Who's Sorry Now? Read online

  Lucas was now the man whose advice everyone in the area asked for. He was a proponent of the most modern farming methods, and had even taken courses at the agricultural college in Cirencester to add to his Oxford degree. He’d worked for the government during the war, designing better practices for the production and transport of food that were so necessary for the troops and those left at home.

  It had not been dangerous work, and Lucas was always a little embarrassed about getting off so easy. At the time Addie had just been grateful that he hadn’t been blown to bits like so many of their friends.

  She placed the trunk call to Gloucestershire and waited patiently for the operator to connect them. Lucas’ butler Davis answered, and asked her to hold. Addie pictured him fetching Lucas out of his dining room while he was having his daily round of deviled kidneys.

  “Hallo? Addie?”

  “Good morning, Lucas. Yes, it’s I.”

  “You’re up bright and early.”

  “I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately. There’s been so much going on.”

  “Time for you to come home where you belong.”

  He sounded very bossy, but Addie couldn’t really argue with him. “Listen, I have a great favor to ask of you. You’ve been so kind to Philippa Dean. Her brother’s funeral is on Friday. I wonder if you want to go to it in my place.”

  The line was silent, save for a crackle. Then, “Is it in Brighton? Why can’t you go? We could go together.”

  Addie sighed, hoping he could hear it. “I just can’t. I find funerals much too upsetting. They—they stir up so many bad memories. After Rupert’s—and Kathleen’s—I’m swearing off them for a while. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Well,” he chuckled, “I hope if I die you make an exception.”

  “Don’t even think it! The world would be a sadder place without you.” Oh, dear. She didn’t want to lead him on, but she certainly wished he’d reach a fine old age.

  Preferably with Pip Dean by his side spooning oatmeal into his toothless mouth.

  “Do you have the details? Time, place, etcetera?”

  “I don’t, but I’m sure you could call the Seaside Hotel and find out the arrangements. I saw Pip yesterday and she needs her friends around her. Oh! And thank you for the flowers. They’re my favorites,” she lied.

  “You’re very welcome. Speaking of friends, I hear that Lady Lucy Archibald is in the neighborhood again.”

  “What?”

  “My steward saw her get off the train at Marbury Halt the other day. They never stop there anymore, of course, what with the house gone, so he made particular note of it. I wonder who she’s gone to visit. Maybe an old nanny or something.”

  “Lucas! When was this?”

  “Sunday evening, I think. He was coming back from a weekend in London. He mentioned it Monday when I got home from Town myself.”

  “Oh, Lucas! I love you! I mean, how lovely—that is, never mind. I’ve been worried about Lucy too, and you’ve just relieved my mind. I have to go. You will go to the funeral, won’t you? It would be lovely.” If she said the word one more time, he would think she was deranged.

  “I’ll try.”

  “Thank you so much! It’s been lovely speaking with you. Have a lovely day!” Addie hung up and made a call to Scotland Yard immediately.

  She was put right through to Inspector Hunter this time. “Guess what?”

  “It’s either too early or too late for games. What is it, Lady Adelaide?”

  “I know where Lucy is! Or at least I know where she was Sunday night.”

  “Not at home in bed?”

  “It seems not. She took a train from London and got off at her old stop. Marbury Halt. She must have had to ask specially, for they don’t routinely stop there. It’s just a lean-to with a bench, not a station, and I’m not even sure that’s still standing now that their home burned down.”

  “Where do you suppose she went?”

  “Lucas—that is Lord Waring—suggested she might be visiting a nanny or a former servant. But I don’t think there are occupied cottages on the land, and in any event the earl doesn’t have the money to support old retainers.”

  “Did Lord Waring see her?”

  “No. His steward was on the same train and told him.”

  She could hear him shuffling papers. “Was she alone? I haven’t been able to track down Dunford.”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t think to ask, and I’m not sure Lucas would have known anyway.”

  “Well, thank you.”

