Charles Todd - An Impartial Witness

"And Marjorie always let her have her way?"

"At least while she was living at home. But when Marjorie went away to school, and then to live with her aunt in London, on her next visit here she surprised us all by telling Victoria she was a bully. Publicly."

I laughed. "And what did Victoria have to say about that?"

"She left in a huff, vowing never to darken the door of any house where Marjorie might be invited. But it must have given her pause, because Marjorie and she were on better terms for a time."

"Does this aunt still live in London?"

"She died just after Marjorie and Meriwether were married. There's a distant cousin, Helen Calder, but no other family that I know of."

I found myself wondering how Serena Melton, Lieutenant Evanson's sister, and Victoria, Marjorie's sister, had got on. Like oil and water, very likely. They were both strong-willed women.

"Did the family approve of Marjorie's marriage to Meriwether Evanson?"

Alicia refilled my cup as she answered.

"It was a very good match. I think Mr. Garrison was pleased. Victoria wasn't. All the same, she was soon enjoying being the only child in the bosom of her family, and until her father's death, she showed no interest in leaving home. The Garrison house was left to her."

"Did you know Lieutenant Evanson well?"

"I stayed with Marjorie and Meriwether in London for two weeks in the autumn of 1915. I'd seen Gareth off to the France and I needed cheering up."

"How did they get on?"

"It was a love match, you know. They were quite happy. I think Marjorie had hoped that she might have a child before very long, but it never happened. Probably for the best, with both parents dead now."

It was a very practical point of view. But I thought perhaps Alicia was convincing herself that it was just as well she had no children yet.

If Victoria and Marjorie hadn't got on, I'd probably come here on a wild-goose chase. Still, sudden death could change attitudes, smooth over rifts.

As if she'd read my thoughts, Alicia said, "I couldn't believe it when I heard that Marjorie was murdered. I've never known anyone who was murdered. It was rather frightening. I couldn't help but wonder how it had happened. I mean, no one walks up to you and says, 'Hallo, I've just decided to kill you.' It's hard to comprehend." She shivered.

I said, "I expect there must have been a reason. Love. Hate. Fear. Greed. Passion. Some strong emotion that got out of hand."

"They did say that her purse was missing. It doesn't bear thinking of-killed for a few pounds. And then Meriwether dying so soon afterward. I saw Serena Melton at her brother's funeral, and she was in such distress. I heard her say to the rector, 'It's not fair, you know, for me to lose Merry on her account.' Meaning Marjorie. I thought it was a terrible thing to say. But they were close, Serena and her brother. I remember Marjorie telling me once that their parents had died at a very young age, and the two of them had depended on each other for support. Their guardian was not particularly good at dealing with distraught children, and left them to their own devices. A roof over their heads, clothes on their backs, food on their table and he felt his duty was more than satisfactorily done."

It explained Serena's feelings for her brother. Serena and Meriwether had been thrown together in a time of grief, when there was quite simply no one else to comfort them. It was a powerful tie.

I also understood why Marjorie might not have turned to her own sister, in her distress. Then where had she gone?

"What about Marjorie's mother? How did she feel about her daughters?"

"She's dead." Alicia's answer was short.

Marjorie had been utterly alone. No wonder she had been crying as if her heart were broken.

If anyone had a reason for suicide, she did. And yet she'd been murdered.

The garden party the next day was held at the rectory, and according to Alicia, it was a pale shadow of former days, when food was plentiful and two-thirds of the male population wasn't away fighting a war.

The food was makeshift, the women were in black rather than the usual array of summer dresses bought or made for the occasion, with matching hats to protect one's complexion. And except for the rector, the men were in uniform.

Little Sefton was small enough for everyone to know everyone, and I was one of the handful of outsiders in their midst. Alicia and I walked across the green lawn to the booths set out on the grass, their poles decorated with loops of flowers and bows of ribbons and bright fabrics. People nodded to us as we passed, and children ran about playing, chased by excited dogs.

Alicia was saying, "Let me present you to Rector Stevens. He's a lovely man. Do you play chess, by any chance? He quite fancies himself as the best player in Hampshire."

Not wanting to spend my afternoon in a chess match, I hemmed and hummed a bit, and Alicia said, "Well, never mind. One of the wounded is sure to oblige him."

I had seen far too many of those, walking with canes, arms in slings, or even being wheeled in invalid chairs.

She began to point out people to me. "That woman in puce. She was housemaid to Marjorie's mother. She puts up the best pickle relish in the county. Over there, the one with red hair-she was a friend of Marjorie's mother-" The list went on, and then Alicia stopped.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Victoria is here. I'd never have guessed it. I owe the rector's wife a dozen brown eggs."

"You had a wager on whether or not she was coming?"

"Oh, yes. I was nearly certain that with everyone discussing poor Marjorie's death, she wouldn't wish to be here."

I looked at Marjorie's sister. She was about my height, with fair hair and hazel eyes. But her mouth, unlike Marjorie's more generous one, was thin lipped, and I found myself thinking that I shouldn't like to cross her.

A family resemblance was there all the same, especially around the eyes, but I wouldn't have picked Victoria out on my own as Marjorie's sister.

Victoria turned away as we came nearer, and the rector was engaged with an older man who was speaking earnestly to him.

Alicia said, "That's Mr. Hart. A gentleman farmer. He owns the largest farm in Little Sefton. He's kind enough to send his workmen around to help with things like repairing chimneys or patching roofs or heavy lifting. It's a blessing, with Gareth in France." She turned away, to allow the two men a little privacy. "And that handsome devil sitting in the white elephant booth-the one with his arm in bandages-has been breaking hearts since he arrived a few weeks ago. He's staying with the Harts. Their nephew."

I could see the man she spoke of. An officer in the Wiltshire regiment, tall, very fair, a deep voice and a laugh that began in his chest and a smile that was devastatingly sweet. But with a roving eye as well. I watched him try his charm on a girl of perhaps fourteen, who blushed to the roots of her hair, then he switched his attention to her mother, but she must have been used to it. I heard her say, "Oh, behave yourself, Michael. One would think you were the Prince of Wales, the way you carry on."

He laughed and leaned across the booth's counter to kiss her cheek. "Dear Mrs. Lucas, if I ever marry anyone, it will be you."

She nodded. "Yes, and what shall I tell Henry when we elope?"

Henry must have been her husband, because Michael dropped his voice to a conspiratorial level and asked, "Must we tell him?" He looked around. "Come to think of it, I haven't seen him today. His back, again?"

"Sadly, yes. He's gone to see a doctor in Salisbury."

She moved on and he turned our way. "Ah, a new blossom in our garden," he exclaimed, seeing me. "And who is this, pray?" he asked Alicia.

Alicia took me across to the booth, presenting me. "Bess Crawford, this is Michael Hart. He's not to be trusted."