The Deathly Portent (32 page)

Mr. Netherburn, coming in just ahead of Ottilia, looked a trifle askance but said nothing. Ottilia wondered at it. She briefly questioned in her mind whether he had the physical strength to drag the dead weight of a body all that distance. Unlikely, she decided. Besides, where was his motive?

Burdened with a laden tray, Patty followed almost upon Francis’s heels, and Ottilia went forward to help the girl lay out the various accoutrements. The earlier reprimand was apparently forgotten, for Patty looked to be on her dignity. Sotto voce under cover of setting out the silver pot and the cream jug while the maid set out the coffee cups, Ottilia asked what was the matter.

“Her’ve no right,” Patty muttered, with a sidelong glance at Miss Beeleigh.

Ottilia had no difficulty in interpreting this cryptic remark. Patty was evidently in a huff that an outsider had taken upon herself the ordering of affairs in the Blue Pig.

“But is it not of use to have a little help from another maid? You cannot do everything.”

“Aye, but bain’t her right,” insisted the maid. “Nor I won’t have that flibbertigibbet Alice a-serving of coffee, not in this house I won’t.”

Had Ottilia not felt so oppressed, she might have been amused by this further evidence of jealousies amongst the village maids. Was Miss Beeleigh’s Alice yet another contender for the affections of Will at the Cock?

Miss Beeleigh herself appeared hardly less high in the instep, for the moment Patty left the coffee room, she shouldered her way to the table, ousting Ottilia, and took charge
again. She had just begun pouring the coffee when the vicar reappeared.

He was looking strained, Ottilia thought, eyeing him as he made the round of greetings and listened to Mrs. Radlett’s expressed dismay. There was a suppressed air about him, as if he fought to maintain his sangfroid. She was just hunting for an innocuous way to ask how he had fared with Cassie Dale when Mr. Netherburn forestalled her, addressing the reverend himself.

“You have been with poor Mrs. Dale? So tragic to have been instrumental in this. Does she feel it unduly?”

Kinnerton’s cheeks grew taut, and reserve entered his voice. “One would scarcely expect it to be otherwise.”

“No, indeed,” chimed in the widow. “Especially when the deed mirrored what she saw in every particular.”

Ottilia glanced at Mrs. Radlett, detecting anxiety underneath the apparent calm.

“Mrs. Dale is much distressed at the outcome,” said the parson on a repressive note. “As are we all.”

“It is perfectly appalling,” stated the widow in a dismayed tone that Ottilia took to be genuine.

Kinnerton glanced around the coffee room. “I am astonished all has been set in order again so quickly.”

“Ah, but we are indebted to Miss Beeleigh for that,” said Ottilia, taking the opportunity to look fully at the latter to gauge her reaction to these references, for she had said little so far of the actual occurrence. “She has loaned her own maid to assist.”

Miss Beeleigh’s almond eyes met Ottilia’s, but they gave nothing away. “Nothing in that. Girl has little else to occupy her. Might as well make herself useful.”

Before any could comment on this, the vicar intervened. “Do you need more help? My housekeeper has recently engaged a new maid for the vicarage—”

Miss Beeleigh’s nose shot skywards. “Jenny Duggleby?
Surprised at you, Vicar. Have you forgot the girl’s father was murdered, too?”

By chance, Ottilia caught another odd change in Mrs. Radlett’s face. It showed for only the briefest moment as she stared at her friend, as if struck by a disconcerting thought. It occurred to Ottilia that this show of sympathy towards a mere maid did not ring with what she had previously judged of Miss Beeleigh’s character. Was there some hidden reason she did not wish the Duggleby girl to enter the Blue Pig?

Puzzled, Ottilia cast her eyes again towards the widow Radlett and found no trace of the look. She had already realised the creature was adept at concealment. But which was the real Radlett? Could it be that her flustered manner was a blind?

Kinnerton had flushed darkly. “You are right, ma’am. I did not think. One would not wish to thrust her into memories which can only be painful.”

Her sympathies stirred for his evident embarrassment, Ottilia smiled at him. “It is as well if no other maid arrives at the Blue Pig, for I fear Patty’s nose is already out of joint.”

A snort came from Miss Beeleigh. “Stupid girl. Ought to be grateful.”

“She has borne much today,” Ottilia said excusingly. “And I had rather see her highty-tighty than bowed down under the blows of fate.”

