Chapter 12
Lara was standing by the wall talking to Joe.
She had the door open to the street and the glow from the houses opposite illuminated the two figures in a soft golden triangle.
The rest of the garden was now inky black apart from one shard of light coming from a downstairs window.
The kitchen, Abby thought. She imagined Mrs M sitting by the Aga and thought about the two women who had known each other for thirty years.
She dwelt on the sadness she had seen etched on Mrs M’s face, and on the will that Lady Porter had left that did not apparently include legacies to the church or a young man called Joe.
She was sure Mrs M would have had something to say about that; a legacy to a young man who reminded Lady Porter of her husband Reginald.
She tilted her head to one side. There was much to think about.
Lara caught sight of Abby and started to say her goodbyes to Joe.
Abby was keen to get another look at Joe before he left, so hurried over to Lara’s side.
She studied his face, trying to recall the photo that she had seen of Lady Porter in the hallway of Gillmore House.
Could he really be related to her? Or was that just a passing fancy of an old lady?
She conjured up the image of a photograph that had sat on the drawing-room piano of Lord and Lady Porter.
As Joe turned to leave Abby once more considered his face, but she could see nothing but a good natured young man.
She could detect no obvious family resemblance.
She thought that he looked pleasant, and probably harmless.
Could he be a murderer? She felt Richard and Penny Porter were much more likely to have a motive if they knew that Lady Porter was thinking of including Joe in her will.
But, she sighed, she had known the prospect of money to have poisoned even the purest of minds.
Lara greeted her with relief. ‘I think Joe now thinks I’m completely deranged. First I launch myself at him in the shop, then I accuse him of smoking and now I have him standing in a cold, dark garden for half an hour because I don’t seem able to leave.’
‘Do you care what Joe thinks of you?’ Abby asked abruptly, as Lara closed the garden gate behind them.
Lara did not know how to answer this. She had enjoyed talking to Joe and they clearly had a lot in common.
He had been working on Lady Porter’s garden for some considerable time, but because he had helped on Mondays and Lara had prepared her flowers on a Friday, they had not met there, before now.
Joe had taken Lara to show her the cutting garden he had created for Lady Porter.
Some of the Rudbeckias were still flowering despite the cold.
It felt like the easiest thing in the world to talk to him.
But did she care what he thought of her?
She didn’t know and she didn’t want to think about it.
So she quickly changed the subject. ‘Never mind about Joe. Who were you talking to in the potting shed?’
Abby filled Lara in on her conversation with Thomas. The only thing she decided to keep to herself, for the time being at least, was the part about Joe. She was unsure what Lara thought of Joe and she didn’t want to snuff out what might be a promising relationship.
‘So Thomas didn’t think she killed herself?’ was the first thing that Lara latched on to.
‘No, he didn’t and while it does not constitute definite proof, I am of the strong opinion that Thomas is right.’
They had reached the van by now and Lara paused to check that Becky had put the flowers she needed in the back. As she drove Lara asked Abby, ‘Do you think we will ever know what happened?’
Abby was quietly confident. ‘Yes, I believe we will. Proving it may be another thing. But I am not about to give up when we have had such a promising start.’ Abby began to mark off on her fingers the questions raised by their day’s work.
‘First, we have to find out more about the will. I am not sure the inheritance is as straightforward as we initially surmised. Then I am very interested to know why Mr Honeybourne has been hanging around the house. I wouldn’t be surprised if he is the reason some pieces are missing from Gillmore House.
Earlier when I noticed certain gaps in the arrangement of items I was unsure whether this was a natural occurrence, such as pieces being removed for a legacy, perhaps, or whether it was Lady Porter’s doing?
I hardly think Mrs M would have left her belongings in disarray. ’
Lara interrupted, ‘But Abby, does any of this add up to a motive for murder?’
Abby looked pensive. ‘We are a long way from establishing that. But one thing we do know is that there appears to be a lot of what a detective might call “opportunity”. Mrs M and Thomas told us that Lady Porter had a stream of visitors. Not all of them welcome.’
Lara agreed, thinking of Richard Porter, and how sad it was that Lady Porter didn’t have a loving family around her. Perhaps that is why she and Lady Porter were drawn together? She thought of her mum and suddenly missed her. Perhaps she would ring her this evening.
