Tuesday
Last evening had been just as awkward as expected. The only bright spots: Cee had driven home, her junior bloodhound instincts thwarted, dropping Gerald Dumont at the train station on the way. Barbara and her nurse had requested dinner upstairs after the ordeal of so many confessions, thus Addie was left alone with Inspector Hunter.
Instead of the formal dining room, they ate, punctuated by long silences, in the cozy morning room. Small talk became even more minute as each course was served. Addie failed her duties as a hostess. It wasn’t because she was six months out of practice—she couldn’t manage to escape the embarrassment she felt about those bottles of wine, and conspicuously drank only water with her lamb cutlets. Mr. Hunter had excused himself early, claiming he had paperwork to do, and Addie had gone straight to bed, only to lie awake most of the night.
She looked like she was the one who belonged in a coffin this morning. Beckett tutted and did the best she could with makeup, including a swipe of mascara. Addie expected to remain dry-eyed, although Kathleen was coming into focus at long last. She wasn’t just a husband-stealer, but a free spirit who broke the rules every chance she got. There was something admirable about it, in a way, and it cast Rupert in a different light as well.
“Now now now. Don’t forgive me. I don’t deserve it. Yet.” Rupert appeared out of thin air in one of the wingchairs in front of the empty fireplace. Addie almost didn’t recognize him, but who else would be popping in for a spectral chat?
“Your mustache is missing!”
He patted his pockets down in a great show of searching. “I’ve come up empty. Yes. It was time for a change. It’s one thing to wear this bloody tie day after day, but I got sick of—what did you once call it? A moth-eaten caterpillar? Which makes absolutely no sense, my dear, and is cannibalistic to boot.”
“It tickled,” Addie said, blushing and remembering.
“As it was meant to. Imagine our grandfathers with those great bushy beards and mutton chops pleasuring their ladies—”
“Rupert, that’s quite enough. Are you coming to the funeral?”
He shuddered. “My own was enough, thank you very much. I may drift over to the reception, though. Keep an eye out. It’s too bad that Dumont fellow escaped. He could have been useful.”
Addie fastened a single strand of pearls over her collar. “What do you mean?”
“He might have received some dark energy from the murderer. Really, you missed your chance—you could have had a séance last evening and solved the whole thing!”
“I can’t see Inspector Hunter agreeing to that.” Not that the thought hadn’t actually crossed her mind for a few fleeting seconds. Which showed she was still losing it.
“No, the man is all about regulations and procedures, isn’t he? By the book. Do you know he keeps his notes in a secret code? It’s very irritating.”
“You shouldn’t snoop, Rupert!”
“What’s the fun of being a ghost if I can’t? You’d be very surprised at what people hide. In their Wellington boots.”
Addie was not going to rise to his needling. “I’ve got to go.” She picked up the deceptively plain black straw garden hat—a misnomer, since one would never garden in such an expensive headgear—and pinned it to her hair. The brim was wide enough so that she might hide if necessary.
“You look very elegant.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t let that rotter get his hand up your skirts.”
“Which one?”
“Waring, of course. Bounder. Rotter. Boy scout.” He made the last sound the worst.
Addie had not heard from Lucas and wondered if he was still in London. Probably not. He’d consider it his duty to support a neighbor in his time of need, although he and Sir David were not close.
She picked up her gloves. “I think I know why Babs turned you down.”
Rupert snapped his fingers. “Old news.”
“It was new news to me. I’m beginning to think I don’t understand a thing.”
“Just you wait until you’re dead.”
“It will become clear?”
“Ha. If only. I’m more confused now than ever. Well, have fun. Don’t forget a handkerchief.” He disappeared up the chimney like a reverse Father Christmas.
There was no room in Addie’s enameled vanity case for a handkerchief—Beckett had packed it with important things like powder and a lipstick—so she stuffed one up her sleeve and went downstairs, not that she had any intention of crying over Kathleen Grant. Barbara and Fraulein Schober were waiting for her in the drawing room, head to toe black. Barbara wore a heavy veil concealing her face, like some devout Italian widow. Addie had not seen them at breakfast, and wondered if they too would decide to go back to London after the funeral was over.
“Ready?”
“Where is Inspector Hunter?” Barbara asked.
“I believe he intended to leave early and coordinate with the other policemen. He’s got men stationed around the church perimeter.” Edward Rivers would not like that much.
Eloise had told her on the phone this morning that Rivers was officiating at the service today under some duress—he hadn’t known Kathleen and was horrified by the nature of her death, especially the naked part. However, as the vicar of the parish church of the deceased’s remaining family, he felt under an obligation. Addie wondered what platitudes would tumble out of his mouth from the pulpit.
