“Talk belowstairs is that Pamela was having an affair with Simon Davies. I have no idea whether that’s true or not, but the rumor alone might cause someone to poison her.”
“Let me guess—Beckett is your source.”
“Naturally. I expect you’ll want to talk to her.”
Dev hoped Bob wouldn’t mind—Beckett was always good for a laugh. She might be just a maid, but there was no “just” about her. “Was Lady Fernald’s husband aware?”
Lady Adelaide shrugged. “I have no idea, and I’m not about to ask him and presume on our friendship. He has enough to worry about.”
“You don’t think he killed his wife?”
She looked at him with scorn. “Of course not! He loved her, would do anything for her. Why, he just bought her three horses.”
A betrayed husband was always a prime suspect. Hell, one didn’t even have to be betrayed. Husbands killed their wives with alarming frequency for all sorts of reasons. Burnt toast. Mismatched socks. A sharp retort. The horses could be a cover-up for his nefarious intentions.
“Besides,” she continued, “as you know, he has great difficulty getting around. He wasn’t anywhere nearby when she was found, and his valet can vouch for him.”
“Not if they were in it together,” Dev replied, enjoying the shock on Lady Adelaide’s face.
“People like Hugh…” she trailed off, realizing her mistake. In Dev’s opinion, almost everyone was capable of murder if pushed far enough.
Chapter Five
Addie tried to inform Inspector Hunter of the particulars as she knew them but felt as if she cast her pearls before an especially handsome swine. It wasn’t her fault if it took him twice as long to get the lay of the land. He didn’t even pull out his notebook—which she presumed was a brand new one after what happened to the old one—to take down what she said when she barged into his room.
Of course, he was very smart. She caught sight of the books on his bedside table in his stark little room. Philosophy and religion. She’d shoot herself if she had to read such dull stuff. But then, Inspector Hunter had been shot at least twice that she knew of, so perhaps his mind was affected with the vagaries of existence. One wanted to look at the Big Picture. It was probably good training for all the tedious and technical things he dealt with in the course of an investigation. Venality. Immorality. Pure evil.
Human nature was the very devil, wasn’t it? And the devil was in the details.
He didn’t ask her to sit in with him while he questioned Hugh’s friends, either. In fact, he told her to take a walk and enjoy the day, and here she was.
Not that she could really blame him. Before Saturday morning, she hadn’t met any of them except for Hugh’s family and Lucas.
Addie kicked a rock out of her way. She headed for the new folly area through the tidy knot garden and wondered if it would be completed now that Pamela was dead. Simon Davies had aged a decade since yesterday, causing Addie to believe there was something to the gossip. But he did not seem like a Lothario to her; instead, he was courtly, almost fatherly.
Maybe Pamela just needed a wise older friend, and really was just going over horticultural designs in the wee hours of the morning, despite what Beckett said.
Rupert kicked the rock back, as if he was playing a ghostly game of football. “Penny for them.”
“I don’t have any thoughts,” she said crossly. “I’ve been dismissed.” And apparently saddled with her late husband, who had stuck to her like a barnacle when she’d left the house to clear her head.
Fat chance of that with Rupert around.
“Now, now. No gentleman likes to be told how to do his job, especially by a woman.”
“I wasn’t telling him how to do his job! And women are every bit as capable as men, I’ll have you know. Perhaps more so. We’re not starting wars and blowing up things willy-nilly.”
“I know. We’ve made a muck of things for centuries. I’m sure you were only trying to be helpful. However, the good inspector has succeeded on the force for over a dozen years without you, my dear. You mustn’t have hurt feelings.”
“My feelings aren’t hurt!” Addie lied quite loudly. Fortunately, there was not a soul in sight. The guests were indoors all waiting to be interviewed, and the staff was busy dusting and making up beds and getting a decent luncheon on the table, despite the fact their mistress was dead.
Rupert waggled his finger at her, a most annoying trait. “And, really, you know, a lady never goes to a gentleman’s bedroom uninvited. What would your mother say?”
Addie had been trying to get her mother’s voice out of her head for a good twenty-five years. Rupert’s wasn’t much better.
“Put your finger away. It’s not as if I tried to seduce him. I was entirely business-like.” Look at her! A veritable drudge. Long twill skirt, a loose lisle sweater set, her oldest shoes. True, she’d brushed her hair, but Addie looked like a governess.
Or someone’s unmarried great-aunt.
“You carried a scurrilous tale. Servants’ gossip,” he sniffed.
“When did you get so virtuous?” Addie asked.
Rupert examined his fingernails. “I really don’t know. It’s come upon me very late, as I’m sure you would agree.”
“Too late,” she muttered. “I wish you’d figure out how to get into Heaven. These constant intrusions into my life are revolting.”
“Revolting! That’s unkind. Now I’ve got the hurt feelings. Does it mean nothing to you that I’ve kept you out of jail and saved your life from crazed killers? And you could have broken your pretty coccyx or worse if you hadn’t landed on my lap yesterday, you know.”
“You took your own sweet time with the murderers. I might have been killed!”
“I’ll have you know I was very punctual. And you weren’t killed, were you? Here you are, not a scratch on you, bum intact.”
“Never mind about my bum!”
“One of your best features. You should be happy I’ve turned up. You’ll have another shot at Hunter now. Another shot! Get it?”
And with this very lame joke, he disappeared from the grassy path.
“Revolting!” she shouted after him. Damn Rupert. Not that she wanted him to head to the nether regions anymore. Addie had to admit he was somewhat improved now that he was dead. He’d always been horribly handsome, and was still, if a little pale. Loaded with charm. The life of the party.
The last, at least, was no longer true.