Lara returned to the issue at hand. ‘We may not know whether Lady Porter had sleeping pills, but I’m sure someone could have got drugs into her system somehow. Everyone knew she liked a drink. Although,’ she added, a little sadly, ‘I don’t think I knew quite how much she drank.’
‘Yes,’ Abby said reflectively, ‘I wondered if you had noticed that too. It is suggestive, don’t you think?’
‘What are you thinking?’ Lara asked, as she pulled up in front of the Wentworth Arms.
‘I was considering whether we should add the vicar to our list of suspects.’
Lara laughed. ‘You’re not serious?! He’s a sweet old man and wouldn’t hurt a fly.’
‘That is exactly what they said of Reverend Brickell, and he chopped up his curate, Cedric, and concealed his body parts under the lining of his ornamental pond.’
Lara gasped, struggling to imagine their vicar in this light. ‘He would hardly kill Lady Porter for the sake of the church roof,’ she insisted.
‘You are probably right,’ Abby said, but she sounded disappointed.
After the cold of Lady Porter’s garden, the pub was a welcome contrast. A large fire burned in the inglenook fireplace and thick-stemmed candles flickered on each of the tables, adding to the ambiance.
As it was still early the bar was almost empty.
The only customers were a couple of workmen enjoying an early evening pint.
The landlord, Ron, was standing behind the bar polishing glasses.
He looked up and smiled at Lara as she came through the door carrying a bundle of flowers under her arm.
He was a hearty man with a ruddy complexion and Abby thought he could only ever have been a publican, or possibly a farmer.
Lara carried her flowers into a small room that formed an extension off the bar.
It looked like it had once been a library but now it was used as a private dining area.
There was just one large rosewood table in the centre of the space, surrounded by a dozen or more chairs.
The table was set with white linen, silver cutlery and a myriad of glasses, in preparation for a shooting party that was expected that evening.
Lara started to fill a round silver bowl with flowers ready for the centre of the table.
She mixed red roses with white waxflower and grey-green thistles.
She finally added short stems of purple anemones.
Abby, who had wandered across to watch her work, stood back and admired the result.
‘You really do have an eye for colour, Lara,’ she said, before adding, ‘It is perhaps surprising that you take so little care over the colours that you wear.’
‘I haven’t got time,’ Lara fired back.
‘And yet you think Becky, who is no doubt equally busy, should wear more colour,’ Abby commented.
‘How on earth did you know that?’ Lara was genuinely surprised.
‘Maybe you have been talking to yourself again,’ Abby said mischievously. ‘Scarlet,’ she said abruptly. ‘Becky would look beautiful in scarlet. Not everyone can wear it, but I do believe she could carry it off.’
‘Do you have an endless supply of clothes?’ Lara asked, gazing from the top of Abby’s coiffured head to the tips of her dainty toes.
‘I have been blessed with a very large wardrobe of clothes,’ Abby admitted, ‘but as I dress by imagining what I would like to wear that day, I have also discovered that I can borrow other people’s clothes.
Last week, I recalled a ravishing straw hat with jade green sashing that I once saw in Madame Fournier’s window, and I was able to appear wearing it. Most satisfying.’
‘My mother would love to meet you,’ Lara laughed, not noticing the speculative look that Abby gave her.
‘In her ideal world I would run a dress shop. Oh, and I would be married to a doctor and have a baby. She is forever saying that I should do something less tiring and messy and her suggestion always seems to be, “If you have to run a shop, why don’t you run a dress shop, sweetheart, you always used to look so nice.”’ Lara poked the final flower in place. ‘Mothers!’
‘In my mother’s case she wished for me to have a more serious turn of mind and she despaired of my passion for fine dresses and beautiful shoes,’ Abby reminisced.
‘I believe I puzzled and disappointed her when I was alive. But when I died I found out that she pulled down all of her glass houses and gave away every one of the beautiful peonies we had tended together.’
Lara did not know what to say. She was almost glad when Abby abruptly changed the subject.
‘Will you be seeing Joe again?’
Lara pricked herself with one of the remaining thistles and winced. ‘I don’t know. He didn’t say anything.’ She paused. ‘He’s hardly likely to ask me out as the last time he did, I said I was going to have a bath. I might as well have said I was washing my hair.’