Charles Todd - An Impartial Witness

She called a good night to him, and then lifted her reins. I heard her soft "Walk on" to the pony, and then I turned back to Mr. Hart.

"I'm so sorry to disturb you. Had you retired for the night?" I asked as he shut the door behind me.

"We've taken to sitting in the room at the back of the house.

People see no light and don't come to call."

It was a pity that their lives were so changed by what had happened. I thought to myself that if Michael could see and understand this tragedy, he might take a different view of his own actions. But he couldn't think of anyone but Marjorie.

Mr. Hart led me back to the room where his wife was sitting. As the light preceded us down the passage, she called, "Who was it, dear?"

"Miss Crawford. She's come to sit with us awhile."

We had arrived at a sitting room where two other lamps were burning, and I saw Mrs. Hart get to her feet and stand there trembling. "It's not tonight, is it?" she asked me, as if I had come to share their watch when Michael died.

"I've been in London today, Mrs. Hart. I spoke to several people there. I wanted to come and talk to you."

She sank back into her chair, relief leaving her face pale, her eyes still haunted. "That's so kind of you, my dear. We were just having tea. Would you like a cup?"

"Oh, yes, please, I would."

Her husband disappeared and came back shortly with another cup and saucer. She poured a cup for me, and passed the dish of honey and the jug of milk.

The cup warmed my hands. I didn't know whether it was the night chill or my own anxiety that made them feel cold. I said, "I wonder if you knew the provisions of Mr. Garrison's will?"

"His will?" Mrs. Hart nodded. "I heard that the bulk of it was divided evenly between Marjorie and Victoria, although the house went to Victoria. Well, not too surprising, as Marjorie had a home of her own in London."

"Nothing else?" I asked.

"The usual bequests to the servants, and to the church," Mr. Hart answered this time.

"There was another provision." And I told them about it.

"I can't believe-" Mrs. Hart began, as shocked as I had been. "But then in the last year or so of his life, Mr. Garrison didn't seem to be himself. I put that down to his illness, but perhaps it wasn't. Spiteful, I call it. Small wonder Victoria never married, although I often wondered if she would have changed her mind if Michael had paid her the least attention."

Mr. Hart said, "Michael told us you'd said that Marjorie was expecting a child."

"It would have inherited-the will as I was told about it didn't specify a child in or out of wedlock, only that it bear Mr. Garrison's name. Which of course it would do, if Meriwether Evanson refused to acknowledge it."

"Serves her right," Mrs. Hart said shortly. "Victoria, I mean."

Mr. Hart said, "Are you suggesting that Victoria killed Marjorie?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "It's possible. If she had any reason to believe Marjorie was pregnant, she would have reacted strongly. She stood to lose everything-her house, her income. She would have viewed it not as an unintended pregnancy but as Marjorie's means of cheating her out of what she believed was rightfully hers. Just how far Victoria would have taken her fury is anyone's guess."

"I wouldn't put it past her to have a spy in Marjorie's house," Mrs. Hart said. "It was the sort of thing she would do, since she wasn't invited there unless there was no way to avoid it."

Michael had told me he'd helped choose Marjorie's servants, but that didn't mean that one of them hadn't been amenable to bribery for telling tales. I thought about that missing will Marjorie was on the point of changing. A spy would have been richly rewarded for passing on news that Marjorie was suffering from what appeared to be morning sickness and had begun to reconsider her own will.

"Do you really think that's possible?" I asked, turning to Mr. Hart.

"Servants are as greedy as the rest of us," he answered. "A few pounds added to their wages? It would have been tempting."

"And you've come to Little Sefton to ask Victoria about this matter?" Mrs. Hart wanted to know. "My dear, why don't you stay the night, and face this visit first thing in the morning? I'll be happy to lend you whatever you need. The guest room is always ready, it will be no trouble at all."

I believed her and was sorely tempted. But I would lose another day. And besides, Simon was coming to Little Sefton for me. "You're very kind, Mrs. Hart, but if I'm wrong about Victoria, I must look elsewhere. It's too late to call on the Meltons tonight, but I can be in Diddlestoke very early tomorrow."

Mr. Hart was staring at me. "The other person was Serena Melton."

I sat there, my cup halfway to my lips, and looked at him over the rim.

"What? The other person, you say?" I set my cup on the small table at my elbow. "I don't understand."

"I didn't think to mention it. She came to Little Sefton to see Victoria. It was the day Michael went to the play. But Victoria wasn't at home and apparently the maid and the cook had been given the afternoon off. She came here next to ask if Michael knew where Victoria had gone and how long it would be before she came back. She apologized. She didn't know anyone else in Little Sefton to ask."

"But-I didn't think those two got on well together. Victoria and Serena."

"They don't. You see, there's the matter of the house in London. The two of them haven't agreed on what's to become of it. Mrs. Melton feels that since Meriwether died after Marjorie, he inherits. Victoria's contention is that the house had belonged to Marjorie's aunt on her mother's side, and therefore reverted to the Garrison family. I expect Mrs. Melton came about that. She did say something about papers." He smiled. "We hear the gossip-and of course Michael knows a little about Marjorie's affairs."

I remembered something Michael had said about the house in London remaining fully staffed while the question of ownership was being resolved.

"I'd have thought they'd meet in London-neutral ground."

"Apparently she hadn't been able to reach Victoria, and as she was coming up from visiting a friend who lives south of us, she decided to stop by."

"And you told her that Michael had gone to London with Victoria." I couldn't help the undercurrent of surprise in my voice. It was so unexpected.

"I saw no reason not to," he said defensively.

Of course he wouldn't have. While the Harts disliked Victoria, they would have told Serena the truth if asked, unaware of what might happen as a result of a few words.

"I shouldn't worry about it if I were you," I replied, not wanting to add to their distress. "But I'm glad you told me."

"I hadn't given it another thought," he went on. "Until you mentioned the Meltons." And that was probably true as well. The point of Serena's visit had been to find Victoria, not to betray Michael.

"Did you tell Michael about Mrs. Melton stopping by?"

"I don't believe I did. We'd retired long before he arrived home."

"And Mrs. Calder-did you say anything about Michael going in search of her?"

"No, no. Mrs. Melton said she might catch them up before the curtain rose. She asked if they were having dinner before the play. I told her I thought not, as Michael wished to see a friend before dinner. At that point she said she thought she'd go directly home instead, that she was already rather tired."

"I think you did mention Mrs. Calder," Mrs. Hart said. "I'm sure of it."

"Absolutely not. I just said a friend. I'd have remembered."

"It doesn't matter." By the time Serena reached Melton Hall and told her husband, he couldn't have reached London in time to kill anyone. Unless-unless of course he was in London already, and she telephoned him to tell him she had arrived safely, but had missed Victoria after all.