Would the boys come? They were awfully young and didn’t sit still in the best of circumstances. When she’d been in London, Addie had ordered a box of books for them as a kind of sympathy present, though most likely they were going to tear the pages out to make paper airplanes rather than read them.
They took the Daimler, her young chauffeur driving the half-mile to the church. A small clot of people stood outside the lych-gate, and Addie tried to figure out which of them were reporters. A uniformed policeman stood at each church door, barring the way until names could be checked off a list. There was at first some trouble over Fraulein Schober, but Mr. Hunter appeared and smoothed that over.
Compton St. Cuthbert’s thick old stone walls kept the building arctic even on the hottest summer day. This is where Addie should have come to cool off, if one hadn’t been trying to avoid Mr. Rivers at all costs. Sir David Grant was already seated in the first pew, with Eloise Waring at his side. There was no sign of the children.
The coffin was covered with informal sprays of roses and ivy from gardens in Sir David’s village, arranged by Eloise. She’d done the altar flowers too. The simple arrangements gave a homey touch to the occasion.
The church wasn’t near to being full, but there were enough friends and neighbors showing their support. Addie waved to her mother, Cee, and Lucas. She and her party slid into seats toward the rear of the church and listened to the somber organ music. Barbara sat rigid beside her, Fraulein Schober patting a black-gloved hand now and then. By the time Mr. Rivers showed up with his altar boys, Addie was longing for one of her fur coats—her teeth were about to chatter. But then she felt a hand on her shoulder.
She turned, and just stopped herself in time from crying out.
“I convinced Ernest to come. He got back last night. He’ll meet with Inspector Hunter right after the funeral. Could you be present? For me? I want to know what’s going on. He won’t tell me.”
Angela Shipman was the epitome of chic in a lighter-weight black windowpane Chanel suit, perfectly made-up, quite a contrast from the last time Addie had seen her.
“I’ll try, but Mr. Hunter might not like it,” Addie whispered back. Nor would Ernest.
“Nonsense. The man values your opinion. He told me so. Anyway, I asked if you could be there when he questions Ernest. He didn’t say no.”
Addie was ridiculously pleased, but tried not to show it. “Where is Ernest?”
“Waiting in the car, the coward. Just as well. We weren’t on the list, but Mr. Hunter waved me through. I do hope no one got a photograph.” Her smile and her charming hat said otherwise. It was plain she wanted Ernest to suffer, to be publicly humiliated, which Addie understood completely.
“They’re taking pictures?”
“They were before they were warned off.”
On the whole, Addie was in favor of reporters, as long as they got their facts straight. But in Kathleen’s case, the facts were so lurid no one really needed to know. Someday her sons would be old enough to read about their mother’s abysmal end. Addie didn’t envy Sir David one bit trying to explain.
The funeral was as boring as only Edward Rivers could make it. The vicar went out of his way to create a bloodless, lifeless, cardboard Kathleen, who’d never stepped—no, leaped—over the line in her life. After his innocuous descriptions, Addie wasn’t sure the right body was in the coffin in the front of the church.
The handkerchief came in handy after all. Addie passed it to a vulnerable Babs, whose rigidity had dissolved some time ago. She’d already drenched her own and Fraulein Schober’s. Gone was the wise-cracking, hard-drinking flapper. Addie had a feeling Fraulein Schober would have her hands full of tonic tonight.
Lucas was one of the pallbearers; that must have been Eloise’s doing. The interment in the graveyard was to be immediately after the service, but Mr. Hunter stopped Addie from leaving the church. He was wearing his nice dark pinstriped suit and a black silk tie, looking as if he stepped out of the pages of a glossy magazine.
“Good morning again,” he smiled. “I have an odd request.”
“Does it have to do with Ernest Shipman? Angela told me what she asked of you. You don’t have to do it, you know. Ernest won’t like it—me being there.”
“I’m not especially interested in what Shipman likes or dislikes, Lady Adelaide. I’d like a neutral observer at the interview. He’s already tried to bribe me at least once. He tried to be more subtle the second time, so I can’t be sure.”
Somehow Addie wasn’t surprised. “Why not ask one of the men from Cirencester?”
“They’re not my men. You may be aware, the entire police force in this country has been subject to allegations of corruption from top to bottom. If Bob were here—well, he’s not. I trust him, and I trust you.”
Addie’s cheeks warmed. “Thank you.”
“I’ll drag Shipman out of his car. Meet me in the sacristy. Don’t worry, I’ve cleared it with Rivers.”
“Tell Miss Pryce and Fraulein Schober to go on to the reception without me. They’d better take Angela with them too. You’ll drive me to Holly Hill later, won’t you?”
“With the greatest pleasure.”
Addie settled herself in the sacristy’s only chair and waited. A ride in the country with a handsome man. So what if it was a journey of less than two miles? She would take what she could get.