  Addie was surprised. “That’s it? Don’t you want to call the Cirencester constabulary to check up on her?”

  “What would you have me do, Lady Adelaide? I swore to her father—on my dubious honor—that I would not make his daughter’s disappearance public. She’s probably just gone home for a few days to reminisce.”

  “There is no home! Just a falling-down gatehouse!” Addie cried.

  “There? You see? She’s got a roof over her head.”

  “Detective Inspector Hunter,” Addie said, summoning the freezing tones of the Dowager Marchioness of Broughton, “you cannot allow a suspect in three murders— no, possibly four—to play house in the Cotswolds. If you won’t go get her, I will.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Of course I’m going there. I just have to clear it with my superiors. See if I can requisition a car.”

  Addie grinned. She should have known better. Inspector Hunter was nothing if not thorough. And honorable. “The train would be faster.”

  “It would. But having the convenience of a car in the country—”

  “I know! We’ll go down to Compton-Under-Wood on the train together, then take one of Rupert’s cars to Marbury. You’ll be spoiled for choice—I haven’t sold any of them yet, although I really should.”

  “You are not coming with me!”

  Applesauce! He couldn’t go without her. Not when they were so close to perhaps finally figuring everything out.

  “It’s rather remote. I know where the place is, and the fastest backroads to get there. And if Lucy is hesitant to see you, I can convince her as an old friend.” Surely he would appreciate her logic.

  It was so quiet she wondered if he’d hung the receiver up. Finally, she heard a resigned sigh. “All right.”

  Addie kept her hands from clapping, which would be hard to do anyway when she was holding a phone. “Are you going to tell her parents before we leave?”

  “No. It would be cruel to get their hopes up if she’s not there…or, uh, injured. It’s Wednesday, and a lot could have happened since Sunday.”

  Addie swallowed. “You don’t think she’s taken her own life, do you?”

  “I hope not. I plan to arrest her. But if she has, I hope she left a signed confession.”

  “Dev!” Addie said, shocked. The thought was too dreadful to contemplate.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  They had met a little past eleven in Paddington Station and changed trains at Kemble. The weather was better than yesterday, yet overcast. The further they got from London, the darker the clouds overhead. Addie hoped it wouldn’t rain for Lucy’s sake. While Mr. Hunter might think she had a roof over her head in the gatehouse, Addie wasn’t so sure. Lucy had mentioned pigeons roosting, after all.

  Once the plans had been finalized, Addie had called home to have someone leave a car at Compton-Under-Wood’s train station, so they could motor at once to Marbury without having to answer what were bound to be endless questions coming from the temporary residents of Compton Chase.

  Addie had told her mother to expect two guests tonight—Lucy and Inspector Hunter. The dowager marchioness had been exceptionally quiet at the news, which made Addie exceptionally nervous. Sometimes her mother’s lack of conversation was more frightening than any words she could utter. Addie didn’t wan
t her mother to try to bully the inspector—although she had every confidence that he could hold his own. There was something steady and centered about him that even her mother would find impenetrable.

  Constance Merrill, Dowager Marchioness of Broughton, had not yet forgiven Mr. Hunter for involving Addie in last August’s murder investigation. It really wasn’t his fault—or anyone’s—that things had almost been so disastrous.

  Addie was better prepared today, although she doubted she would need the small revolver she carried in her purse. She said nothing about it to Mr. Hunter, not wanting to earn his disapproval. He would probably think she’d accidentally shoot herself, or worse, him, but her aim was excellent. In the absence of any sons, her father had made it his business to teach both his daughters how to handle a gun. It was loaded with precisely one bullet, for that’s all she’d need to make her point.

  The inspector had bought them rather dry sandwiches and weak tea from the trolley that came through the train car—“on my expense account”—but Addie had no appetite. She wouldn’t feel at ease until she knew Lucy was safe.

  And innocent.

  “Are you going to eat that half?” Mr. Hunter asked.