A grateful look came her way from the vicar. “Indeed. I must go, for I promised Tisbury to be present at the postmortem to ensure his wife’s soul takes a safe exit from this world.”

A brief bow and he was gone, leaving a depressed silence behind him.

Ottilia partook of her coffee, keeping a covert eye upon the three visitors until she felt her spouse’s interest and glanced at him. He was regarding her with a look of question
as if he waited for the direction she chose to take. If only she knew!

She could not readily forget the prominence of this trio in the coffee room upon the fatal day, despite knowing Patty herself had reported the matter elsewhere.

She was startled when Mr. Netherburn broke into the hushed atmosphere.

“You said that Molly was already dead when she was put in this room, Lady Francis. Do you mean she was not killed here?”

The reaction to this could not have been more startling. Miss Beeleigh, who happened to be taking a sip of coffee at the moment, almost choked and was taken with a fit of coughing. The widow Radlett cried out, throwing her hands out in a gesture that nearly upset her cup.

Mr. Netherburn’s glance flew from one to the other, his mouth slack and quivering a little. “Oh dear, I did not mean to startle you. But—but is it not what you meant, Lady Francis?”

Ottilia exchanged a glance with her spouse, who was looking decidedly eager. She nodded.

“Yes, it is exactly what I meant.” She regarded Miss Beeleigh with interest. It was the first occasion upon which she had been seen to be disconcerted. “Are you quite recovered, ma’am?”

The other gave a nod, applying a pocket-handkerchief to her eyes. Her voice was a trifle husky. “Gave me a nasty turn, Horace. What possessed you to come out with that before Evelina? Bad enough as it is. Poor dear has been knocked to flinders by the whole business.”

Ottilia seized on this. “But you seem to have taken it in your stride, ma’am.”

Miss Beeleigh shrugged. “I’m a hardy spirit, but I’ll admit to being considerably shocked. I might add I am relieved to have been spared a particularly gruesome sight.”

“Yes, it was decidedly gruesome,” said Francis, with a gleam in his eye as he flashed a look at Ottilia.

She took the point at once. “Where had you your information about the scene, Miss Beeleigh?”

The woman’s countenance took on its habitual look of superiority. “The way anyone has it in this village. Can’t put your nose outside your own door but the whole populace is aware of it within moments. Everyone is talking of it.” She sniffed. “Thought they were exaggerating, of course, but that appears not to be the case.”

Ottilia recalled the stragglers on the green when she and Francis had been looking for betraying marks—an activity that had not been reported to Miss Beeleigh apparently, since the fact of the body being killed elsewhere came as such a surprise.

Mr. Netherburn was eyeing the widow with some degree of apology in his face. “I had no intention of upsetting you, dear lady. You must forgive my unruly tongue.”

“No, no.” Mrs. Radlett waved a vague hand. “An unfortunate reminder, that was all.” Her troubled eyes swung round to Ottilia. “I supposed you only meant the poor woman was killed in another fashion, not in another place. But I don’t understand. I thought it had been just as Cassie Dale said it.”

“Yes, that is what you were supposed to think,” Ottilia said lightly. “What we were all supposed to think.”

“But it was not so?”

“Far from it. The case is that Molly was enticed from her home by a message. She was killed on the green.”

“Oh no.” The whisper came through pale lips, the widow’s countenance now ashen. “Tricked! Tricked and betrayed.”

“Yes.” Ottilia did not mince her words, aware that Francis was regarding the three as closely as she was herself. “Her body was dragged out of sight around the back of the Blue Pig.”

Mr. Netherburn, looking quite as horrified as the widow,
ventured to complete the picture. “And then brought here to be made to look like Mrs. Dale’s vision.”

“Just so.”

Ottilia could not resist a glance at Miss Beeleigh, who had not spoken throughout this recital. There was a sickened look on her face, and her eyes were narrowed as she caught Ottilia’s glance.

“Disgraceful. Can’t think who would do such a thing.”

“But, why?” cried Mrs. Radlett. “I don’t understand. What had Molly done?”

“Nothing at all,” said Ottilia, “and that is the tragedy. The poor creature was but a scapegoat, used to fasten the guilt upon Mrs. Dale.”

“Horrid! Oh, so horrid!”

Mrs. Radlett’s upset was once again extraordinarily vivid, and Ottilia’s suspicions revived. As if to underline them, Miss Beeleigh got up.

“Going to get you a tot of brandy, Evelina.”

Francis rose swiftly. “I can do that, Miss Beeleigh.”

