Engine smoking, the car lurched to a stop, and Addie staggered out. She wondered if her teeth were still intact after the riotous ride she’d had down the slope. She was still some distance away from Evelyn and realized how foolhardy she’d been. The car could have easily tipped on the uneven terrain, and then how much help would she be?
Rupert strode up, looking like thunder. “What in God’s name are you thinking, driving my Rolls down that bloody hill? You could have killed yourself and very probably killed the car!”
At least she had come first in his scolding. “It’s only a machine, Rupert.”
“The best of the bunch. I’m beginning to regret leaving them to you in my will. You simply don’t appreciate the finer aspects of automobiles. Hold still, you have a burr stuck on your hat. So, that’s that. Was I right or was I right?”
“She’s really dead?” Addie whispered.
“Yes. Can’t hear you or me. I have a feeling I know where she is, too, and she won’t be bothering anyone else for eternity. Good riddance. I hope I might say the same after this very delightful interlude, not that I expect to head in her direction.”
“You mean you think you will ascend?” Did she dare hope?
“Who knows? I should get some credit for my successful sleuthing. Oh, look. There’s your inspector racing toward us as if he’s heading for the finish line at Ascot. Cuts a fine figure on a horse, doesn’t he?”
“I hadn’t noticed,” Addie lied.
“Go on with you. Well, I’d best scram, as you so succinctly put it. Fingers crossed we don’t meet again for a good long time, if ever. I’d say something more flowery and foolish and fitting for the occasion, but that policeman is in something of a hurry.” He kissed the palm of her gloved hand and met her eyes. “À bientôt!”
He would speak French, wouldn’t he? And as she recalled from her school days, it meant see you soon or see you later, which Addie hoped was very much not the case. He vanished, and she shut her eyes against the sun and the dead woman only yards away. When she opened them, Inspector Hunter was standing over the body, the Irish horse grazing companionably with a calmer Jupiter nearby. Screwing up her waning courage, she stepped forward.
The detective met her halfway. “Are you all right?”
Addie nodded. “Are you? She shot you!”
“Shot at me. A very welcome preposition in this case. But getting shot at is a habit I’d like to break.” He took her elbow and moved her back toward the Rolls. “You don’t need to see her.”
Addie hadn’t wanted to, her eyes everywhere but the twisted form on the ground, allowing herself only a quick look at Evelyn’s polished riding boots. Addie rested against the car, hoping it wouldn’t explode and that her knees would remember what they were designed for. Mr. Hunter spotted a fringed plaid blanket in the rear seat and returned to Evelyn, gently tucking it around her body.
Addie closed her eyes again against the dancing black spots.
He was back, speaking softly. “Take a breath. It will be all right.” He touched her cheek with a fingertip, and Addie was surprised to find she was crying.
She’d given her handkerchief to Mr. Hunter in the stable, and now he gave her his own. “Will it?”
He stood next to her, a proper distance between them. “It has to be, doesn’t it? There might be a scandal but no trial.” He held out a small brown bottle. “I found this in the grass. We’ll have to get it analyzed. Did you see what happened?”
“I think she took it out of the pocket of her jacket. At first I—I thought she was going to shoot you again. At you.” Did Evelyn carry around a vial of deadly poison on her person like some people did a lucky penny? Always prepared. Addie shivered. “Will you tell Hugh what she said?”
A shadow crossed his face. “I’ll have to, won’t I? But…”
“But what?”
“Something’s not right about it. I believe Evelyn killed Pamela, almost believe she didn’t mean to kill Juliet Barlow. Cassidy’s situation is not really a factor, not that I want to make light of it. But Ainsley’s death—it’s too pat. I can’t see Pamela Fernald intentionally killing someone.”
“I can’t either. Maybe it was an accident.” Pamela might have slept with Rupert and Lucas and Colin Stewart, but adultery was a far cry from murder.
“I could accept that.” He almost smiled. “Funny, isn’t it? I never knew the woman. I should be more judgmental, shouldn’t I? She was a bit of a vamp, carrying on with who knows how many neighbors besides Waring and, uh, your late husband. If she was having an affair with Colin Stewart, that makes her a cradle-robber, too—I bet the lad’s not seen his twenty-second birthday yet.”
