Don Gutteridge - The Widow's Demise

“And got yourself in Dutch with yoursuperior.”

“I can handle that okay.”

“Do you really think one of the suitors couldhave done it?”

“I wouldn’t put it past ‘em. Both Trueman andLacy were really after the lady – and her money.”

“She was rich?”

“A fortune left to her by her husband when hedied.”

“But surely they’re more likely to eliminateone another?”

“They tried to. They were all set to fight aduel when Wilkie and me arrived in time to break it up.”

“I see. So passions were running high?”

“But after I broke up the duel, the two ofthem cozied up to each other, like they’d been friends. I don’t getit.”

“Maybe they realized the lady was playingthem both for fools.”

“Well, it seems she was an awful flirt. Sheeven flirted with Cecil Denfield, a married man.”

“And you interviewed him?”

“I did. But he has no real motive. He’s wellmarried and has lots of dough.”

“Still, you never can tell.”

“My money’s on Macy right now. He’s a chemistand can get all the acid he needs. And the glove fits.”

“As it did on Trueman, you say,” Marc said,relighting his pipe. “It’s useful but only as circumstantialevidence.” He paused and then said, “You mentioned a ConstanceBrown.”

“Oh, yeah. She was Macy’s fiancée until hejilted her in favour of the widow.”

“You think she might have blamed the otherwoman?”

“It’s possible. I do intend to interview herto see if I can tell what her feelings were, and whether she’d becapable of throwin’ acid in a rival’s face.”

“At least she’s unlikely to complain to ChiefBagshaw.”

Cobb smiled. “I’m through rufflin’feathers.”

“Of course, Gilles’s story, as he told it tome, is that he saw a man running off when he arrived on the scene.But it was dusk and he could have been mistaken. All I need for avigorous defense are people to cast suspicion upon. And you’vegiven me a number so far.”

“How is Gagnon holdin’ up?”

“As well as could be expected, given the grimcircumstances and the fact that he has been wrongly accused. Louisvisits him twice a day.”

“It must be affectin’ yer election?”

“I must admit that it is. The race is neckand neck at this time, and I put the blame on the anti-Frenchsentiment stirred up by Gagnon’s arrest and the intimidationtactics of the opposition.”

“But Louis will win?”

“I hope so.” Marc knocked the ashes out ofhis pipe. Cobb’s was still going.

“Well, there’s a ways to go yet,” Cobbsaid.

“By the way, you mentioned you talked toVera, the lady’s maid. Did you approach the other servants by anychance?”

“No, I didn’t get around to it. But Vera wasthe last person to see the victim alive.”

“It’s possible one of the other servants waslooking out a front window and saw something important. Or theymight have seen the man running away around the side of thehouse.”

“I hadn’t thought of that. Looks like I’llhave to make another trip to Rosewood.”

“Be careful, Cobb. And stay away fromHumphrey Cardiff. He is very much involved in this case – as youcan imagine – and he has set a trial date for a week from Monday.So we haven’t a lot of time to build up a defense.”

“It would be nice to find the real murdererbefore the trial begins.”

“I am in your hands,” Marc said.

***

Early the next day Cobb went to Constance Brown’splace. Constance Brown herself answered his first knock. Before himstood a plump woman in her mid-thirties. Her ginger hair wasuntamed and her blue eyes were sharp and searching.

“What do you want?” she said shortly.

“I’m lookin’ fer Miss Constance Brown.”

“Well, you’ve found her. Now, what are youselling?”

“I’m with the police. I’m not sellin’anythin’.”

“I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“I need to ask you a few questions about thedeath of Mrs. Cardiff-Jones.”

The blue eyes blazed. “That tramp. Goodriddance to her.”

“You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead,” Cobbsaid, shocked.

“I had nothing to do with her, dead oralive.”

“May I come in?”

“It’ll have to be to my rooms. I only renthere. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t disturb thelandlady.”

Cobb followed her quietly down a dingy hallwith a threadbare carpet, at the end of which she opened and doorand ushered Cobb into a cramped sitting-room.

“Have a seat,” she said, sitting herself downin a plush chair. “I can’t offer you tea as I’m only allowed to usethe kitchen at mealtimes.”

“That’s all right. I’ll just be a minute ortwo.”

Constance waited patiently for Cobb to begin,her hands folded in her lap, her blue eyes staring him down. Sheseemed to Cobb to be a very self-possessed and determinedwoman.

“I understand you were once engaged to Mr.Horace Macy.”

Constance flushed at the name. “I was.Once.”

“And the engagement was broken off?”

“Summarily – by Mr. Macy,” she said with atrace of bitterness still in her voice.

“You expected to marry soon?”

“The banns had been read twice.”

“You must’ve been upset?”

“Of course I was. I had no inkling he’d goneand fallen for that tramp.”

“He fell in love with Mrs. Cardiff-Jones, thewidow?”

“Fell in love with her money. He was in lovewith me. But as you can see, I’m not rich by any means, nor is myfamily in London. I teach school and earn my bread.”

“And Mr. Macy needed money fer hisbusiness?”

“He was an inept chemist, but at one time alovable man. But what has all this to do with the death of thewoman? I heard that acid was thrown in her face and that you havethe culprit in jail.”

“We’re just tyin’ up some loose ends,” Cobbsaid blandly.

“Well, I wasn’t anywhere near Rosewood thatnight.”

“Oh. Where were you?”

Constance eyed him closely and said in a firmvoice, “I was here in my sitting-room all evening, doingschoolwork.”

“All by yerself?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Yer landlady didn’t come in and seeyou?”

“No. I was here alone. But I was here.”

“As you say.”

“You don’t think it was me who threw acid atthat Jezebel?”

“No . . . no.”

“I hated her with a passion, but not enoughto harm her. I’m not a violent person. And I blame him more thanher.”

“And I believe you, ma’am. Thanks fer yerhelp.”

Cobb made his way out to the street. He wasnot convinced that Constance Brown was not capable of murder.

***

This time Cobb went around to the back door ofRosewood. He didn’t want to confront Diggs, the butler, if he couldhelp it. It was lunch time, and Cobb expected to find the servantsin the kitchen. So when a maid, not Vera, answered his knock, heintroduced himself and asked to see the cook. The maid led himstraight into the kitchen. There in the spacious, rectangular,low-ceilinged room he found Vera, the cook, a scullery maid and afootman – seated around a large table and sipping at their soup.There was no sign of the young pregnant maid he had seen on hisfirst visit.

“Good afternoon,” he said, savouring thearoma of the chicken soup. “I’m Cobb, a detective, and I’ve come toask you people about anythin’ you might’ve seen on the night of thetragic incident.”

“Will you join us in a bowl of soup,Detective,” said the cook, a jovial woman who obviously enjoyed herown handiwork.

“I shouldn’t, but I will,” said Cobb, andseated himself in the empty chair proffered by the footman. Thescullery maid placed a bowl of soup before him. It was piping hot.He took a spoon and ladled a mouthful.