Chapter Seventeen #2
“Yes, yes, of course. I first saw Mrs. Penhollow when she came into the church. I was in here, at prayers. She didn’t wish to disturb me, so she simply bid me good morning and left me to them while she went out to inspect the garden.
Then, I’d say about fifteen or twenty minutes later, I had finished, and she returned with a large bundle of flowers she’d just cut.
They’d been pelted by the rain throughout the night, and many of the stems were broken, but as you see”—he took a step into the opposite row of pews and drew our attention to the front of the church—“they brighten up the altar splendidly.”
“They’re lovely,” I said, as he seemed to be expecting a response. “So Mrs. Penhollow returned from the garden with an armful of flowers, and then what happened?”
“Ah, then we both went into the vicarage, where she and Beatrice took the flowers to the kitchen to put them into these arrangements you see here.”
So far, his version of the morning was just like Beatrice’s. “Do you recall the time all this happened?”
“I begin my prayers at half seven, so Mrs. Penhollow probably arrived fifteen or twenty minutes after eight.”
This was starting to sound good for Ada. I began to wonder what size boots Charlie Rallison wore.
But then Ada Penhollow had the whole night.
Had she fed her husband some poison the night before, found some way to transport his body to the field early in the morning, somehow covered her tracks, then cleaned herself up in order to arrive at the vicarage shortly after eight?
That seemed like a great deal of calculated work.
Could she be a cold-blooded killer? Maybe, but I would think, after the fact, she’d be a nervous wreck.
“I don’t suppose you took note of Mrs. Penhollow’s demeanor that morning?” I asked the vicar.
He looked confused. “Her demeanor? I’d say she was as she usually is. She’s a quiet woman. Pleasant but not given to chatter. She’d not yet heard about her husband’s death, so there was nothing to adversely affect her mood. I’d say she was her normal self.”
Somehow, I wasn’t certain he’d notice a subtle change like nervousness. If she hadn’t come into the church wailing or shouting, she was just her normal self. I would have to check with Beatrice, someone with a much closer relationship with Ada.
“It must be nice to have your mother-in-law drop in and take care of little tasks like cutting and arranging flowers,” Hetty said. “Does she visit often?”
The vicar smiled. “She is such a blessing to us. While we both appreciate her contributions to the church in the form of these little favors, I know Beatrice delights in seeing her mother frequently.”
“Perhaps they will be seeing even more of each other now that Dr. Penhollow has passed away.” Hetty’s tone was comforting. “I assume once things are settled, Ada will make her home with one of her daughters.”
I struggled to hide my keen interest in his answer, but the vicar never even glanced my way. “We fully expect her to live with us once Mr. Penhollow takes up residence in the manor. I’m certain that’s what my father-in-law would have wanted.”
“Indeed?” I said, noting Hetty’s disappointment on realizing Ada Penhollow had reaped little or no financial gain upon her husband’s death.
“He always encouraged Ada to call on us,” Vicar Appleton continued.
“I believe Dr. Penhollow understood the benefit of the church to a small community. It can be the glue that draws everyone together.” The vicar glanced away.
“I should make a note to mention something about that in his eulogy. He believed his wife was setting a good example for the villagers.”
“I am sure he was correct. Are you well acquainted with Mr. Penhollow, the doctor’s brother?” I asked. “I understand he visits but rarely.”
“Mr. Penhollow is much engaged in his business in Cambridge,” the vicar said. “He deals in books … a bookshop or book printing. Regardless, I doubt we shall see much of him until he decides to sell his business and retire.”
It sounded as though Mr. Penhollow had not coveted his brother’s manor.
“Is that Mrs. Penhollow I see in the garden now?” Hetty asked, peering out the window.
“It is more likely Mrs. Digby,” he said, spreading his hands.
“Here you see Ada’s good example at work.
Mrs. Digby began helping out at the church when she and Ada struck up a friendship.
She wouldn’t have known that Ada had already straightened things up out there.
I ought to go out and thank her for coming. ”
“We’ll go with you,” I said. In truth, ever since Mr. Digby had cut his wife off mid-gossip, I’d been curious to hear what she had been about to say.
When we stepped out of the church, she was just exiting the walled-in garden and stopped to lean against the gate for a moment while we strolled up. The vicar greeted her and asked if the three of us had met.
“We have, indeed,” she said, placing a hand against her back as she straightened. “Good to see you ladies again.”
“Since you all know each other, perhaps you could walk together back to the village.” He waved a hand toward the garden. “As you see, Mrs. Digby, the garden needs no attention.”
“I noticed,” she said. “I wouldn’t have thought Ada would have time to clean up after the storm, but I suppose it helped her to keep busy.”
“She does like to stay busy, but she took care of this the morning after the storm. I ought to have sent word to you so you wouldn’t waste your strength climbing up the hill.
” He lifted his hands, then let them fall to his sides.
“It’s been rather hectic here for the past few days, as I’m sure you’ll understand. ”
“Of course I understand, Vicar,” she said. “It’s kind of you to think of me, but I suppose I can still manage the occasional hill.”
Perhaps, but she did look breathless. Good thing the walk back was downhill.
“If you ladies plan to walk to Hadley Grange before dark,” she said, “we ought to be off now.”
She was right. We’d be lucky to make it back before twilight. We said our good-byes to the vicar and headed to the village. As we passed the meadow, the three of us walked side by side, with Dotty in the middle.
“Vicar Appleton told us you and Ada Penhollow work together in the church garden,” I said. “It will be good for her to have friends at this time.”
“True friends are a blessing at any time,” she replied.
I nodded in agreement. “I understand that you and Martha Rallison were also friends.”
She slanted a glance at me.
“Her daughter mentioned it,” I said, feeling a bit defensive. Though Dotty Digby was the village busybody, a stranger asking questions and nosing about was bound to annoy even her.
“You spoke with the Rallisons, did you? Are you still thinking Penhollow was murdered?” She sounded surprised. “How do you reckon they did it?”