A Fearsome Doubt by Charles Todd

supposedly taking a nap.”
    Brereton smiled. “I can believe the story. My grandmother told me once that Mrs. Crawford had been quite a heroine. But she denies it.”
    At dinner, they were well into their soup before Masters looked up from his spoon and said, “Mrs. Crawford. I’m told mulligatawny soup is an old Indian specialty.”
    “I shouldn’t know, Mr. Masters. I’ve never been in a kitchen in my life.”
    Rutledge nearly swallowed his soup the wrong way. But Masters took her at her word, and grunted. “Well, I’ve never been one for foreign dishes. Although they tell me the French cook surprisingly well.”
    Bella Masters turned to stare at her husband, and Rutledge caught a shadow of fright in her eyes. Searching in her pocket she found a small vial of powder, and asked the maid for a glass of water. After mixing the two, she handed the glass down to her husband, on the other side of Elizabeth.
    Masters shook his head, and finished the course without saying more, but over the roast of beef, he turned to Rutledge and asked, “Are you here, Inspector, in an official capacity?”
    “No, fortunately. I’m on leave and have come down to visit friends.”
    “Hmm. If the Yard knew what it was about, you’d be looking into these murders of ours.” It was said with a proprietary air, as if they were his own.
    Bella said, “I don’t think we ought to discuss here—”
    “Nonsense,” her husband interrupted. “They’re the talk of the district. You can hardly step into a shop without hearing the whispers!”
    “All the same,” Melinda Crawford put in firmly, “it can wait until the ladies have withdrawn. Elizabeth, I hear you’ve been blessed with puppies. How many did Henrietta produce?”
    “Five,” Elizabeth answered, as Masters said something under his breath. “Would you like one of them? Unless Ian intends to speak up, you have first choice.”
    “I’m afraid not; there’s no garden for a dog at my flat,” Rutledge replied. “Let Mrs. Crawford have her pick.”
    Lydia said, “The children would love one, don’t you think, Lawrence?”
    “Or two, perhaps. They’ll be squabbling constantly over just one,” Hamilton drawled, in mock enthusiasm.
    Brereton laughed. “I’ll take one of them, Mrs. Mayhew. I’ve got a small house, but the garden is walled. A dog should be quite happy there.”
    Masters glared at Brereton. “You’re not taking it home in my motorcar!”
    Elizabeth interposed soothingly, “Their eyes are barely open. It will be weeks before they can leave their mother.”
    Bella nodded to her husband’s glass. The powder was settling to the bottom, no longer in suspension. “Do drink your medicine, my dear. It’s long past time for it!”
    Masters grudgingly picked up the glass, swirled it irritably, and swallowed half of it with a grimace. “I daresay it could be poison, for all I know. But I trust you, my love.”
    She seemed to shrivel before his glare. “It was the doctor who ordered it, Raleigh. Hardly poison!”
    Lydia signaled the maid to remove the dishes. “Well,” she said brightly, “have you heard the gossip? That house on the other side of the church has been bought by someone from Leeds! He made his money in scrap iron during the war, or so they tell me . . .”
    The conversation moved on smoothly, and Bella thanked Lydia with her eyes. The powder, whatever it was, seemed to shift her husband’s mood, and he joined with good humor in the speculation over the newcomer and what effect he might have on village affairs.
    “If he’s a bachelor, every woman within ten miles will be inviting him to dine, in hopes of marrying him off.” Laughter met his comment. “Ask Brereton, here. He’s never at a loss for a way to spend his evenings.”
    Brereton answered, “If he’s a rich bachelor, he’ll have the edge. I’ll be forgotten in a day.”
    “It’s a beautiful house,” Elizabeth commented. “I’m glad someone will live there again.” For