Charles Todd - An Impartial Witness

He nodded, but the heart had gone out of him.

As I stepped out the door, I cast a glance toward the street, but the curious onlookers had gone about their business. There was only Simon, waiting for me in his motorcar. Mr. Hart quietly closed the door behind me, hoping not to disturb his wife.

Simon opened my door and as I settled myself in my seat, he reached out, and without speaking, held my hand until we had left Little Sefton far behind us.

When we arrived in Somerset, my mother was full of plans for a dinner party she was giving the next night, a chance for me to see and greet old friends. Her enthusiasm was jarring, in the mood I was in, and the Colonel Sahib gave me a quizzical look, one that said he sympathized but that I owed my mother the courtesy of entering into the event in the spirit she'd have wanted.

Simon, the coward, had vanished the instant the words dinner party were spoken, and there was no one left to spare me Mother's good intentions.

And so I was swept off to see what the kitchen could manage that was halfway edible, and there was no time to sit down and think through events. That, clearly, was everyone's intention.

I barely had time to wonder how Michael, for his sins, was faring, languishing in gaol. I hoped he was absolutely wretched.

My mother did ask, in passing, if I would wish to invite that handsome young lieutenant as well. I realized that she hadn't heard the latest turn of events. I didn't have the energy to explain them to her, and so I told her that I didn't think he would be available.

The Colonel Sahib, having spoken privately to Simon, wondered, as I walked into his study, if he should anticipate a passionate plea for his intervention if matters looked grim for my lieutenant.

"He's not my lieutenant. If he was anybody's lieutenant, he was Marjorie Evanson's. Besides, I'm sure Simon also told you it wasn't likely that Michael would be in custody for very long."

"He did seem to think that Lieutenant Hart had acted rather foolishly, going in to London."

"The worst part of it is," I said, wandering from the window to take a chair across from his, "the woman he was desperate enough to ask to drive him to London is no friend of Marjorie Evanson's. I think she was pleased to see Michael taken up."

"Are you certain about that?"

I told him what Mrs. Eubanks, the cook, had had to say.

"Of course servant gossip can't always be relied on for truthfulness," he pointed out. "But when there's heavy smoke, there's often fire."

"I think she told the truth as she sees it," I agreed. "She didn't like Victoria, and so she was ready to lay all the blame at her door. But everyone-Alicia, the rector, Michael himself-had also told me that there was no love lost between the sisters. Marjorie left home as soon as she could after her mother died, and her father did nothing to stop her from going. The wonder is, he didn't think of disinheriting her, once Mrs. Garrison was dead."

"And that may well be Victoria Garrison's problem. In spite of all she'd done to make him believe the first daughter wasn't his, in the end he had doubts."

I looked at him. "You are clever," I said. "It would explain so much."

After a moment, I went on. "Granted, I haven't known these people for very long. But I was drawn into their lives because I was a witness to what happened. If the police had found Mrs. Evanson's killer straightaway, that would have been the end of it."

"Not every murder inquiry leads to someone being taken into custody, much less tried and convicted. God forbid that Mrs. Calder should die, but if she does, and there is no explanation of why she had called the lieutenant's name in extremis, a shadow will hang over him for the rest of his life. It might be better to have a trial and clear him of any culpability."

"What if he's convicted?"

"There's that risk as well." My father paused. "Who would you suggest as the murderer the police are looking for?"

I shook my head, feeling tired suddenly. "I don't know."

"Then you can understand Inspector Herbert's dilemma."

I smiled against my will. "I would very much like it to be Victoria."

My father laughed. "From what Simon tells me, this Inspector Herbert is no fool."

"He tells you that because Inspector Herbert advised me to stay out of the Yard's affairs."

"Good advice."

For what was left of the afternoon, I helped my mother plan her dinner, shaking out the best table linens, stored away in lavender, and helping with the polishing of the silver and then I washed glasses and dried them carefully. She and I worked side by side in contented silence or chatted about whatever I needed for my return France.

And all the while my mind was busy with what the Colonel Sahib had asked me: Who had killed Marjorie Evanson?

I was no closer to an answer by the end of the day.

The menu, given all the shortages of food, presented a problem. Sighing, my mother said, "Do you suppose we could ask our guests to bring their own chickens?"

I laughed.

Then, changing the subject as she so easily could when one least expected it, she added, "You may as well tell me what is going on. It will save me from having to cajole your father."

I was saved-quite literally-by Nell appearing in the doorway.

"Miss Elizabeth," she said, "there's a message for you. The boot boy, Sammy, from The Four Doves, just brought it round."

I took the folded sheet she held out to me, and opened it.

A hasty scrawl read:

I've just been told. Is it true? Please, will you come and talk to me? It was signed Serena Melton.

I refolded it and turned to my mother. "We might not need those chickens after all."

As I left the room she answered, "I hadn't had my heart set on them, you know."

I drove to The Four Doves, wondering all the way there if Serena Melton had somehow discovered Scotland Yard's interest in her brother-in-law, Raymond. I didn't see how she could have found that out-or my role in identifying him. Her husband, Jack, was important in the cryptology section, but that gave him no influence with the police or even the Home Office. But then news sometimes had a way of leaking out. Someone else could have heard and then called him. I'd already confessed to him that I'd seen the man.

The doors to the inn were standing wide, allowing late sunlight to pour through into the small reception area, gilding the polished wood of the floors. The woman behind the desk greeted me warmly as I came in. Gray-haired and gray-eyed, she could pose for one of the original doves. But she had taken her son's place running the little inn when he went off to war, and had managed to keep it up despite the lack of nearly everything from paint to food.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Cox," I said. "I've just received a message from a visitor. Is she still here?"

"Yes, I put her in the small parlor. She was reluctant to come to the house. Heaven knows why."

I knew why. The last time we'd met, Serena had called me a liar.

I thanked Mrs. Cox and started for the parlor. "Shall I bring you tea? We don't have any biscuits today, I'm afraid."

I knew she needed the business, and agreed that that would be nice. But I doubted Serena Melton would stay long enough to drink it.

She was standing when I walked into the little parlor, as if she had been pacing the floor while waiting to see if I would come to her or not.

"Miss Crawford," she said as soon as she saw me. "Bess."

"Hello, Serena." We hesitated, decided not to shake hands, and I sat down.

It took her a moment to rally herself, and then she said, "I hope you've forgiven me for the things I said when we parted at the railway station. I was under considerable strain, and it seemed then that everyone was set against me. I felt an obligation to find out who the man was in Marjorie's life-I owe that to my brother-but it has been a very difficult task I've set myself, and I have no experience to guide me."