didn’t know about this woman.
“Who has taken over the group now?”
He shrugged. “I hope someone has. But she was the driving force. It may have collapsed without her.”
Moving effortlessly to another piece, this one an Irish ballad, the keys rippling softly under light fingers, he fell silent.
Then to my astonishment he said, “There was another man. I don’t think Serena knows. But I saw them together some months before Marjorie’s death. Two? Three? I’m not sure. At any rate, they were in a small restaurant on the outskirts of Rochester. Not a place I’d expect to find her, but I knew her at once. I’d had a flat, you see, and had to wait for it to be repaired. So I’d come to The Black Horse to have something to eat while I waited. There was a girl with me—she was engaged to someone else and worried about gossip. I was taking her back to London for her fiancé, it was completely aboveboard, but you know how people talk.”
I could easily see how that might happen. With trains so crowded and having to wait for troop-train priority, everyone asked for lifts from someone going their way.
“Did Marjorie see you?”
“Oh, yes, I’m sure she did. She was facing the door as I stepped into the room. She looked away at once, and I backed out, telling Nancy I didn’t care for the restaurant after all. I couldn’t see the man she was with. His back was to me, the lights were dim, and there must have been something wrong with the chimney, because there was a smoke haze hanging about. I knew it wasn’t Meriwether, but that’s about it. The man was dark, and looked to be about my height. Before Marjorie saw me, they had their heads together in a way that seemed rather—intimate, if you know what I mean.”
I did. And his description matched that of the man I’d seen. “Could you tell if he was in uniform? Anything to indicate rank or regiment?”
He shook his head. “I was too busy beating a hasty retreat. He could have been—”
And at that critical moment, the door opened and Cynthia came in with Lieutenant Gilbert.
“We heard the music,” she said. “It’s war in there—” She gestured over her shoulder. I could just hear Patricia arguing with Jack Melton about a hand. “We’ve escaped.”
That was the end of a private conversation, but just before lunch, when we had no more than a minute alone, Freddy said, “I can trust you to keep that confidence? I wouldn’t want to hurt Serena.”
“Of course.”
And that was that. I walked over to where Jack was showing off his gun collection. The cabinet was mahogany and lined with a pale velvet. Two prizes were there on display. I’d noticed them before. Jack was just pointing to the early American Colt revolver.
“My uncle went out to the American West to raise cattle. He had a weak chest and he hoped either for a cure or to die of it more quickly out there. To everyone’s amazement, he survived, made a fortune, came back to England, and lived to be seventy-seven.”
Everyone laughed, as they were meant to, and Jack’s hand moved onto a pair of dueling pistols. Halfway there I saw his fingers pause for an instant where the lining was indented but nothing lay in that spot. It was an infinitesimal pause, but I saw the flicker of expression on his face and then he went on smoothly, “These belonged to my great-grandfather. Handsome, aren’t they? He bought them not to kill anyone but because he believed a gentleman ought to own a pair. They were never fired in anger, but I have it on good authority that when he tried them here at the Hall, they pulled slightly to the right, and he missed his target, hit his coachman’s pet goat instead, and there was a terrible uproar. The goat survived, but the tip of one horn was shorter than the other for the rest of its life, and my great-grandfather was required by the magistrate to pay compensation. Only no one could decide on the value of a goat. In the end my great-grandfather paid the
“Who has taken over the group now?”
He shrugged. “I hope someone has. But she was the driving force. It may have collapsed without her.”
Moving effortlessly to another piece, this one an Irish ballad, the keys rippling softly under light fingers, he fell silent.
Then to my astonishment he said, “There was another man. I don’t think Serena knows. But I saw them together some months before Marjorie’s death. Two? Three? I’m not sure. At any rate, they were in a small restaurant on the outskirts of Rochester. Not a place I’d expect to find her, but I knew her at once. I’d had a flat, you see, and had to wait for it to be repaired. So I’d come to The Black Horse to have something to eat while I waited. There was a girl with me—she was engaged to someone else and worried about gossip. I was taking her back to London for her fiancé, it was completely aboveboard, but you know how people talk.”
I could easily see how that might happen. With trains so crowded and having to wait for troop-train priority, everyone asked for lifts from someone going their way.
“Did Marjorie see you?”
“Oh, yes, I’m sure she did. She was facing the door as I stepped into the room. She looked away at once, and I backed out, telling Nancy I didn’t care for the restaurant after all. I couldn’t see the man she was with. His back was to me, the lights were dim, and there must have been something wrong with the chimney, because there was a smoke haze hanging about. I knew it wasn’t Meriwether, but that’s about it. The man was dark, and looked to be about my height. Before Marjorie saw me, they had their heads together in a way that seemed rather—intimate, if you know what I mean.”
I did. And his description matched that of the man I’d seen. “Could you tell if he was in uniform? Anything to indicate rank or regiment?”
He shook his head. “I was too busy beating a hasty retreat. He could have been—”
And at that critical moment, the door opened and Cynthia came in with Lieutenant Gilbert.
“We heard the music,” she said. “It’s war in there—” She gestured over her shoulder. I could just hear Patricia arguing with Jack Melton about a hand. “We’ve escaped.”
That was the end of a private conversation, but just before lunch, when we had no more than a minute alone, Freddy said, “I can trust you to keep that confidence? I wouldn’t want to hurt Serena.”
“Of course.”
And that was that. I walked over to where Jack was showing off his gun collection. The cabinet was mahogany and lined with a pale velvet. Two prizes were there on display. I’d noticed them before. Jack was just pointing to the early American Colt revolver.
“My uncle went out to the American West to raise cattle. He had a weak chest and he hoped either for a cure or to die of it more quickly out there. To everyone’s amazement, he survived, made a fortune, came back to England, and lived to be seventy-seven.”
Everyone laughed, as they were meant to, and Jack’s hand moved onto a pair of dueling pistols. Halfway there I saw his fingers pause for an instant where the lining was indented but nothing lay in that spot. It was an infinitesimal pause, but I saw the flicker of expression on his face and then he went on smoothly, “These belonged to my great-grandfather. Handsome, aren’t they? He bought them not to kill anyone but because he believed a gentleman ought to own a pair. They were never fired in anger, but I have it on good authority that when he tried them here at the Hall, they pulled slightly to the right, and he missed his target, hit his coachman’s pet goat instead, and there was a terrible uproar. The goat survived, but the tip of one horn was shorter than the other for the rest of its life, and my great-grandfather was required by the magistrate to pay compensation. Only no one could decide on the value of a goat. In the end my great-grandfather paid the
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