Chapter Fifteen
Hetty and I left the Rallisons shortly after my conversation with Maggie. I hoped for both their sakes that she was right and Mr. Rallison had nothing to do with the murder. They seemed like good people, though I knew such impressions were often deceptive.
It was nearing one o’clock, and fortunately, the afternoon was growing warmer, because I was still not done with my interviews. However, Hetty might be done with me. This had turned out to be more than just the distraction she might have been seeking.
“I know they have a motive for this crime, Frances,” she said, “but I felt quite intrusive questioning them.”
“As did I. I’ve been on the other side of those questions before and know how unpleasant it can be.
” I gave her a helpless shrug. “But those questions had to be answered.” We walked down the steps from the house and headed to the lane.
“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t believe either of them killed the doctor, and Maggie Rallison claims they have an alibi for the morning Dr. Penhollow died. ”
“That is a relief to hear,” Hetty said, falling in beside me. “What is this alibi?”
I stopped after a few steps and turned to face the houses on the Rallisons’ side of the lane. “It’s right there.”
“The tree?”
“The tree. Maggie told me it fell during the storm and woke both households early the morning Dr. Penhollow was killed.” I’d given up referring to it as the day he died.
It was quite clear to me he’d been murdered.
“The lady of the neighboring house and her child spent the early hours of the morning with the Rallisons. If you don’t mind, I’d like to confirm that with her now, assuming she is at home. ”
Hetty held up a hand. “I’ll just wait here for you, shall I?”
So much for moral support. I walked up the path and knocked on the neighbors’ door.
The woman in question turned out to be Mrs. Otting, a buxom young woman with freckles and the curliest red hair I’d ever seen.
She answered the door herself, with her baby in her arms. When I asked her about the tree, her face flushed pink.
“My husband went off with Sergeant Hewitt to clear some storm damage on the coast, but he’ll be taking care of that just as soon as he’s back. I expect him some time tomorrow. Is Mr. Spencer looking to put by some firewood for the Grange?”
I assumed Mr. Otting was part of the same crew as George and Robert. “I had not been thinking of firewood,” I said. “But now that you mention it, I’ll let Lady Fiona know that some will be available soon, and she can alert the steward.”
She looked pleased with that answer.
“But that isn’t why I was inquiring about the tree. When did it come down?”
“During the gale, of course,” she said, shifting the baby against her shoulder. “Made a tremendous crash and got us all out of our beds.”
“Not surprising, considering its size.”
“It is a big thing, isn’t it? And it fell so close to the houses. Can you believe all the damage was one broken window? I’d call that good luck.”
“Indeed, but then bad luck that it came down at all.”
She shook her head. “It had some rot to the roots. My husband should have taken it down last year.” Her expression changed to panic. “Not that the wood is bad, mind you. It will make some fine logs for your fire.”
“I’m sure it will,” I assured her. “I was speaking to Maggie Rallison a few moments ago. She said your husband fixed the window straight away that morning while you and the baby waited with her and Mr. Rallison.”
She nodded. “Like I said, it got all of us out of bed. Maggie let me wait at their house while my husband boarded over the window.” She narrowed her eyes. “They were being neighborly. Why do you ask?”
I knew I ought to simply gloss over any explanations and change the subject, but she had answered my questions and deserved an honest answer in return. “Well, I am looking into the death of Dr. Penhollow—”
She drew in a gasp. “And you think one of them had something to do with it?” Her expression changed from surprise to outrage in a blink.
“You couldn’t be more wrong. The Rallisons are the kindest people and the best neighbors.
I can’t tell you how happy I am to be able to say they were both at home while I was there, and that was from the dark of morning to …
well, to whenever it needs to be.” She stepped aside to close the door in my face, then opened it just a bit.
“And you can forget about the firewood!”
I took a step back as she slammed the door.
Well!
I turned around and walked slowly down the path toward the lane. Though the encounter had been less than pleasant, I did get the information I needed. And I was relieved.
