The Tramwells weren’t looking at me. They were staring at Magdalene, who sat there like a broken-winged sparrow. Somewhere in the house Sweetie howled.
“The voice didn’t say ‘Do you want your husband murdered?’ ” The movement of her lips made the rest of Magdalene seem abnormally still. “It said, ‘Do you ever dream of having your husband murdered?’ I thought it was Reggie trying to lure me out of the house in the middle of the night. I was told to bring money or jewelry and a signed note saying it was blood money and hide them in a statue in the churchyard.”
“The dues.” Hyacinth’s earrings bobbed as she wrote.
Magdalene kept staring straight ahead. “I didn’t know what to do. If I notified the police, they might capture Reggie in the churchyard, but what if he started shooting? How could I guess the voice was talking about murdering my son? Giselle hadn’t thought to confide in me. His own mother the last to know! I still can’t believe it. When I picked up the phone, the voice asked for Mrs. Eli Haskell…” Her voice wound down, and she stared at me. “Oh, I think I see… Mrs. Ellie…”
It was exactly the sort of bungle I might have made. Butler pressed a glass of brandy into Magdalene’s limp hand. “I must be going senile,” she sighed. “First the wrong convent and now this. I… I signed that note Mrs. E. Haskell.” She reached into her cardigan pocket for a handkerchief.
“Nonsense.” Hyacinth eyed her imperiously. “You-a woman stalked by an unscrupulous villain-pick up the phone to hear the word murder. What could you be expected to think? And to all proper-thinking people, Mrs. Ellie Haskell is an error of address, but”-a mild shudder-”these people don’t think like us.”
Magdalene held her nose and downed her brandy. “I have to blame myself. Perhaps if I hadn’t come here, been such a burden, none of this would have happened.” She set down her glass and squared her shoulders. “I have something to confess to you, Giselle, and, later, to Father Padinsky. I don’t have any jewelry other than my wedding ring, so I took… stole your engagement ring. Naturally, I don’t expect you ever to understand…”
I stood and glared down at her. “Will you stop with this nonsense! That was a ring well spent if it saved Poppa’s life, or if you thought it would. Now, can we stop talking about trivia, please, and decide how we are going to keep Ben from being murdered!”
Her eyes spun. When she revived, they gleamed with determination. Primrose signalled for Butler to fetch more brandy.
“My dear Magdalene, if I may so presume to address you, I do hope you do not think Flowers Detection is minimizing your personal plight, but kidnapping, whilst most annoying, is scarcely as onerous as murder.”
“It would take a very selfish mother to put her own safety ahead of that of her son, and I am sure Giselle would not intentionally have given you such a view of me.” Magdalene, hair wisping around her set face, was back in form. Primrose and Hyacinth made admiring noises.
Despair had me by the fetlock again. I stood up, drew the curtains against the gathering of evening, and spied a protrusion of tail over the edge of the bookcase. Reaching for Tobias, I buried my hands in his fur. Eyes on Abigail’s portrait, I said, “It is clear to me what must be done to unmask The Founder and I am entirely prepared to face the risks involved. But in the meantime, how do we keep Ben safe? The widows won’t fold up their weapons and go away. Remember Vernon Daffy? They tried and tried again until the third time was the charm.”
Magdalene sat on the rim of her chair. “Far be it from me to interfere, Giselle, but if you insist… Why not phone up one of these wicked women and say, being careful not to give offence, that you’ve changed your mind. Say that Ben-oh, it breaks a mother’s heart to think of the horrid things being said about him-has changed his ways, thrown Frederick over, so you’ve decided to keep him.”
Primrose shook her silvery head. “I seriously doubt that backing out would be permitted at this stage. The risks to the club would be too great.” She turned to me. “Indeed, Ellie, Ben must be hidden until all is safe once more. What a pity, Hyacinth”-she dimpled at her sister-“that we are not at Cloisters; the priest hole would be perfect.”
Abigail’s eyes smiled serenely down at me. “No more perfect than a dungeon.” The Tramwells looked a little envious as I explained.
“I think we should explore the dungeons as soon as possible.” Hyacinth rapped with her pen on the green notebook. “But first, Ellie, let us make sure we understand your plan.”
Magdalene lowered her head onto her hands. “This will be Purgatory for my dear boy with his claustrophobia.”
I couldn’t answer her. My throat felt like straw. In attempting to save Ben’s life, I knew I stood to lose him. Could he ever forgive me for this? If only I had talked to him, but the time for talking had been lost somewhere along the way.
“My plan is what you, Hyacinth and Primrose, hoped for all along.” I let Tobias slide out of my hands. “Ann showed us the way. Can any of us doubt she got herself killed because she committed the unforgivable sin of asking The Founder to murder Bunty Wiseman so that she could make a play for Lionel? Therefore I must make a similar request. But what man shall I say I want at any cost, and what female stands in need of being removed from my path?”
Primrose watched me solicitously. “If Bentley hadn’t been so charming, you and that handsome vicar would certainly have made a splendid couple.”
“Rowland really isn’t my type.” I was remembering with a bitter pang that moment of emotional infidelity at Abigail’s. “But-yes, I will telephone Mrs. Bottomly (I suspect from something Ann said that she is the president) and say that Ben has left me and ask her to put before The Founder my request that my cousin Vanessa be removed because she would make a terrible vicar’s wife and I wouldn’t.”
“Oh delightful!” Primrose leaned back in her chair with a contented sigh. “This should bring the same swift retribution meted out to Mrs. Delacorte.”
Hyacinth folded up the green notebook. “The vicar is on holiday, but I see no reason to inform him on this matter. As I see it, the danger to Vanessa is nonexistent, but I suppose it would be courteous to inform her that her name is being used in this matter; an ideal time, perhaps, for her to leave the country.” Hyacinth looked at me.
“At my expense, naturally.”
“As for Ben’s whereabouts, I believe that Flowers Detection can supply a credible fabrication to be put into circulation. We have in the course of our research discovered something interestingly unpleasant about Mr. Sidney Fowler.” Hyacinth’s lips formed a complacent crescent. “He is a bigamist.”
Magdalene winced. “This will kill his mother. How… how many wives?”
“A lot,” Primrose answered. “But, to give credit where credit is due, it would seem he came down to this obscure village and made a valiant attempt to fight his beastly urges. But Bentley”-she raised a finger at me-“all unwittingly, asked him to be best man at your wedding, Ellie, and at the sight of orange blossoms and bridal cake, old temptations must have flooded back. Mr. Fowler thirsted for the excitement of being once again a bridegroom. He put an advertisement in The Daily Spokesman. Perhaps none of his customers appealed or he didn’t believe in mixing business with pleasure.”