Chapter Twenty-five
It was nearly eight o’clock when George and I paid a call on Ralph and Maggie Rallison.
As I expected, they were making merry with Charlie and Nancy Rallison, as well as with Hugh, Dotty, and Tillie Digby.
They had no objection to increasing their numbers, particularly when George pulled out one of the Hadley Grange jugs of Norfolk nog.
Maggie had added some Christmas decorations to the room since I’d been there. Their tree was aglow with candles, the mantel was draped with greenery, and there was even a mistletoe ball hanging in the entry to the drawing room.
She took the jug of nog from George and led us to the adjoining room, where the dining table fairly groaned under the weight of the food piled atop.
At Maggie’s insistence, we filled our plates and found seats for ourselves.
Nancy squeezed onto the sofa next to Charlie, allowing me to take the chair between her and Dotty Digby.
George was on Dotty’s other side, with Hugh Digby next to him.
“Who’s ready for charades?” Charlie Rallison asked. As he glanced around the room, his gaze lit on me. “We had three teams worked up, but you and Mr. Hazelton could help out those lesser teams,” he said.
Protests resounded from the supposedly lesser teams, but I waved them off. “Dotty and I are having a nice coze,” I said. “George, why don’t you take her place for the first round?”
George jumped up to start the game. Dotty looked at me with suspicion but said nothing.
I set my plate on the tea table and gave her a smile. “I think it’s lovely that your two families celebrate the holiday together.”
“Every year,” she said, a note of wistfulness in her voice. “It was much jollier when all our children were younger, of course. And naturally, it just isn’t the same without Martha.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said. “I don’t think I realized how close the two of you were.”
She gave me a sad smile. “Like sisters, we were. Known each other since childhood, she and I. It broke my heart when she told me she was ill and not likely to recover.”
“I’m sure it was hard for you when she decided to get the phosphorus treatment.”
“It didn’t change the end for her,” she said, “but I vow it made it come all the faster.”
“It would have been nice to have her hand to hold now that you are ill,” I suggested quietly.
She gave me a sharp glance, turned to ensure her husband was talking with Tillie, then leaned closer to me. “What do you mean by that?”
“Are you aware that Dr. Bertram has been working with us on investigating Dr. Penhollow’s murder?”
“Dr. Bertram?” Her expression was part disbelief, part alarm. “He shouldn’t be …”
I raised a brow. “Don’t blame him. Sergeant Hewitt was determined to have an answer.”
Dotty was glaring daggers at me now. “And why would he need to know about the state of my health?”
“It was the last piece of the puzzle. Martha was your dear friend.”
“She was more of a sister.”
“And Dr. Penhollow took her away from you too soon.”
She let out a huff. “You think I killed him.”
“Not at first, I didn’t. But then I started putting it all together.
You were closer to Martha than anyone else.
Then you became ill. So ill that Tillie had to come in to help at the mercantile.
You recently struck up a friendship with Ada Penhollow and called on her enough times that she trusted you alone in her kitchen. ”
I let her consider that for a moment before I continued. “Then there was the matter of the missing phosphorus. Why did you take it?”
“It’s a terrible drug. The doctors used it on my aunt years and years ago.
It was meant to cure her tuberculosis.” She shook her head.
“Killed her nearly straight away, it did. I knew I couldn’t stop Martha from taking it, she was that determined.
But I hoped I could slow her down. I should have taken all of it. ”
She grew quiet again, so I thought to nudge her. “Then a month ago, you learned you wouldn’t recover from your illness. I’m sorry for that. But it made you remember the phosphorus.”
“I was mad at the world, but mostly at him. When I thought about the nog, I couldn’t resist. I knew no one else would drink his swill. He’d be the only one hurt.”
“I supposed you expected no one would think it was murder,” I said. “Perhaps you thought it would simply be reported as a heart attack. It was just your bad luck that the storm came through, that Ada moved the body, that I found him, and that we investigated.”
“But what proof do you have?” she asked. “I haven’t actually admitted to anything but having cancer.”
“The vials of phosphorus.”
Dotty turned away, giving me a glimpse of George pantomiming for his team. Before I could figure out if he was meant to be climbing into or out of something, she turned back to me with an angry glare. “If that’s your idea of evidence, I don’t think the police will be arresting me anytime soon.”
