry with. What will you do now?”
Me? “Well,” I began, “I considered speaking with the Rallisons, but I understand I don’t really have the authority.” Not that I’d normally let such a technicality stop me, but he was the police, after all.
Ellis placed his cup on the desk and gave me a hard look. “You don’t plan to arrest anyone, do you? You surely don’t have that authority, but as for talking with folk, what could possibly be wrong with that? Folk around here enjoy a good chinwag.”
I glanced at Hetty to see if she thought his behavior as peculiar as I did. She merely raised her brows. “Don’t you wish to speak with them yourself, Constable?”
“Now, why should Oi go to all that trouble,” he said, “when you’re doing such a fine job, Mrs. Hazelton?
A fine job. You go ahead and ask your questions.
” He held up a finger. “And don’t forget to look for those gum boots.
” He came to his feet and collected our empty cups.
“Now, if there’s nothing else Oi can help you with, it’s just about time for my lunch. ”
Hetty and I found ourselves on the pavement before I could think of a reply.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a policeman so eager to hand off an investigation,” Hetty said.
“Indeed, I’m quite astonished.”
“Do you intend to continue investigating?”
“I suppose someone ought to.” I gestured to our right, and we headed toward the Georgian buildings that lined the high street.
Halfway down, the street forked, and a left turn brought us to the address that Dr. Penhollow’s journal indicated belonged to the Rallisons.
Two stories of white-painted masonry, with a trio of windows on this side of the ground floor.
A garden lay on one side of the house, and a felled tree on the other.
I tapped the knocker against its plate, wondering if the sound would penetrate the heavy wood.