“So, what will you do?”
“All I have are the accusations of a self-confessed murderer against a woman she secretly hated. I don’t think I need to involve my colleagues in this aspect—in fact, I’m sorry I asked you to call them.”
“I only told the desk sergeant about Evelyn—that she said she’d poisoned Pamela and had ridden off with you in pursuit,” Addie said. The rest had seemed too convoluted—and far-fetched—for a telephone call.
“Good. Can I trust you to keep that information between us? And yes, I’m asking you to collaborate in perverting the course of justice. Jesus.” He raked his hair back from his forehead. “I wish I hadn’t come today. Ignorance is bliss, isn’t it? Even if Thursday’s verdict stuck in my craw, I find no satisfaction in being right.”
“Then must you say something to Hugh?”
“I owe him the truth, whatever it may be.” Mr. Hunter paused. “I thought it was difficult when I told him about his wife’s pregnancy. I’ll not forget the look on his face anytime soon.”
“But if you doubt the veracity of what Evelyn said—”
“I do, and I’ll tell him that. She may have been right in principle, but the extenuating circumstances would tell the full story. Now we’ll never really know.”
They were silent for a minute or two, then Mr. Hunter touched her elbow. “I have to leave you, Lady Adelaide. I need to ring for a doctor and guide the men from Cirencester. Do you think you can manage?”
“Of—of course.”
“You’ll have to mind Jupiter too. I’ll send one of the grooms down to get him. We can tie him to the car if you’re wary of him.”
The sad thing—she was, a little. What if Rupert popped up again to say a more substantial goodbye? Animals were sensitive creatures, although her dog, Fitz, didn’t seem to respond to Rupert at all. But then, Fitz was pretty unresponsive in general unless food was involved. Ghosts didn’t faze him one bit.
“No. I’ll walk him and try not to sneeze.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. Please don’t worry about me—you have more important things to do. Go on back to the house.”
Mr. Hunter whistled, and both horses ambled to him. He handed Jupiter’s reins to Addie, then mounted the powerful Irish horse and was off. He definitely had a good seat, and Addie pictured him in one of Mr. Pink’s hunting coats, riding to the hounds. Or better yet, playing polo as they did in India, where no hapless foxes would be harmed.
“Well, here we are. You poor darling.”
The horse whickered and shook its head.
“I’m glad you can’t talk and tell the world about Rupert,” Addie said. “Who would believe you anyway? There are no such things as ghosts, right?” She looked around the area, praying her late husband was long gone, hopefully to his final reward. She didn’t relish getting kicked in the head by a thousand pounds of frantic horse.
She continued to walk the horse over to the narrow strip of lane where the ground was more level. The farmhouse lay up ahead, but she turned in the other direction.
There was a lump in her throat, and her vision blurred. Addie cried for the woman she thought Evelyn Fernald was all her life, not the one she saw today in the stables. Addie’s mother would take the death hard; the women had been close, not only because they were neighbors. She wished she knew where her mother was staying in London so she could tell her first before she read the news in the papers.
Jupiter was docile enough, pausing on the track now and again to swish his tail and snort. Addie couldn’t see a hint of the plaid in the grass, which suited her very well. She walked aimlessly with her new friend, murmuring encouraging words, happy that her feet were on the ground instead of in stirrups. Her nose twitched with the merest tickle. The moving clouds gave her just enough shade, but she would not turn down a glass of cold lemonade when she returned to Fernald Hall.
Addie stepped onto the grass when she saw the police vehicle making its way slowly down the farmhouse lane. Mr. Hunter had returned with two men from the Cirencester constabulary and Robby. The car stopped long enough for the boy to jump out and take Jupiter away from her, and then it rumbled over the field to where the corpse lay.
Soon there would be a doctor. An ambulance. Her own car was probably a lost cause, so she decided to walk back to the house. She caught Mr. Hunter’s eye and mimed her plans, and he waved her off.
If she had seen how the day was going to unfold beforehand, she would have chosen different footwear. A different dress, since the light blue was sadly spattered with dirt. A hat with a wider brim to keep out the sun. But she was alive, and that would count for something.