hadn’t got blood on them and they hadn’t been cleaned, by God, in the last fifty years. And the clothes she said “his lordship” wore last night were almost natty. But what was he doing, Mike? Bryant checked on the pub and he wasn’t there. The last bus out of Myfleet goes at nine-twenty, so he wasn’t on that. A boy like Sean Lovell doesn’t traipse about admiring the beauties of nature. He gets too much of that all day long.’
‘Nobody,’ Burden persisted doggedly, ‘is going to make me believe there was anything between him and Mrs Nightingale. That mother of his is no more than the village trollop, if you ask me. “I don’t interfere with him” indeed. That’s just another way of saying you’ve always neglected your child. I know you thinkI’m old-fashioned, sir, and a puritan, but I don’t know what women are coming to these days. Dirty, feckless or immoral, or the whole lot together. First there’s this Mrs Nightingale with her face-lifting and her secret meetings, then there’s that Dutch girl boasting of the way she carries on, and as for Mrs Lovell …”
‘I thought you’d feel that way,’ said Wexford with a kindly smile, ‘and that’s why I’m laying on something respectable for you. We are going to call on a virtuous wife, Mrs Georgina Villiers, who will tell us, I hope, without fainting or assuring us of her broken-hearted devotion to Mrs Nightingale’s memory, just who her friends were and what her nasty brother did to make them loathe each other.’
‘My husband’s gone back to the Manor,’ said Georgina Villiers. ‘He won’t be long.’
‘We should like to talk to you.’
‘Oh, would you?’ Mrs Villiers looked surprised and rather frightened, as if few people had ever wanted to talk exclusively to her. ‘Well, all right.’
She led them by way of porridge-papered hall into a porridge-papered living room. It was as untidy and characterless as its owner, who stood awkwardly before saying in the abrupt voice of a charmless woman, ‘Well, sit down.’
‘We shan’t keep you long, Mrs Villiers. How is your husband after this morning’s shock?’
‘Oh, that. He’s all right now.’ Suddenly she became aware that her visitors wouldn’t sit down before she did and, with a slight nervous laugh, she crossed the room and perched herself on the arm of a chair. ‘Oh, dear. I’d better close the front door. Excuse me, I’ll just do that.’ Wexford noticed that for so thin and slight a woman she had a strong athletic stride. Herlegs, stockingless, were well muscled, tanned a reddish brown.
‘Well, what did you want to ask me?’ Her voice had a brusque barking note, as if she were used to command but not always having her commands obeyed. Hundreds of dark brown freckles peppered her skin, the white vulnerable skin of the auburn-haired. She seemed in her late twenties, a woman who didn’t know how to make herself pretty but who tried. The edelweiss brooch on her blouse collar, the slide in her hair, showed that she tried. ‘My husband—you really should talk to my husband. He won’t be long.’ She eyed the clock rather wildly ‘Quen—my brother-in-law, that is—wouldn’t keep him long. Anyway, what did you want to ask me?’
‘First of all, Mrs Villiers,’ said Burden, ‘did you and your husband come straight back here after your visit to the Manor last night?’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘What did you do when you got home?’
‘We went to bed. We both went straight to bed.’
‘You had been driving the car I saw outside?’ Wexford put in.
Georgina Villiers shook her head so violently that her hair flew out, disclosing unsuitable pendant earrings. ‘We went in Denys’s car. We’ve got two cars. When we got married last year I had a car and he had a car. Only old cars, but we kept them both. They aren’t worth much, you see.’ She managed a feverish, very bright smile. ‘He’s out in his car now.’
‘And yours, I see,’ said Wexford in a
‘Nobody,’ Burden persisted doggedly, ‘is going to make me believe there was anything between him and Mrs Nightingale. That mother of his is no more than the village trollop, if you ask me. “I don’t interfere with him” indeed. That’s just another way of saying you’ve always neglected your child. I know you thinkI’m old-fashioned, sir, and a puritan, but I don’t know what women are coming to these days. Dirty, feckless or immoral, or the whole lot together. First there’s this Mrs Nightingale with her face-lifting and her secret meetings, then there’s that Dutch girl boasting of the way she carries on, and as for Mrs Lovell …”
‘I thought you’d feel that way,’ said Wexford with a kindly smile, ‘and that’s why I’m laying on something respectable for you. We are going to call on a virtuous wife, Mrs Georgina Villiers, who will tell us, I hope, without fainting or assuring us of her broken-hearted devotion to Mrs Nightingale’s memory, just who her friends were and what her nasty brother did to make them loathe each other.’
‘My husband’s gone back to the Manor,’ said Georgina Villiers. ‘He won’t be long.’
‘We should like to talk to you.’
‘Oh, would you?’ Mrs Villiers looked surprised and rather frightened, as if few people had ever wanted to talk exclusively to her. ‘Well, all right.’
She led them by way of porridge-papered hall into a porridge-papered living room. It was as untidy and characterless as its owner, who stood awkwardly before saying in the abrupt voice of a charmless woman, ‘Well, sit down.’
‘We shan’t keep you long, Mrs Villiers. How is your husband after this morning’s shock?’
‘Oh, that. He’s all right now.’ Suddenly she became aware that her visitors wouldn’t sit down before she did and, with a slight nervous laugh, she crossed the room and perched herself on the arm of a chair. ‘Oh, dear. I’d better close the front door. Excuse me, I’ll just do that.’ Wexford noticed that for so thin and slight a woman she had a strong athletic stride. Herlegs, stockingless, were well muscled, tanned a reddish brown.
‘Well, what did you want to ask me?’ Her voice had a brusque barking note, as if she were used to command but not always having her commands obeyed. Hundreds of dark brown freckles peppered her skin, the white vulnerable skin of the auburn-haired. She seemed in her late twenties, a woman who didn’t know how to make herself pretty but who tried. The edelweiss brooch on her blouse collar, the slide in her hair, showed that she tried. ‘My husband—you really should talk to my husband. He won’t be long.’ She eyed the clock rather wildly ‘Quen—my brother-in-law, that is—wouldn’t keep him long. Anyway, what did you want to ask me?’
‘First of all, Mrs Villiers,’ said Burden, ‘did you and your husband come straight back here after your visit to the Manor last night?’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘What did you do when you got home?’
‘We went to bed. We both went straight to bed.’
‘You had been driving the car I saw outside?’ Wexford put in.
Georgina Villiers shook her head so violently that her hair flew out, disclosing unsuitable pendant earrings. ‘We went in Denys’s car. We’ve got two cars. When we got married last year I had a car and he had a car. Only old cars, but we kept them both. They aren’t worth much, you see.’ She managed a feverish, very bright smile. ‘He’s out in his car now.’
‘And yours, I see,’ said Wexford in a
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