Lessons in Solving the Wrong Problem - Charlie Cochrane Page 0,37
beautiful woman, but very striking. Independent sort, rather strong-willed, some might say.”
“That sounds rather like you, Mama. No wonder you liked her.”
“You cheeky puppy.” Despite the rebuke, Mrs Stewart chuckled. “I suppose folk might have said the same about me when I was a lass. Although I don’t think she ever met her equivalent of your papa. Even if she wished to. Some girls prefer not to hitch themselves to a man.”
Orlando wondered if that remark referred to the same way that he and Jonty hadn’t chosen to hitch themselves to a woman. Before he had time to formulate a suitable enquiry, Jonty leaped in.
“Was she the sort of woman to refuse all suitors? Permanent old-maid, although that seems a rather cruel way of putting it.”
“I take your point, dear. Yes, she did excuse herself from the whole marriage business. Back in those days it caused quite a scandal. I know she valued her freedom but there may have been more to it. Two spinsters settled together for life, that sort of thing. Now, to my knowledge, she didn’t make that sort of a household but her brother William’s accident may have prevented such a thing happening.”
That was the sort of statement that would need careful mulling over afterwards, trying to establish exactly what Mrs Stewart meant. Best to stick to the sequence of events. “She went to look after him at Five Oaks?”
“Was that her brother’s house? If so, then yes. I’d lost touch with her by then, so all of this information comes courtesy of Eliza Billings. You’d like her, dear. Reminds me of your Dr Panesar.”
Orlando wasn’t sure which of them was being addressed as “dear” or why the lady in question should resemble their friend and didn’t want to explore the matter at this point. “Was she happy about the move? If she valued her independence, she might have resented the fact.”
“Eliza said Christine was as happy as she could be out in the country. The life clearly suited her, as she’d been a rather gaunt woman but was now flourishing. She was younger than her brother, of course, and very active, so she’d taken to breeding spaniels—or was it Basset hounds?—dogs of some sort, anyway. Christine took great pride in showing them to the Billings when they visited.”
Could spaniels, or Basset hounds, or whatever the canine creatures were, be taught to run under the feet of a horse or otherwise conspire to unseat the rider?
“But Christine didn’t want the house when her brother died so she couldn’t have been that happy, could she?” Jonty pointed out.
“The two aren’t incompatible. She may have felt it her duty to look after her brother, decided to make the most of it and found life to her liking, but that doesn’t mean that, given the choice, she wouldn’t opt for a different existence.”
Just as Orlando had been content in his pre-Jonty life and, while he could return to that state of being, he’d not choose it.
“Did you ask Mrs Billings if Christine had independent means, or inherited money from her brother when he died?” Jonty asked.
“I clearly am not aware of all the details, however I know that Christine wasn’t short of money because she went travelling. Eliza thinks she took her opportunity to see the world. I did wonder, given her independent spirit, if she perhaps crossed the Atlantic in search of El Dorado or perhaps joined one of those Wild West shows.”
“Mama, you do have the most extraordinary ideas.”
“Well, why shouldn’t a woman be allowed her chance at adventure? We’d applaud a young man for doing the same.”
Orlando leaped to his almost-mother-in-law’s defence. “You’re quite right, Mrs Stewart. Don’t let an old stick in the mud like your youngest son make fun of your theory.”
Jonty snorted. “That’s the pot calling the kettle black. And, Mama, don’t you get any notions about careering around a showring in a flimsy dress, shooting the pips off the nine of diamonds or whatever it is they do in these spectaculars.”
“If it wouldn’t give your father a fit of apoplexy, I might just do that very thing. In order to punish you for your cheek, you young scamp.” Mrs Stewart laughed heartily. “Here’s your father again.”
“What would give me apoplexy?” Mr Stewart asked, as he took over the telephone.
“Ask Mama. But be seated and have a brandy to hand. Did you find out anything about Herron?”
“I’m afraid my network of informants failed me on that front. One of the chaps thought he