Chapter Nine #3
Both women dissolved into giggles, trailing off when they realized that Fiona and I had not caught on to the joke.
“Don’t pay us any mind,” Mrs. Digby said. “Beatrice has more spirit than her sainted mother, is all.”
“True enough,” Tillie said with a shake of her head. “Ada must be a saint to put up with that husband of hers.” She quickly brought a hand to her lips and muttered something about speaking ill of the dead.
“Are you at all familiar with Mr. Isaac Penhollow? Dr. Penhollow’s brother?” I asked.
Both ladies snapped their jaws shut and exchanged blank looks. After a remarkable moment of silence, Mrs. Digby shook her head. “I’ve met him at least once, but he’s not local and doesn’t patronize the businesses in the village when he is here. He comes about twice a year to visit the family.”
“That might have been him I saw riding down the street yesterday afternoon,” Tillie mused. “Chestnut horse, proper-looking gentleman. Seemed like a nice sort. Tipped his hat when he saw me.”
“I’ve never heard anything against him,” Mrs. Digby said, looking rather put out at having to admit such a thing.
“But Dr. Penhollow was another story. So full of himself. Right from the first, he was pushing himself forward. At the church meetings, at the village meetings, he wanted everyone to shift over to his way of thinking. As if he had all the answers.”
Tillie let out a tsk. “We live our lives at a slower pace than you city folk. He put people’s backs up.” She made a gesture with her hand, as if to slow us down. “Now, I ought not to repeat gossip, but the truth is, what else can you do with it?”
She looked as if she actually expected an answer. After glancing at Fiona and Hetty, I simply lifted my brows. “I can’t think of anything.”
“Of course not,” Mrs. Digby said. “These ladies are looking for information, Til. You are helping them.”
That was all the encouragement Tillie needed. “Well, Joshua Penhollow, when he was living here just over two years, put hisself forward for the office of coroner. Now, I suppose his manners would go over better with folk as have passed on …”
“Because most of the living wouldn’t even consider calling on him to treat an ailment,” Mrs. Digby said, finishing the sentence and struggling to hold back a chortle.
“Nevertheless,” Tillie said, “Owen Timms was a much better candidate for the office.”
“Isn’t he a solicitor?” How Fiona managed to slip those words into the sisters-in-law’s stream of conversation I’d never know.
“Yes, yes. That’s how Dr. Penhollow managed to convince the council that he was the superior candidate.
” Tillie waved a hand in the air. “With his understanding of human anatomy. Maybe he was good with anatomy, but if the man had any understanding of humans, I’ve never seen it.
And isn’t that what a coroner really needs when he’s trying to decide who might have had cause to murder a man? ”
I had barely parted my lips before she forged ahead. Honestly, these women required nothing of their conversation partners.
“Not that I believe Owen Timms would ever think for one moment of killing the man. Why, I can’t imagine such a thing. But you asked how Dr. Penhollow was regarded in these parts, so I’m telling you.”
She certainly was.
Mrs. Digby frowned. “I wouldn’t say he was respected for his medical expertise, either. Half the village would sooner travel to the doctor in Aylsham if they’re in need of a doctor. That’s what I do.”
“We’re lucky to have Dr. Bertram there,” Tillie agreed.
“Dr. Penhollow has taken care of some emergencies though,” Mrs. Digby said with a thoughtful frown. “And to be fair, I have to credit him with not killing anyone in the process.”
“I see—” I managed before Tillie cut in.
“Unless you count Martha Rallison,” she said. “And some do.”
“What happened with her, Miss Digby?” I asked, ignoring the pinch Fiona gave my arm.
Hetty was leaning on the counter with her eyes half closed, as if she were minutes from falling asleep.
Yes, listening to the Digby ladies was tedious, but considering how I’ve often had to pry information out of people word by painful word, they were also something of a treat, for which I was very grateful.
Tillie smiled. “You ought to call me Tillie,” she said.
“And I’m Dotty,” Mrs. Digby said. “Dorothy, if you aim to be formal.” Her expression softened as she gazed out past me.
“Martha was the kindest woman you’d ever meet.
Much like Ada Penhollow, but with a livelier spirit.
The three of us are of an age, now that I think of it.
” She focused on me. “Fifty and seven, if you’re wondering.
Old enough to have collected some fond memories, but still young enough to make more.
” She bit her lip, and Tillie placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Except for Martha.” Tillie picked up the story.
“She had some sort of infection of the lung last winter. Couldn’t get over it.
Well, after nigh on two months, she called on Dr. Penhollow.
He examined her and treated her with some patent medicine.
Not long after that, she died. Some say she was well on her way as it was, but the family says he helped her along. ”
“They think Dr. Penhollow killed her?” I asked.
“Maybe.” Dotty compressed her lips. “You see, they were against the treatment, but Martha had faith in the doctor, so she followed his instructions. It’s possible they might have wished the man dead, but the family are good God-fearing people.
Besides, I don’t think they’d trouble themselves to venture out in the storm to do the deed themselves. No gumption.”
From the corner of my eye, I saw a man step behind the counter from a back door and cast a glance our way. “Dotty, for the love of all things holy, that’s enough mardle.”
“I’m afraid you must lay the blame on us, Mr. Digby,” Fiona said. “We’re very concerned about Dr. Penhollow’s death. In the absence of Sergeant Hewitt and his constables, we thought we’d begin to gather evidence for him. My husband is the magistrate, you know.”
Mr. Digby compressed his lips. “I doubt Constable Ellis’ll stir himself to help, but you’ll get naught but mardle from those two.”
“Actually, they’ve been very helpful.” I presumed mardle meant “gossip.” I could understand that the man grew tired of his wife and sister’s constant blathering, but there was no reason to insult them in public.
“Well, I can’t afford their chin-wagging anymore today, when there’s work to be done.”
“And what would you know about work to be done?” I was pleased to see Dotty uncowed by her husband’s demands.
“It’s nearly noon, and we need to get the post to the train station, and that means our orders from Norwich, too.” He wiggled his fingers. “You know how you get whenever I touch the post.”
“He’s right, ladies,” Dotty said, already propelling Tillie down the length of the counter toward the door in the back. “I don’t like anyone touching my post. I am the postmistress, after all. But come back later, if I can be of any further assistance.”
“You know you’ll have to show me how to do the post sooner or later, Dot,” Tillie said as they moved away.
“I’ll take later. Thank you very much,” she replied.
The glare Mr. Digby gave us before turning to tally up the cost of Rose’s and Grace’s purchases told me he would prefer that we did not return.
Unfortunately, I thought we might have to do just that.
Dotty had implied that the Rallison family wouldn’t stir themselves to murder Dr. Penhollow.
Why would she say that, unless she thought there was someone else they might engage to do so?
That might be speculating too far, but I definitely had the impression Dotty Digby had left something important unsaid.