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ROSEMARY INSTRUCTED Wadsworth to pull up outside Mrs. Shropshire’s and practically jumped out of the car before it came to a complete stop. “Madam, please, allow me to assist you,” he said as he bounded out of the driver’s seat.
“I’m fine, Wadsworth, don’t worry about me. We won’t be a minute.” She tossed the last over her shoulder as she pulled open the tearoom door.
Mrs. Shropshire stood behind the counter with one of the employees, patiently explaining how to tally the cash register money at the start of a shift. She looked up when Rosemary and Vera burst through the door and toddled over to them with curiosity in her eyes.
“What do you girls need?” she asked without preamble.
When Rosemary asked to use the telephone, the old woman pointed her towards an alcove adjacent to the kitchen. Rosemary thanked her and dialed while Vera explained what they were up to.
“We’ve got to get hold of Grace Barton immediately and see if we can find out what she’s been hiding. Rosemary wants her either cleared from suspicion or pinned to the wall. We know she has a secret, and the secret may be that she’s the murderer!”
Mrs. Shropshire’s eyebrows lifted. “Grace? I thought you had decided the poor girl was innocent.”
“We had,” Vera said, “but new information has come to light, and now there’s another body.”
“I know. It’s all anyone can talk about. Word is poor Mr. Lock was shot with the same gun as Mr. Cuthburt. Half the villagers are hiding in their homes lest they end up dead.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Rosemary replied, rounding the corner from the telephone room, “neither of these crimes was random. It’s not as though there’s a crazed axe murderer on the loose.”
“Oh, they’re enjoying it, really.” She grinned. "Nothing exciting ever happens around here. You two be careful, you hear. You’re putting yourselves in danger. I expect to hear from you by the end of the day, else I’ll worry. You understand me?” Mrs. Shropshire’s tone brooked no refusal, so Rosemary and Vera promised to ring her as soon as they could then insisted they must be on their way.
They piled back into the car just in time for Wadsworth to hear the tail end of Rosemary and Vera’s conversation. “Who exactly are we following?” he asked, his tone dry as desert sand.
“Grace Barton,” Rosemary said in a tone that mirrored the one Mrs. Shropshire had just used. “That snooty butler of theirs informed me she had business in London and would leave within half an hour. He declined to disturb Grace and insinuated that I shouldn’t be bothering her. Thank you, Wadsworth, for, well, for being you.”
“My pleasure, madam.”
They were in luck when Grace’s car pulled onto the street and headed in the direction of the village. Her pale face was visible through the cracked rear window, and she wore an eager expression that smacked of deceit to the pair of sleuths who trailed her. Wadsworth angled the car out of the chapel lane where it had been hidden behind a bank of shrubbery and followed several car lengths behind.
“It appears Wadsworth has done this type of thing before,” Vera commented absently.
“I wouldn't be at all surprised if that were true,” Rosemary said, thankful the partition between the front and back seats was up so he couldn't hear their conversation. “Andrew asked him to drive occasionally, and I always wondered why when we had a full-time driver on call.”
Vera peered at Rosemary, suddenly more focused than she had been previously. Days had passed since Rosemary had last mentioned her late husband, and for the first time, her voice had lost some of the bitterness and anger.
“Does investigating make you feel closer to him?” Vera asked, hoping it was the right thing to do and then deciding she didn’t care if it wasn’t. They were long past the point where propriety dictated their actions towards one another, and she knew Rosemary would ask tough questions if their roles were reversed.
“It does, yes,” Rosemary said, her eyes taking on a dreamy, faraway quality. “It’s as though he’s guiding me, somehow. The pain is less when I’m able to think of him as he was when he was alive instead of focusing on the fact he’s gone. I wonder if he’d be proud of me, or angry that I’m taking a risk.”
“I believe he would be proud of you, Rosie,” Vera said. “In fact, I’m sure of it. I also believe he would want you to move on, eventually, and be happy with someone else.”
“You’ll have to forgive me, Miss Pot, for finding humor in your advice. While I might be the kettle, we are both of the same dark hue.”
Lionel had been gone far longer than Andrew, and Vera showed no sign of settling down.
“We are cut of a different cloth, Rosie my love. I find pleasure in the gay life of parties and harmless flirting. I’ve had my share of men. Andrew would want you happy,” Vera repeated.
Rosemary’s eyes welled with tears. “I know that he would, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to do so. You must understand.”
“I do, my love. I do. When this is all over, you and I will take a long holiday. We’ll sit by the sea and breathe in the salty air, and let go of our demons once and for all.”
They followed Grace all the way to London, and into a section of the city that wasn’t considered fashionable by any means, but where the streets were clear of debris and several businesses had set up shop. Wadsworth lowered the partition as Grace’s car pulled to a stop on the side of the road. She exited, pulled her coat over her shoulders, and looked furtively around as she crossed the street and entered an establishment.
Rosemary practically pulled Vera from the vehicle and glanced up at the sign above the door where Grace had disappeared. “It’s a chemist’s shop,” she stated with surprise.
