out of curiosity. Three fellow officers and their wives came. Someone who’d known Peter in school. Three women who were widows of men who served under him in the war. One of them had the handsomest boy with her. Thirteen, at a guess. She said he was the image of his father, and you could hear the grief of his loss still there in her voice. I can’t remember who else. Oh—someone who had served in the field with Walter. He must have been close to eighty but was spry as a man ten years younger. I think that pleased Walter. At least he seemed happy to see the man. A good number of people from the village, as you’d expect. Most of them remembered Peter as a boy. I think Susannah was quite touched.”
“Where is she?” Edwin asked.
“She left fifteen minutes ago. Leticia told me. She stood up very well, didn’t she?” Amy went on. “Women generally do. It’s expected of them not to make a fuss. I remember Walter telling us that somewhere he was sent, the women beat their breasts and tore at their hair while making the most haunting noise. An ululation, he called it. He said it made him shiver.”
“Did Inspector Jessup come?”
“No. His wife was there. She said he’d been called away.”
Leticia came in. “Mr. Rutledge. There is tea in the dining room, and sandwiches. Please help yourself.”
He thanked her and went to find Mary sitting at the table, crumbling bits of bread from her sandwich into little pills on her plate.
He poured himself a cup of tea, then took sandwiches from the platters set out on the buffet. “May I join you?” he asked before sitting down.
“Yes, please do,” she answered, whether she was pleased to see him there or not.
“Mrs. Teller felt that the service went well.”
“Yes, I’m glad. And there’s still Jenny’s funeral to get through. Today I wished myself anywhere but there. Still, one has to support the family. As they’ve supported me.” She got up and set her plate on the small table already piled with used dishes. “I’ll come in later and help Mollie with these,” she said. Then after hesitating, as if of two minds what to do, she came back and sat down. “Have you seen Walter? He was here for a bit, and then I looked for him and he was gone. I thought he might have retreated to the study.”
“I was there. I haven’t seen him.”
“Then he’s in his room,” she said, nodding. “Did he kill Jenny?” Surprised, Rutledge countered, “There’s no real proof. Why should he wish to see her dead?”
“Well, that’s what we’ve all been waiting for, isn’t it, these past few days?” she said bitterly. “Proof one way or the other. About Walter’s illness. About Peter. About that death in Lancashire. Then about Peter again, and now about Jenny. The other shoe dropping.” She turned away. “Do you have any idea what the tension has been like, since Walter first took ill? I went through his study, trying to find out who to contact in the Alcock Society, I thought someone might come and speak to Walter at the Belvedere. I was foolish enough to believe he was worried about going back into the field and they might set his mind at rest. Imagine my shock when I learned about his other life. And all the time—it was Edwin who suggested that Florence Teller might have been here in London and Walter happened to see her. But of course she wasn’t, as it turned out. So we will never know, will we, why he was ill?”
Rutledge said, “It doesn’t matter now what made him ill.”
“Yes, it does, because he still has to come to terms with it and choose. I think it has to do with Harry, with Walter’s insistence that the boy be sent away to school. It was as if he didn’t want him anymore. I couldn’t for the life of me understand why. And then he recanted on Harrow, telling Jenny it would be all right to wait a few years. But now, this morning, he told me he thought it would be best for Harry to go after all, because he’s motherless. I’d already promised to take him and look after him for a bit, but Walter is adamant. Harrow it is to be. I knew Walter long before Jenny met him. As a brother-in-law, he was kind and thoughtful and always willing to help me with