“You’re not about to resort to violence, I trust?”
Again the grin. “Ah, now, you know we don’t condone violence. In fact, it’s because we’re worried about the unorganized protesters lurking about Government House and the jail that we’re going ahead with our own peaceful march. By tomorrow, they’ll be redundant.”
Marc thanked him for his time and his candour and headed for the door.
“Say, you don’t happen to need any tackle for that new pony of yours, do you?”
Before reporting in at Baldwin House, Marc drove up to Smallman’s to have lunch with Beth. Rose Halpenny always had a pot of stew on her stove upstairs and shared it with Beth and the hired help in the workroom. Everyone was being inordinately cheerful today in an effort to keep Dolly’s spirits from flagging, but eventually Marc was able to draw Beth aside and, in the adjoining shop, give her a synopsis of his morning at Chepstow. There was nothing upbeat in his account.
“So it doesn’t look too good, I take it.” Beth said.
“The only hope I have at the moment is to get to the Stanhope women. If someone in that household poisoned Coltrane, I’ve got to discover their motive, one so compelling that they couldn’t wait for the victim to be hanged. There’s faint chance I’ll be allowed to see them soon, but I’ve got to try.”
“Not necessarily,” Beth said with a twinkle.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that I could talk to the Stanhope women for you.”
Marc blinked.
“Mrs. Halpenny and I are due up at Chepstow at two o’clock. We’ve got Patricia’s dress finished, and Rose is taking a box of hats for Almeda to choose from.”
“But don’t they usually come here?”
“The colonel’s forbidden them to leave the house.”
“I see,” Marc said, mulling over this opportunity. “Do you think you can get one or both of them to open up?”
“It’s more likely they’d tell me about their troubles than a man. We spend a lot of time in the fitting room here listening to the heartaches of half the women in town. And they don’t need much prompting.”
“I believe you can do it,” Marc said with real enthusiasm. Then he made the mistake of glancing anxiously at the bulge in Beth’s dress.
She smiled indulgently. “Don’t worry, love. I’m plannin’ to take the baby with me.”
• • •
Robert was waiting for Marc in the hall of Baldwin House with welcome news. Richard Dougherty had agreed to take the case.
“I must confess I’m surprised,” Marc said, as they turned into the suite of rooms reserved for the legal side of the Baldwin enterprise and headed for Robert’s chamber. “Why do you think he’d take on the task of defending a local man accused of killing one of his own countrymen?”
“He didn’t say. I had several cogent pleas rehearsed, but he said yes before I could deploy them.”
They entered the cozy confines of the office-cum-library and its heartening fire.
“Personally, I think he just decided he was getting bored with trying to eat himself to death.”
“Will he be coming here for conferences?”
Robert gave the half smile that was characteristic of a man who remained, through thick and thin, the cautious optimist. “I doubt it. He’s asked that all relevant documents, including any written reports from you, be couriered to his home-which means his chair. I shall be summoned occasionally for oral debriefings.”
Marc sat down opposite Robert and proceeded to recount in some detail the results of his morning’s efforts. When he had finished, Robert said nothing for some time; then, “I’d say our best bet is the mysterious Mrs. Jones.” It was typical of him not to dwell on the negatives, of which there were many.
“They do say that poison is a woman’s weapon,” Marc mused. “And it’s conceivable that she and Lardner Bostwick, the former jailer, are somehow in league.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, Shad implied he hadn’t seen her before, but the ease with which she seems to have gained entry suggests she may have been there previously-without having to sign in or be vetted by the colonel. That is, Bostwick may have been letting her in without telling Shad or Stanhope.”
“Well,” said Robert, ever pragmatic, “there’s no sense in speculating about the woman until we know whether there really is a Mrs. Jones from Streetsville.”
“What are the odds of finding out?”
“Quite fair. My father’s man Cummings has a brother in Streetsville who serves as the local postmaster. I’ll have Cummings drive out there right away. If any Joneses do reside in the township, he’ll know.”
“Excellent. Now tell me, have you seen Billy?”
“I have. He’s been pathetically forthcoming, but nothing he has to say is in any way helpful. He did admit tumbling about in the hallway, but since he won’t be allowed to testify in his own behalf, we’ll let the prosecution try to prove that.”
“In that regard, it is the Stanhope women who may have been closest to Billy when he tumbled, and who could be critical to our defense.”
“But the colonel is keeping both women locked up?”
“Not for long. While I’m busy here writing up notes for Doubtful Dick, Beth and Rose Halpenny will be delivering hats and a dress to Chepstow. Beth is hoping to wheedle some useful information from Patricia and her mother.”
Robert frowned. “Do you think that’s wise?”
“I never underestimate my wife.”
Beth was shown into the sewing room by Absalom Shad. Mrs. Halpenny was then led farther down the hall to the parlour, where she would display the bonnets and cloches she had brought for Almeda Stanhope’s inspection. This arrangement suited Beth fine. Shad had stared at her extended abdomen as if an opossum or kangaroo might pop out at any second, and Beth was still smiling when the door closed behind her and she came face-to-face with the young debutante.
“I’ve brought your ball gown, Patricia,” she said. “Mrs. Halpenny’s done a splendid job on it.”
“Then she’s wasted her efforts,” Patricia declared. She was standing in the middle of the room with a fierce frown creasing her brow and her arms akimbo. Her feet were planted some distance apart, as if she were bracing for an onslaught she was doubtful of being able to resist. Her lower lip trembled. “I am sorry you had to come all the way out here, Mrs. Edwards, but I won’t be needing that dress.”
“You’re not going to the gala?”
Her collapse was sudden and spectacular. Her hands flew to her face; all the rigidity went out of her body like air out of a balloon. Her legs shook and seemed about to fold under her. Beth dropped the dress box, stepped across the room, and grasped the girl, who promptly fell into her arms and commenced sobbing. Beth made soothing noises and led Patricia to a padded settee. They both sat down.
“What on earth has happened?” Beth said softly. “I knew you were not keen to go tomorrow night when you came into the shop for your fittings, but surely it can’t be the dance that’s upset you like this.”
When Patricia’s sobbing had subsided enough to permit speech, she blurted, “No. It’s much worse than that. Much worse.”
“But of course, you and your mother have had a terrible thing happen right here in your own house. How could I have forgotten that?”
Patricia gave out a single sob of acknowledgement but no further response.
“Mr. Coltrane was, I’m told, a wicked man, but still, to have him-”
The ravaged young face swung up, eyes ablaze through tears. “Caleb was not wicked! He was the most beautiful, the most honest, the gentlest man I’ve ever known!”
Beth realized that she had struck home with her first probe. She took Patricia’s hand and waited for the weeping to work itself out. The burst of umbrage had sapped the last of the girl’s strength. She wept quietly, and Beth could see, beyond the redness of her eyes and puffed cheeks, the purple streaks that signalled a sleepless night.