“Perhaps she’s planning on taking another stab at murdering her father,” Vera mused. “This time with a little addition to his nightly decanter of whisky.” Her cheeks turned pink as she realized what she’d just said. “That wasn’t nice. I suppose I’d rather it turn out to be Grace than have Frederick hang for the crime. Still, I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone you had a moment of weakness,” Rosemary promised while she threw caution to the wind and pressed her face close to the glass to look inside the shop.
It was empty as far as Rosemary could tell, except for Grace, who stood at the counter talking furtively with the man behind it. Something in the way she held herself, leaning towards him, and her expression told Rosemary this wasn’t a man Grace had just met. It was a man with whom she had a relationship, and the pieces began to fall into place as Rosemary recalled some of the things Grace had said.
The comment about Grace having no trouble finding a husband floated through Rosemary’s mind.
“I’m uncertain whether this helps her case or worsens it, but I believe we have discovered the reason Grace was so against being forced to marry Herbert Lock. Or, more accurately, one reason, aside from the fact that Herbert was an utter cad.” Rosemary crossed her arms while Vera took a peek.
Grace reached across the counter and touched the chemist’s hand. He looked down at where her fingers lay against his skin, then back up with a regretful expression. The two spoke for another few moments, and when Grace exited the shop, her eyes were ringed with red. It was a look Rosemary had become accustomed to seeing on the woman, and Teddy’s comment about his sister being fragile came flooding back.
“Well, that was illuminating,” Vera said as she and Rosemary ducked back into the car to keep out of Grace’s sight. “What do you think, Rosie? Is she conspiring to kill her father, or has she gone and got herself in the family way?”
Ignoring the choked sound made by Wadsworth, Rosemary allowed, “Either scenario might accomplish the same end.” Guiltily, because the image brought her some measure of pleasure, she pictured the apoplectic face of Mr. Barton should he learn his unwed daughter had a pea in the pod.
“Remember how she acted when we took the horses out?” Vera reminded Rosemary. “Extraordinarily cautious, even though it was clear she’s a more than proficient rider. I thought it was odd at the time.” Speculation on the subject continued as they made their way back towards Pardington when Wadsworth’s dry voice cut through the talk.
“I believe you shall get your chance to talk with Miss Grace on the subject.” He brought the car to a halt along the verge. There, in the road, stood Grace’s driver and the woman herself leaned against the boot of the car.
That Grace had worked herself up over something was evident in the look on her face.
Rosemary threw open the door without waiting for Wadsworth, only to have it nearly torn off when another car whizzed by. She took her time and checked the road before she tried again, and once she had alighted from the car, stood beside it.
Grace strode over to Rosemary and Vera, her face contorted into a look of fury. “What are you two doing here? Why did you follow me?” There was more color in her face than Rosemary had seen for days.
“Because you left us no choice,” Vera answered acidly. “You’re in love with that man, aren’t you?”
Grace stared at Vera as if she’d gone mad. “Yes. Yes, I am in love with him. How does that affect you?” she asked, seemingly baffled by why Vera was so angry.
“Because, Grace,” Rosemary answered, “it gives you a motive for attempting to murder your father and Herbert Lock. Those murders are now being pinned on my brother, Frederick.”
Goggling, Grace fanned her face with her hand. “When you said you believed I had nothing to do with this, you were lying. I can’t say I’m surprised. It isn’t as though either of you has ever attempted to be my friend before. I ought to have known you weren’t really my friends now.”
She reached for the car door handle.
“Grace, wait,” Rosemary called. “Please. For Frederick.” Her voice was pleading. Against her better judgment, Grace turned around.
“I,” she enunciated carefully, “murdered no one. Particularly not Herbert. Father might be full of bluster, but there are ways around him if one is patient.”
Head tilted, Rosemary assessed Grace’s face and posture for signs of prevarication, and finding none, had to relent. “I’m sorry, Grace, for not believing you. One does, however, have to put family before friendship, and my brother is being locked away for a crime he didn’t commit. You must understand my position. I can’t afford to dismiss anyone out of hand. How would you feel if it were Teddy?”
Grace didn’t have a chance to answer because Vera, who had listened to Rosemary’s apology incredulously, was the next to speak. “Rosie, you can’t be serious!” she exclaimed. “We can’t keep confronting suspects and then just believing them when they say they didn’t do it. She could be lying.”
“I’m not lying,” Grace snapped.
“Do you honestly believe Grace is guilty of murder?” Rosemary spoke to Vera as though the subject of the conversation weren’t standing three meters away.
Sighing, Vera’s shoulders drooped and she admitted, “No, I suppose I don’t.”
“Then let us stop wasting time chasing after her, shall we?” Rosemary suggested.
Grace threw her hands in the air and rolled her eyes when Vera finally acquiesced the point. With little else to say and a light drizzle beginning to fall, all parties proceeded to Pardington.
Wadsworth turned towards Woolridge House while Grace’s car continued on down the road in the direction of Barton Manor. Anna must have been watching out of the window because as soon as they pulled up she emerged from the house with a large umbrella, ushering Rosemary and Vera inside before they took a soaking in what was now much more than just a drizzle.