  Addie handed the sandwich over in its waxed paper wrapper. “I have butterflies,” she confessed.

  “I want you to wait in the car while I check out the gatehouse,” he said for the fifth or sixth time.

  She knew he meant to spare her anything gruesome. “I know.”

  “You need to promise me, Lady Adelaide.”

  “I—I promise.”

  He raised an eyebrow but said nothing, his strong white teeth biting into ham and cheese. Once he’d swallowed, he began a severe lecture about interfering with the police, which Addie nodded along to. She had a feeling she was not fooling him at all.

  But she was not going to sit idly by if the situation warranted her aid.

  The train pulled into Compton-Under-Wood’s familiar station in good time. The rain had held off, though the day was gloomy. But it was almost impossible for any village in the Cotswolds to not show to advantage, and Compton-Under-Wood was no exception. Baskets of multi-colored pansies and vinca hung from the station’s roof overhang, and tubs of bright yellow daffodils lined the platform. In a month, they’d be replaced with tulips, and Addie looked forward to seeing them when she took occasional trips into Town.

  She took a deep breath, inadvertently inhaling some smoke from the engine, but nothing could dampen her spirits. How glad she was to almost be home! Tonight she’d sleep in her own bed, and wake up to the gentle hills outside her window. She could touch base with Forbes and the rest of her staff, whom she had missed during her months away. They were practically family, and had rallied around her when Rupert died.

  She recognized his red Lagonda in the small parking area. Despite the iffy weather, her chauffeur had left the top down, and there was a picnic basket in the back seat. Whatever was in there was bound to be better than railroad sandwiches.

  “Do you know how to start it?” Mr. Hunter asked.

  “Of course.” Rupert had been very proud of his fleet of cars, and was eager to show anyone with a modicum of interest all the nuts and bolts. They were cared for now by a young chauffeur and two ancient grooms, who had made the unlikely transition from horses to automobiles.

  If Addie sold the extra cars, she’d have to think of some way for the old men to occupy themselves. By rights, they should both have retired, but they’d been at Compton Chase since they were boys. It was the only home they knew.

  Much to her father’s disappointment, Addie was no equestrienne. No riding to the hounds or hurtling over fences for her. But she did like to drive in the country. She hoped Mr. Hunter was suitably impressed with her mechanical skills as she coaxed the engine to life.

  “Hop in!”

  “I can drive if you direct me.”

  “The braking system is very tricky.” It was almost exactly the opposite of most cars.

  He remained on the pavement. “I’m sure I can figure it out.”

  “Why, Mr. Hunter, never tell me you’re afraid to drive with a woman.”

  The flush on his dark cheeks was hard to spot, but she managed. “Oh! You are! Really, I thought you were a modern man. Equal opportunities for all.”

  “Equal opportunities to crash and become crippled for life,” he mumbled. “I’ve ridden with your sister. It’s a wonder I’m standing here.”

  “Oh, Cee’s a terrible driver. She doesn’t wear her eyeglasses. Too vain. But what’s on my nose, Inspector?”

  “Your spectacles. And she was wearing glasses. Blue-tinted ones.”

  “Plain glass. Really, I’ll have a talk with her as soon as I can and tell her she traumatized a big, strong policeman.” She checked to see if he was still blushing. On the whole, it was a rather charming trait.

  “You’re sure I can’t drive?” Addie heard the resignation in his voice.

  “Very. The property is not far as the crow flies, though we’re not crows, are we. But I know the best back roads. Some of them are little better than grass tracks, though. It’s been a while since I’ve visited, but I doubt the lanes have improved.”

  “Great.” Mr. Hunter folded himself into the passenger seat, looking as if he were about to be hanged.

  “It will be all right, I promise,” Addie said airily, driving through the outskirts of Compton-Under-Wood. The houses gradually thinned out, and after ten minutes, Addie made a right turn at a fork in the road.

  “Hold on to your hat. It will be bumpy.”

