“A cold or the grippe?”
“The latter, I’d say. She was pale and shaky,as I am now after my lumbago attack, and looked feverish. I orderedher to bed and put Miss Partridge and Mrs. Morrisey in charge ofher recovery. It took three or four days, as I recall.”
But not, Cobb mused, to get over thegrippe.
“Thank you, sir. Right now, with yerpermission, I’d like to head upstairs to talk to Edie Barr.”
“Go right on up. She’s in her room, the oneshe shared with Betsy. Meantime, I’ll have Seamus come to thelibrary, where you can speak with him in private. I’ll say nothingto him to prejudice your interview. I only ask that you be tactfuland as gentle as you can. He’s very fragile.”
“I will, sir. And thank you.”
***
Cobb’s first impression of Edie Barr was that shewould have made a perfect Peaseblossom or Mustardseed inShakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. She was blond andblue-eyed with milk-smooth skin and a little-girl figure justburgeoning. The room she had shared with Betsy was spacious andelaborate for a servants’ quarters. A patterned, hooked rug betweentwo cots led to an elderly vanity with a smoky mirror, upon whichsat a wooden jewellery box and several jars and brushes related tofemale face-painting. Beyond the beds was a plain writing-table, aninkstand and a bookcase groaning with books. Edie Barr had got upfrom a padded rocking-chair to meet his knock, one of two suchchairs in the room.
“You’re a policeman!” she said, startled butunafraid. There was an impudent pout to the lower lip that mighthave been permanent and a saucy glint in the eyes that was bothtaunting and invitational at the same time. Cobb could well imaginethis young thing perched on Uncle Seamus’s knee and flapping herjaws in time with the ventriloquist’s risqué one-liners.
“I’m Constable Cobb. No need to befrightened. I just wanta ask you a few questions about yer friendBetsy.”
Edie did not look in the least frightened,but at the mention of Betsy’s name, the impudent lip drooped andsadness filled her face. “She was my best friend,” she said in afaint but high, sweet voice. “My only friend.”
“I’m tryin’ to find out who did that awfulthing to her,” Cobb said in what he hoped was his most earnest,sympathetic tone.
Edie looked startled. “But that was Mrs.Trigger!”
“It was, and we’ll catch up to her soon. ButI’m talkin’ about the man who put her in the family way and mayhave been the one who suggested she get rid of the babe.”
“Oh . . . I see. Betsy was just fifteen.”
“Right. So whoever interfered with her isguilty of – ah . . . rape.” Cobb blushed in spite of a concertedeffort not to.
That grim and whispered word had no visibleeffect on Edie.
“You want to know whether Betsy had any boyfriends?” she said evenly.
“Or anybody who fancied her and might’ve – ah. . . forced himself upon her.”
“So she was ravished!” Edie gasped,and sat back down in the rocker.
Cobb plunked himself down on the bed oppositeher and, while he hadn’t planned to, gave her an edited version ofthe events that had occurred last August, emphasizing the tornadoto fix the date in her mind. She listened, open-mouthed.
Cobb finished and merely waited.
“It must’ve been one of the mill-hands,” shesaid slowly. “Or one of their brothers. There’s scads of youngfellas back home.”
Cobb recalled hearing somewhere that the millfamilies produced offspring who worked on some of the nearby farms.A mill job was considered a plum. “No stranger was seen near theplace,” Cobb pointed out.
“Coulda been hidin’ in the stalls or themow.”
“We figure it was someone who knew Betsywould be goin’ there.” He stared at Edie, the only effect of whichwas to raise her lower lip to impudence.
“Betsy was crazy about horses. Anybody whoknew her, knew that.”
Cobb tried another tack. “Think back to thatday. Were you here when Betsy come back from takin’ lunch to herfather?”
“I always wait fer her in the kitchen becauseshe often snuck a treat outta the lunch Mrs. Morrisey made andsaved it fer me.” Her eyes welled with tears.
“How was she that day?”
“I recollect it ‘cause she was late and hadnothin’ for me. She didn’t look good. She said she was sick. She’dalso fallen down and scraped her knee. Mrs. Morrisey put herstraight to bed.”
Cobb nodded. The details of Betsy’s fatalnoon hour were fast being filled in by unimpeachable testimony andcorroborated evidence. Interviewing witnesses and feeding them onlythe necessary information – techniques developed by the Major andhim – were certainly paying off.
“And she stayed in bed fer two or threedays?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s get back to possible boy friends.”
“But she didn’t have a one!” Edie cried, andthere was just enough personal pride in the remark that she didn’thave to add “like me.”
“Not interested in romance?”
“If she was, she never showed it. She likereadin’ an’ writin’ and connin’ poems.”
“But did you see anyone fancyin’ her,somebody here on a visit, maybe? Plenty of gentlemen come in andoutta this big house.”
“None that I seen.”
Cobb leaned forward. “Do you recall, on thatAugust day, seein’ Mr. Seamus Baldwin about the place?”
The question caught her off-guard, as it wasmeant to. She recovered quickly. “’Course I did. He liveshere.”
Cobb could hear the wheels turning in Edie’spretty head. “I mean at mid-day,” he said.
“He told me he was gonna catch a bigtrout.”
“Down below the mill?”
She looked suddenly wary, sensing perhapswhat Cobb might be leading her towards. “I don’t know nothin’ aboutfishin’ or where he goes, except he went off almost every day inthe summer.”
Cobb was pleased with these responses. Beforeinterviewing Uncle Seamus himself, he felt he needed objectiveevidence of the old gent’s having gone to the Trout Creek ravinesouth of the mill. If he then tried to deny it, Cobb could rightlyclaim he had several witnesses – a gardener and two housemaids -who saw him leave the house. This in turn would strengthen JoeMullins’ claim of having seen the old man in that ravine – withouta fishing pole. If Uncle Seamus tried to say he had gone to theother favoured spot, above the weir, Cobb had statements from themiller and Thurgood that they were working on the weir and wouldhave seen anyone headed up that way to fish.
“Don’t fret, lass, you’ve been very helpful.”Cobb got up to leave, but spied a wooden box partway under Betsy’scot. “What’s this?”
“Oh, them’s Betsy’s things. I packed ‘em up,but her dad hasn’t come fer them yet.”
“Mind if I take a peek?”
“Go ahead,” she said. “I was just gonna tellyou about them anyways.”
Which probably meant that if there had beenanything untoward in the box, Edie had already removed it. Hepulled the box out and sat it beside him on the bed. All itcontained were a few pathetic undergarments, a yellow hair ribbon,an apron with the Baldwin crest on it, and a book of poems. Cobbopened the book of poetry. It was inscribed: “To dear wee Betsy,love, from your Uncle Seamus.” He was pondering the significance ofthis when a letter fell out onto the floor.
Edie gave a little cry of “oh” and tried tolook surprised.
Cobb ignored her and read:
Dear sweetest one:
I know how impossible it is to love one so
far above one’s station. I know also the pain ofwatching you
close up every day of my life. I see your beautiful,manly face,
your shining hair and your glinting eye as you walkever so
elegantly down the stairs each morning. I follow youthrough the
day with my heart aflutter and my breathing stinted.I swoon at