Hetty had seen, and probably heard, the entire exchange and gave me a sympathetic look.
“Is this what you and Hazelton do all day when you are investigating? Have doors slammed in your faces?” She grimaced.
“I’d imagine if Rose knew about that part, she wouldn’t glamorize the two of you quite so much. ”
She linked her arm with mine, and we walked back to the high street.
“To be honest,” I said, “this is rather a new experience for me. We are generally investigating a crime involving people in society. The police do the part you’ve just seen.
George and I do the part that involves learning the gossip about our fellows.
” I glanced at her. “In other words, lying and sneaking about. I almost never admit I’m investigating a crime, and I must confess I’m not particularly comfortable with this level of honesty. ”
“I daresay the villagers are people of integrity,” she said. “I agree, they deserve your honesty, and I can’t fault them for being offended. Your questions alone imply they may be involved with a crime.” She patted my hand. “You did what you had to do. Perhaps the worst is over now.”
I glanced at her through the corner of my eye. “Mr. Rallison has a son in the village,” I said.
Hetty groaned. “And I suppose you are duty bound to speak with him, too? We have more homes to invade and people to upset.”
That was one way of putting it. “You could wait for me at the mercantile, if you prefer.” I gestured to the building a few doors ahead.
“The mercantile,” she mused. “Where I could be bombarded with gossip from Mrs. Digby or listen to her husband chastise her for gossiping.” She grimaced in horror. “I’d sooner go with you.”
“It seems you are rather sensitive to the foibles of married couples lately,” I said. “Is there any particular reason?”
“Don’t try to distract me from your problems with my own,” she said.
I stared at her in dismay. “Aunt Hetty, I hope you know I am at your service if there is anything I can do to help.”
“Yes, I do know that, Frances. I’m just not quite able to put it into words yet. Give me some time. Perhaps I’ll ask for your assistance, or perhaps I can help myself.” She blew out a breath. “Or perhaps I am beyond help.”
Hetty decided to accompany me to the next stop of this investigation.
We passed the mercantile and a few more businesses before we reached the village green on our right, where several villagers were having a jolly time stringing colorful paper chains through the trees that lined the perimeter.
To our left was the street that led up the hill to the church.
We waited for a horse and cart to lumber past so we could cross the street.
“I believe the younger Mr. Rallison and his wife live at the end of this block. Maggie Rallison said it was near the church.”
“Well, don’t look now,” Hetty said, “but here comes the wife of the victim in this investigation.”
It took a moment to spot Ada Penhollow for myself coming down Church Street.
She was dressed in a becoming dark blue coat with a white fur collar and a blue bonnet-style hat trimmed in black.
Her coat sleeve was pulled up when she lifted her arm, revealing a black dress beneath.
The chill air pinkened her cheeks and made her much prettier than the workaday version I had met at her home two days ago.
She was on the arm of her brother-in-law, who wore a black armband on his gray coat. They were headed right for us in a very deliberate manner. I feared that I knew why, but there was no way to avoid them now.
Mr. Penhollow tipped his hat when they reached us. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Hazelton, Mrs. Chesney.”
Hetty and I smiled and I returned the greeting. “Mrs. Penhollow, Mr. Penhollow, how do you do?”
“As well as you might expect,” Isaac Penhollow replied, though his answer told us nothing. “We’ve been to see the vicar and the undertaker regarding dear Joshua’s funeral.”
“The undertaker is sending over the black crepe and a funeral wreath for the door tomorrow,” Ada informed us.
“We intended to send you an inquiry this afternoon.” Mr. Penhollow lifted a brow. “When do you suppose that funeral might take place? I couldn’t get any information out of Constable Ellis.”
“I’ve been given to understand that Sergeant Hewitt will be returning to the village at some time tomorrow,” I said. “I will leave that question for him to answer, but at least I can say you will have an answer soon.”