  They drove over a cattle grate, and the road ahead narrowed. Overgrown hedgerows lined both sides, and Addie could have stuck her hand out the window and plucked a leaf without any trouble.

  “Who lives around here?” Mr. Hunter asked. “And are they going to hit us head-on?”

  “There are several large farms. Lots more cows and sheep than people, though. They don’t drive.” Addie cleared the dark natural tunnel, and Mr. Hunter appeared slightly more relaxed.

  “Look. Civilization,” Addie cracked. Up ahead was an abandoned pub, its faded sign swinging in the breeze. There wasn’t a cottage to be seen, just more hedgerows, open fields beyond them, and the odd sheep.

  “I can see why they went out of business. This is probably the most…rural place I’ve ever been.”

  “Well, I did tell you we were taking a short cut. I wish the day were brighter. When it’s clear, you can see the Painswick Beacon.”

  “How much longer?”

  “You aren’t getting nervous, are you?”

  “Not at all.” He cleared his throat. “Your driving is unexceptional.”

  “Faint praise, sir.”

  “All right. You show considerable skill behind the wheel. I’m impressed.”

  “That’s better. We’re about three or four miles away, I think. We have to pass a tiny village a little ways from the gatehouse, although I imagine it might be as abandoned as that pub back there. Once the family left the area, there wasn’t much point. People need work, and likely scattered.”

  “I’d like to stop there first and get the lay of the land. Perhaps someone has seen Lady Lucy and will know where she is. We’ll have a better idea of what to expect.”

  “That sounds reasonable.”

  They drove on in companionable silence, Addie avoiding a runaway pheasant and a decent-sized hole in the road. It wouldn’t do to puncture a tire, although if pressed, she could probably change it—Rupert had been insistent in his instruction. But in her green-striped frock with its matching jacket, she wasn’t dressed for it.

  A signpost directed them to Marbury, and within minutes, Addie and Mr. Hunter rolled through a larger crossroad to the village.

  “See, if we’d come the long way, this is how we’d come in. Oh! There’s someone up ahead working in their front ga
rden. I’ll stop.”

  There were half-a-dozen cottages, but this one was the only one that showed signs of habitation. Smoke drifted from the chimney, and the fellow who had been raking paused to look them over.

  Mr. Hunter climbed out of the car, and Addie followed. She noted he made a point to smile broadly—to appear as unthreatening as possible.

  “Good afternoon, sir. My name is Devenand Hunter. I—I’m a friend of the Earl of Marbury. And this is Lady Adelaide Compton. We’ve come to see Lady Lucy.”

  “You’re a friend of the earl’s?” the man asked doubtfully.

  “Well, an acquaintance, anyhow. He’s charged me with Lady Lucy’s well-being. Have you seen her recently?”

  The man wiped a streak of dirt from his forehead. “I don’t know as I should tell you.”

  Addie stepped forward. “Please. The earl and the countess are worried. There was a misunderstanding—you know how it is between children and parents sometimes.”

  “No, I don’t. My missus and I weren’t so blessed.”

  “Neither were my late husband and I,” Addie confided. “But as a human being, I can understand and empathize. I’m sure you can too.”

  “It’s none of my business.”

  Addie opened up her purse. It was much heavier than usual because of the gun, but she was able to pull out two pound notes. “Will this help?”

  “Lady Adelaide,” Mr. Hunter warned.

  “It’s my lucky week,” the man said, pocketing the money. “They’re at the gatehouse, what’s left of it. Came down Monday to buy food from me. I shared what I could. I guess they’re still there. Don’t know any different.”

  “Thank you!” Addie beamed at the fellow, but he didn’t beam back.

  “They?” Mr. Hunter asked.

  “Lady Lucy and her boyfriend. As I said, it’s none of my business what they’re getting up to. I’ve known her since she was a little kid, coming to my old shop for sweets with her big brothers. Well, the shop’s closed, and her brothers are dead. Let her have her fun. Life’s short.”