Chapter Sixteen
Hetty and I climbed farther up the hill that was Church Street, walking at a slower pace now that we were out of sight of the Penhollows. Fortunately, this was in the direction of the younger Mr. Rallison’s home.
“What came over you back there?” Hetty asked. “You went from polite geniality to panic within the beat of a heart. Did one of them say something that made you suspicious?”
“I have no logical reason to be suspicious of either of them, but it occurred to me that if they were involved somehow in Dr. Penhollow’s death, it would be unwise to share everything we’d learned.
” I sighed. “I did need to find out what he’d eaten, but I think my question signaled to them that we were considering poison.
I feared I was revealing too much, and didn’t know how else to escape them. ”
We walked silently for a few steps, each in our own thoughts. “If he was poisoned,” I said at last, “Ada certainly had all the opportunity in the world. Their maid comes in daily, leaving them alone each night.”
“Perhaps her maid assisted her,” Hetty suggested.
“The general opinion of Joshua Penhollow is that he is mean, overbearing, and rude. Who would have more exposure to him than Ada and her maid? And who better to poison him than the women who prepared his food? Have you had an opportunity to speak with the maid?”
“I have not,” I said. “I’m not sure she would have associated with him much.
She would have reported to Ada, and if she had any difficulty with the doctor, she could have simply resigned.
But to follow your theory to its end, let’s say Ada and her maid poisoned Dr. Penhollow.
Maybe he became ill. Maybe he didn’t. But he felt well enough to walk to the train, only to die halfway there.
The question remains; why was he wearing the wrong boots? ”
“I’ve no idea.” Hetty let out a tsk. “It might be good to know what happens to Mrs. Penhollow upon the death of her husband.”
“What do you mean, what happens to her?”
“Exactly that,” she said. “Did the man have a will? Is Ada his beneficiary? Has she just become a wealthy widow?”
Thank goodness for Hetty’s financial mind. “Darling Hetty,” I said, smiling broadly, “this is one of the many reasons you are my favorite aunt.”
She compressed her lips. “Again, knowing your mother’s sisters, that is not the compliment you would like me to believe it is. And I don’t know how we’ll ever learn the answer to those questions.”
“We may not, but it’s certainly something the sergeant can investigate.”
Hetty glanced across the street. “Is this the house?”
I had stopped our walk at the end of a row of large cottages.
Beyond the buildings was a meadow, and farther up the hill was the church, so yes, this could be the house.
It had a small garden surrounded by a wooden fence on one side, where a woman sat at a small table.
She was wrapped up in a woolen shawl, reading a book and sipping a cup of tea. I led Hetty over to the gate.
“Good afternoon,” I called out.
The woman glanced up in surprise, then smiled.
Her light brown hair was drawn back in a knot, with a crimped fringe framing large brown eyes.
She was a pretty woman, probably barely over twenty.
And she looked familiar, though I don’t believe I’d met her.
“You must be the ladies from Hadley Grange.” She came to her feet and hastened to the other side of the gate.
“The village is abuzz about you.” The woman leaned over the gate and whispered, “Are you the ones who found old Penhollow’s body? ”
Hetty tipped her head toward me. “She did.”
“Yes, I do have that unfortunate distinction,” I said. “Apparently, word has gotten around.” I introduced myself and Hetty. “Are you Mrs. Charles Rallison?”
She bobbed her head. “I am. What can I do for you?”
“I’d like to ask you a few questions if you don’t mind.”
In response she opened the gate and waved us inside. “The tea’s still hot. We’ll just slip into the house, where it’s a mite warmer.”
We followed her to the garden table, where she gathered the tea tray, and Hetty held the door open for her to pass through. When I stepped next to Hetty, she widened her eyes. “She seems rather eager to chat, wouldn’t you say?” she whispered.
“I wouldn’t depend upon her staying that way once she learns what we are here to talk about.”
Instead of leading us to a sitting room, Mrs. Rallison placed everything on the kitchen table, indicating that we should make ourselves comfortable.
By the time we had seated ourselves, Mrs. Rallison returned with the extra cups.
After draping her shawl over the back of her chair, she began pouring our tea.