“Actually, the magistrate and Sergeant Hewitt are at your home right now,” I said, “searching for phosphorus. Based on how much ended up in the nog, we think there is one vial left. I suspect they’ll find it, and perhaps the empty vial, hidden away somewhere at your home.”
The sag of her shoulders told me that Sergeant Hewitt and Robert would likely find the drug.
“What happens now?” she asked after a moment’s silence.
“They know you, Hugh, and Tillie are here. If they find the drug or the empty vials, the sergeant will come here to arrest you for Dr. Penhollow’s murder.”
She stared down at her hands in her lap.
“Or you could spare your husband and his sister the embarrassment, and not ruin the Rallisons’ Christmas, by allowing George and me to walk you home. You can meet the sergeant there.”
She kept her gaze on her folded hands while the silence stretched between us, long enough for me to wonder if she’d heard me. Finally, she spoke in a small voice. “I could tell them I’m not feeling well.”
“The walk home will give you a chance to break the news to Hugh and save him the shock of seeing Sergeant Hewitt arrest you.”
“That’s kind of you,” she said. “I always knew I might be caught, and I imagined it to be much worse than this. And because I know you must be wondering, if Sergeant Hewitt had arrested Ada, I would have confessed.” She turned to me, holding up her hand, with her index finger and thumb almost touching.
“There was the tiniest part of me that thought I might get away with it. But I don’t regret my actions, not one bit. He deserved it.”
I glanced toward the center of the sitting room, where Charlie Rallison clutched at his chest.
“Dying!” his team shouted.
“Death!”
“Love?” Maggie Rallison looked prepared to have her guess called wrong.
Charlie grinned and pointed at her.
“I’m right?” Maggie laughed. “Charlie, that looked more like indigestion than love.”
Everyone from both teams laughed at her response, and Charlie moved on to act out the next word.
I might have reminded Dotty that her friend had loved Dr. Penhollow, or told her that he had stopped her treatment as soon as he realized it wasn’t working. It was the infection, not the doctor, that had killed her, but to me, that wasn’t the point.
“I don’t think that was for you to decide,” I said instead.
She turned back to me, her eyes devoid of any emotion. “Let’s be off, shall we?”
Our farewells were brief since everyone expected to see everyone else at service the next morning—assuming Dotty was well enough to go.
George and I followed a few steps behind Dotty, Hugh, and Tillie to allow some privacy for Dotty’s revelation.
Hugh had to be devastated to learn that his wife had committed such a heinous crime.
He wanted no condolences, though, at least not from us. When we arrived at the Digby home, George and I waited outside while the Digbys went in to meet with Sergeant Hewitt. Robert came out a few minutes later. Without a word, the three of us headed home.
Robert led the way with a borrowed lantern. The moon was no more than a crescent, and as we left the village for the path to Hadley Grange, the twinkle of lights faded in the distance.
“You think you know someone,” Robert said at last.
“Imagine how Hugh feels,” I countered. “They’ve been married for decades.”
Robert let out a long breath. “I actually feel rather sorry for her. It doesn’t sound as if she has much time left.”
“I can sympathize, too,” I said. “Martha was closer to her than anyone else. Hugh had to know about Dotty’s illness, and what did he do? Brought in his sister to replace her.” I glanced at George. “Can you imagine?”
“I can spare some sympathy for her,” he said, “but I have significantly more for Ada Penhollow, who not only lost her husband but might also have been arrested for the crime if Dotty hadn’t kept that vial of phosphorus.
She knew she was dying and chose to take someone with her, like some sort of avenging angel. ”
That was true. “She said she would have confessed if Ada had been arrested.”
“We’ll never know, will we?” George added.
“Still, I wonder if Sergeant Hewitt will bother with a trial or even detain her,” Robert mused.
George placed a hand on Robert’s shoulder. “I hate to inform you of this, my friend, but I believe those decisions are left to the magistrate.”
Robert drew back. “Are they? I say, I must get cracking and learn this job.”
By the time we arrived home, we were too tired to start any games. Robert could persuade no one to partake in a glass of nog, but the children were still too excited for bed, so we convinced them to read us their story while we sipped chocolate around the fire in the drawing room.
They read it in an hour, splitting the story into thirds so each had a turn reading.
No one guessed that the Ghost of Christmas Present would be revealed to have murdered Scrooge as a form of retribution.
I held that secret to the end. But considering what we’d just experienced over the past few days, it seemed to me that one of us might have at least guessed the motive.