“Stay where you are, man,” responded the woman almost on a snap. “Do you think I’m incapable of finding my way to the taproom?”

Upon which note, she stalked from the room, leaving Francis lifting his brows at his wife. Ottilia met the look but lost no time in taking advantage of Miss Beeleigh’s absence.

“Pardon me, ma’am, but you seem to be severely dismayed. What part of this business upsets you so?”

The widow’s pale cheeks were overlaid with a sheen of faint colour. “It is so very shocking.”

“Yes, it is.” Ottilia waited, for this was no real answer.

Mrs. Radlett’s lips trembled and parted, her eyes darting this way and that. Ottilia essayed an encouraging note.

“Is there something you wish to ask me, ma’am?”

Her glance stilled, meeting Ottilia’s. Yet she hesitated, and Ottilia gave her a warm smile.

“Come, ma’am. You will be the better for getting it off your chest.”

A little frightened sigh escaped the other. “Is it—is it known who took the message?”

“To Molly, you mean?”

The widow gave a tiny nod. “You said she had a message.”

“So Tisbury said, but he did not know who brought it.”

The widow’s cheeks grew taut, and she spoke tightly, her words only just audible. “It must be found out.”

“I heartily agree with you.” Ottilia eyed the wan cheeks and the fearful look in the woman’s eye. She took the plunge. “Have you any suspicion who it might have been?”

A tinge of pink entered Mrs. Radlett’s pale cheeks, and her gaze widened. “I? No, indeed. How should I know such a thing? I have no notion at all.”

It was said with alacrity, accompanied by such an expression of dismay as gave the lie to her utterance. She had a very valuable suspicion; Ottilia would stake her oath on it. But there was clearly little hope of getting her to reveal as much.

Then Netherburn chose once again to champion the creature, a flush of ruddy colour inflaming his usually urbane features. “How should she possibly know? I declare, Lady Francis, it is too bad of you!”

Before Ottilia could answer this, her spouse cut in, that familiar edge to his voice as he bristled in her defence.

“She is investigating a murder, Netherburn. Two murders, in fact. No possibility can be overlooked.”

Horace Netherburn rose and faced him, thrusting out a jaw. “I daresay, Lord Francis. But to imply that Mrs. Radlett had something to do with this affair—”

“Did I so imply?” put in Ottilia mildly.

He champed a little, reminding her irresistibly of Lord Henbury. At last he sighed out a defeated breath. “Not in so many words, I grant you.”

“It makes no matter, Horace,” uttered the widow in a stronger tone, instantly giving away the warmer relationship
that clearly existed between them. “She must ask. I see that.” Her eyes turned again upon Ottilia, showing a resumption of control. “I wish I might help you. But I know nothing, nothing at all.”

Ottilia smiled in a friendly way and picked up the coffeepot. “May I refresh your cup, Mrs. Radlett? Coffee has such a calming effect, do you not find?”

The widow looked a trifle disconcerted at the change of subject, but she accepted the offer, and for several moments there was silence as both Mrs. Radlett and Mr. Netherburn, partaking of a cup of coffee to replace his empty tankard, took refuge in the opportunity to diverge from the urgent topic that was occupying every mind.

Netherburn was still standing, and Ottilia was amused to see the elderly gentleman’s attempt to overcome his evident discomfort with a pretence of watching the village through the window.

“What is the matter, Evelina?”

Startled, Ottilia turned her head to discover Miss Beeleigh standing in the doorway, a glass in her hand and a frown directed upon her friend. The creature surged towards the widow.

Out of the corner of her eye, Ottilia was surprised to see Mrs. Radlett cringing away, fear in her eyes. By the time Ottilia was able to look at her fully, there was nothing in her demeanour to indicate that this had happened.

“It is nothing, Alethea,” she was saying, quite in her usual manner. Her eye turned on the glass. “Is that brandy? Oh, thank you, but the coffee has done much to calm me.”

Ottilia was forced to conclude either that she had been mistaken, or that Mrs. Radlett was more of an actress than she had supposed. Was she a little afraid of her friend? Or had she a deal more to hide than Ottilia had thought? At this juncture, the notion of Evelina Radlett in the role of murderer did not appear as far-fetched as Lady Ferrensby had made out.

“Good Gad! What in the world is to do?”

Mr. Netherburn’s exclamation, uttered in stronger accents than Ottilia had ever heard him use, took the attention of the whole company.