Neither of them appeared pleased with my response. A more suspicious mind than mine might believe that meant they wanted Dr. Penhollow buried and out of the reach of any police authority before the sergeant returned.
Fine, that thought did cross my mind. Still, I tried to believe they simply wanted to move on with the business of grieving.
The problem I had with that theory was that apart from their clothing, neither of them gave the appearance of grief.
Isaac Penhollow was a puzzle. Though he made me suspicious, his arrival in the village on the evening of Dr. Penhollow’s death led me to assume he could have had no part in his brother’s death.
Still, seeing him together with Mrs. Penhollow led me to wonder if I should dismiss my suspicions so easily.
What if he had stopped at Hadley Grange that afternoon for the purpose of making us believe he’d only just arrived? But that couldn’t be. Tillie Digby had seen him arrive in the village that afternoon.
Tillie Digby, with her poor eyesight.
I shook myself from my thoughts when I realized Ada was addressing me. “Surely, you aren’t still investigating his death?” she asked.
Hetty took offense to her tone. “Indeed, we are,” she said. “The doctor arrived to examine your husband’s body only yesterday afternoon. I certainly hope that at some point soon, he will be able to tell us that your husband died of natural causes, but that is not yet the case.”
“Should that be the case,” I added, “we shall, of course, return him to your possession.”
Isaac Penhollow’s eyes had narrowed. “And if he can’t make such a statement?”
“In that circumstance, as I mentioned, Sergeant Hewitt will be back tomorrow, and we will turn all our findings over to him. He will have to decide how to proceed.”
He gave me a sharp nod, as if he approved. “I see, and just what are your findings?”
“At this time, we are still trying to determine who Dr. Penhollow was planning to meet with on the day he died,” I said, glancing at Ada. “You haven’t recalled a name, have you?”
“I don’t even recall that he had such a meeting planned. If he mentioned it to Beatrice, then I suppose it must be true, but he never said anything about it to me.”
Isaac Penhollow stepped back and gave us a look of incredulity. “Do you mean to say you are going door-to-door, asking everyone if they had a meeting with my brother two days ago?”
“Of course not,” I said, squeezing Hetty’s hand before she could contradict me, even though he was almost correct. “But rather than get caught up in our methods, perhaps you’d allow me to ask another question, Mrs. Penhollow.”
She looked surprised but quickly agreed.
“Do you happen to know what your husband ate that morning?”
“Nothing at all,” she said. “He preferred not to eat that early and didn’t normally break his fast until about ten o’clock or even later.”
“What about the evening before?”
She quickly rattled off the menu for their dinner. Her expression indicated she thought the question a little odd.
“What is the point of this?” Mr. Penhollow asked. “How can it matter what he ate the day before he died?”
“It probably doesn’t matter at all,” I said.
Suddenly, I felt that I must guard my information from the two of them.
“It’s just something Dr. Bertram asked me to find out.
” I held up a finger. “By the way, I understand that some of Dr. Penhollow’s patients occasionally paid him with something other than currency. ”
Mr. Penhollow tipped his head. “Are you asking if he had patients working off a debt?”
“Not exactly,” I said. “I’m wondering if a patient has recently paid for the doctor’s services with a chicken or food, something of that nature.”
With a frown, Mr. Penhollow turned to Ada. “It’s possible,” she said, then quickly frowned. “Do you need to know who and what it was? I don’t know that I could tell you right off, but I could search through the larder if that will help.”
“It would help a great deal,” I replied, then lifted my hand in a pretense of greeting someone farther up Church Street. I took Hetty’s arm and backed away from the couple. “I apologize for the abrupt departure, but there’s someone I simply must speak with.”
As we stepped around them, Isaac Penhollow spoke out. “But we can expect to hear something from you tomorrow?”
“If not me, then Sergeant Hewitt,” I said over my shoulder.
Hetty was skipping along to catch up with me. “Slow down, Frances. What are you running away from?”
I wasn’t sure, but it definitely made me uneasy.