“I hope you don’t mind sitting in here. It’s a little too cool to expect you to sit outside today. I’ve been in the house all morning, I usually am, and I sometimes like a little break on the porch, whatever the weather.”
“I believe the day has grown warmer since we set out.” Hetty took the cup she was offered. “What keeps you in the house so much, Mrs. Rallison?” she asked.
“Please, call me Nancy,” she replied. “Baking and cooking mostly.” She handed the second cup to me, then took a seat in the remaining chair.
“I don’t have a large enough kitchen or enough hours in the day to open a bakery of my own, but the mercantile sells some of my baked goods.
We had so many apples this year, I’m still trying to use them up.
And that’s not counting the ones we put up for winter.
” She paused and frowned at us. “I’m thinking of using some of them for a cider. What do you think of that?”
“I think you are a very energetic and industrious young woman,” I said, duly impressed.
Hetty gestured to Mrs. Rallison with her cup. “And I think that you are familiar enough with your neighbors to know whether you’d have a better market for cider or baked goods.”
“That’s a good point.” She lifted her cup in a toast, and Hetty and I joined her. “Cider it is,” she said. “Now, tell me about finding the doctor. How did that happen?”
“I thought you had already heard the story,” I said.
“I heard it from my sister, who heard it from her neighbor, who heard it from the vicar, who, I assume, got it from his wife. By the time it passed through that many people, it may have lost all connection to the truth.” Her gaze was so intense that I was surprised she didn’t rub her hands together in anticipation.
Instead, she folded them on the table and leaned toward us.
“Now I can hear it straight from the source.”
She was so eager I felt I had to oblige her with at least an abbreviated version of the story, which I ended with Beatrice’s claim that Dr. Penhollow was meant to meet someone before taking the train to Norwich.
“Unfortunately, she didn’t know who that was,” Hetty added.
“Well, I can help you with that,” Nancy said. “It was us. At least it was supposed to be us. Dr. Penhollow was meant to meet with my husband and me that morning.”
Well, for heaven’s sake. While I had certainly intended to ask her that question, as I had asked the other Rallisons, and as I would have asked anyone else we came across, I don’t believe I honestly expected an affirmative answer from anyone. Now that I had one, I simply stared at her.
She looked back with concern.
Hetty gave me a nudge.
“Forgive me, Mrs. Rallison,” I said, breaking my stare. “I was taken aback.”
“Nancy,” she urged.
“Yes, Nancy. You said Dr. Penhollow had an appointment with you?”
“Yes,” she said. “Had being the important word. He and Charlie ended up meeting at the pub after the play, so there was no need for him to come by that morning.” She picked up her teacup, then gave me a close look. “Why do you want to know?”
Now that she mentioned it, I realized we had never explained ourselves.
Nancy Rallison had taken charge of the conversation, and we had never had a chance.
“Since the superintendent is away, and the sergeant has taken his constables and our magistrate away from the village, and the deceased is the coroner, we have taken it upon ourselves to begin an investigation.”
Her eyes widened. “You? Two women are investigating … what exactly?” She gasped. “Do you think he was murdered?”
“We believe murder is a possibility,” I said in a lower voice.
“Murder,” she said on a long breath. “Who do you think did it?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Hetty said.
“More realistically, we are gathering information for Sergeant Hewitt,” I said. “Do you mind telling me why Dr. Penhollow wanted to meet with you and your husband?”
“Charlie asked him to call on us,” she said.
“I was surprised about that, but his father has been working on Charlie to stop blaming the doctor for his mother’s death.
” She made a grimace. “One thing you should know about Charlie—he loved his mum. It gutted him when she died. And he blamed Penhollow. For a while he was calling Penhollow a murderer every time he laid eyes on the man.”
“Goodness,” Hetty said.
Nancy gave her an emphatic nod. “In the street, at the mercantile, even at church. It was right embarrassing. Made everyone who heard him uncomfortable. I finally convinced him to stop. After that, Charlie just avoided Penhollow, said he couldn’t bear to look at him.
” She sighed. “We hadn’t seen the doctor for months until we were all at the play a few days ago. ”
That’s where I remembered her from. She and her husband were in the hallway between the vestibule and the backstage area, speaking with Dr. Penhollow, when I passed by. I mentioned that to her. “You didn’t look very pleased at the time,” I said.