“How horrible!” said Lee with a shudder in her voice.
“She very nearly brought it off,” said Peter-“very, very nearly. And it might have been you, or me, or Bobby, or Lucinda, or Mavis, or Rush, or even blameless Bingham who had to face the music. It seems to me they could have made out a pretty good case against any one of us. In fact, my dear, the only thing that saved us was the undoubted fact that we couldn’t all have done it. But Bobby certainly did his best to get the rope round his neck. He and Mavis are a pair.”
“Oh,” said Lee, “Lucy has heard from Mavis.”
“Lucy has what?”
“Heard from Mavis in a letter, quite calm, placid and comfortable.”
“Where is she?”
“In Cornwall. She’s quite casual about it, and she doesn’t seem to have any idea that there’s a warrant out for her arrest. She went out on the Friday morning-”
“As per Aunt Gladys-to get a breath of air?”
“Several breaths. And she met Joyce Lennox-you know, the girl with all that money and a Bentley-so Mavis told her what a fuss there had been about Ross, and how frightful Aunt Gladys and Uncle Ernest were, and what a bore the inquest was. And Joyce said, ‘Well, why go to it? Why not hop in and come along down to Cornwall with me?’-just like that. So she did. And neither of them seem to have thought it mattered in the least.”
“Well, I hope they give her six months for contempt of court or whatever it is.”
Lee got up, wandered to the fireplace, looked back over her shoulder.
“I used to think-I very nearly thought-you liked her-”
“Me? My good girl!”
“She would have liked you to.”
“Ross and Bobby not enough for her?”
Lee shook her head very slightly, was caught by the shoulders, and twisted round.
“Why are we talking about Mavis?” said Peter violently. “I haven’t seen you for twenty-four hours, and first we talk about murders, and then we talk about Mavis. I want to talk about Me.”
Lee looked up at him, and felt her colour rise.
“Only you?”
“Me first. Afterwards, if you are very good, we may devote a few moments to you. We begin with me because I shall burst if I can’t get someone to listen to all the things that are positively seething in me about my wedding, my honeymoon-”
“Peter!”
“I shall get a licence. I’ve always liked the sound of a licence-a sort of off-the-deep-end flavour. I don’t know where you get one, but old Prothero will know. I must ring him up. A licence, and a wedding ring-gold, or platinum? Take your time, because you’ll have to wear it all the rest of your life. Honeymoon-I say, that’s an atrocious word if you like-vulgarity incarnate! Cut it out! We’ll go on a wedding journey instead, like the early Victorians. You can have a poke bonnet, and if you insist, I’ll wear a stock. ‘The bridegroom, Mr. Peter Renshaw, looked excessively handsome in a black satin stock. The bride-’ ”
“Peter, are you mad?”
Peter said, “Yes, darling,” and swung her off her feet.
From the doorway Lucy Craddock viewed the scene with indulgence.
“Oh, my dear boy!” she breathed.
Patricia Wentworth
Born in Mussoorie, India, in 1878, Patricia Wentworth was the daughter of an English general. Educated in England, she returned to India, where she began to write and was first published. She married, but in 1906 was left a widow with four children, and returned again to England where she resumed her writing, this time to earn a living for herself and her family. She married again in 1920 and lived in Surrey until her death in 1961.
Miss Wentworth’s early works were mainly historical fiction, and her first mystery, published in 1923, was The Astonishing Adventure of Jane Smith. In 1928 she wrote The Case Is Closed and gave birth to her most enduring creation, Miss Maud Silver.
