The specter screamed, too, and at the same instant all the lights came up, revealing the specter to be Coral, in a long white flannel nightgown that covered her feet, had a high ruffly neck and sleeves that gathered at the wrists to form cuffs. Her golden hair, loose of its chignon, looked as if she’d been caught in a windstorm, and her face was nearly as white as her nightgown.
Behind Pru, Christopher burst out of their bedroom—fortunately, wearing both pieces of his pajamas.
“No,” Pru gasped and put a hand out to stop him as she squinted and blinked. “It’s all right.”
“I’m sorry.” Coral’s voice dropped to an unnecessary stage whisper. “I woke up, and I didn’t know where I was. I wanted to find the toilet, and I got lost on my way back, but I remembered Mrs. Draycott told me you were in the new wing. I hope I didn’t disturb you.”
“No, of course not.” Pru leaned against the wall, breathing hard. “We were only…surprised. There now, can you find your way back to your room?” Pru had no idea which room Mrs. Draycott had assigned Coral.
Coral glanced at her surroundings. “I’m not terribly sleepy, actually. Perhaps I’ll make myself a cup of tea. Would you like one?”
Would Coral fancy a piece of toast with her tea? Pru could see her reaching for Mr. Draycott’s on the warming shelf.
“Yes, I could use a cup, too.” She turned back to Christopher. “I’ve got this, Inspector—you go on to bed. We’re fine.”
He raised his eyebrows at that. “Hang on, then.” He stepped back into their bedroom and brought out a blanket. Pru wore a cami top with flannel bottoms—certainly warm enough in bed, but she felt a distinct chill in the corridor and welcomed the warm wrap. Coral, on the other hand, looked set for a blizzard.
—
They sat at the kitchen table and through mug after mug of tea, Coral told stories about growing up at Glebe House—tales of childhood and how she had been taller than the yew hedges to begin with and about the summer her mother and Uncle Batty had grown her a house of sunflowers. Pru, although enchanted by these bedtime stories, could barely keep her eyes open. She did, however, retain a few facts from Coral’s tales. For one, it sounded as if Constance Summersun and her daughter—although officially living in a terraced cottage—had actually resided in Glebe House all those years. Must ask Lizzy, Pru thought.
Coral grew morose when she came to her mother’s last illness.
“I was not a good daughter,” she confessed, shaking her head. “I couldn’t see it then, of course. It’s only now, when it’s too late. Not a good daughter, not a good…” She managed a tremulous smile. “You and Christopher are such a lovely couple—how pleased you must be to have a long and happy marriage.”
Pru smiled back. “We met three years ago—so, happy, yes, but long, well, not yet. I was over fifty when we married—and it was my first time.”
Coral picked up her mug and held it close. “Married for the first time at such an age.”
Pru raised an eyebrow, but allowed Coral the comment, because she was grieving. “And so the moral of the story is, it’s never too late.”
Coral’s brief good humor vanished. “Sometimes it is.”
—
It was five a.m. when Mrs. Draycott appeared.
“Ah,” she said at the sight of them, adjusting her hair and tugging on the belt of her purple velour dressing gown. “I thought I heard voices. Early risers, is it? Would you care to join me in a bowl of muesli?”
Pru excused herself from the muesli, but not before promising Coral to accompany her to Glebe House. Would they even be allowed in? She would have to ask Christopher.
Mrs. Draycott stuck her head out the kitchen door as Pru climbed the stairs. “See if you can get her to pack something useful—all she had in that tiny case was makeup and hairpins. I had to lend her one of my old nightdresses.”
Christopher lay asleep. Pru climbed quietly into bed and snuggled up to him. He stirred and gathered her in his arms.
“Find out anything?” he murmured in her ear. “Where had she been yesterday morning?”
Some investigator I am, Pru realized. Hours alone with Coral, and it hadn’t occurred to her to ask any pertinent questions. Pru spent her last iota of energy to say, “She talked about sunflower houses. I’m going back to Glebe House with her—I’ll ask then.”
Pru awoke at seven-thirty and lay staring at the ceiling, counting the amount of sleep she’d had. One hour at the beginning and two hours at the end added up to…not enough. She yawned and sat up as Christopher returned from his shower. He was to meet with the medical examiner in Cheltenham and stop in to see his former fellow sergeant, now chief constable.
“Mrs. Draycott won’t be back from her walk yet—shall I do you some toast?” she asked.
“No need—I’ll stop for a coffee, and I’ll be back midmorning. I’ll give you a ring.”
Later at breakast, Coral replaced Christopher at the table. She toyed with her eggs, cutting them into bits until they became a golden yellow puddle with pieces of white sticking out like ice floes. Eventually, she scooped them up with a spoon. Pru, ravenous, finished every scrap of food on her plate and steeled herself for the day.
Paeonia Coral Charm—golden stamen inside bowls of semi-double flowers. Bold color softens as it ages. Needs staking or it will fill with rain and crash to the ground. Would not be without it. BB
Chapter 17
“Are we walking?” Coral asked, staring at the empty drive.
They stood on the front step of the Copper Beech, Coral wearing her dress from the day before.
“Yes, we are,” Pru said. They would avoid the field with the bull, but unfortunately, that was the only route Pru knew. Then it came to her that Coral had grown up in the village. “You remember the way, don’t you?”
Coral frowned, looking first up the lane and then down.
“Mrs. Draycott?” Pru called back into the house.
Mrs. Draycott gave them directions that stayed on the lanes and roads and involved a slight hill and a sharp bend and a faded sign indicating the way to the rail station in Adlestrop, which had been shut down since the 1960s. “You’ll remember as you go, Coral, I’m sure of it.”
Twenty-five minutes later, they had walked past a couple of cottages and the building that held the shop and the post office with flats above. Just past the Horse & Groom they paused, and Coral leaned against the wall to shake a stone out of one of her shoes. Heels, low or otherwise, did not make good footwear for a trek.
“It isn’t much farther,” Pru said, swatting at a fly that buzzed round her face. “And the weather is lovely.”
Coral squinted at the blue sky and piercing sunlight. “We rarely swam this late in the year,” she stated, her voice taking on a dreamy quality. “But the autumn after Mother died, it was quite warm. Early one morning, the sun was hot and Uncle Batty was in Cheltenham on business, and we abandoned our inhibitions and danced down the paths bold as anything and swam without anyone seeing us.” Coral’s eyes darted left and right as if she only that moment realized she had spoken aloud. Her gaze landed briefly on Pru, after which she shoved her shoe back on and marched down the road, leaving Pru behind wondering just who “we” were—and dreaming of an earlymorning skinny-dip of her own.
But she didn’t allow her reverie to last. Pru took off after Coral, because she had questions that were best asked, she thought, before they arrived at Glebe House.
“Coral, hold up.”
Coral paused in the shade of an oak.
“You do realize, don’t you, why the police are involved in your uncle’s death?” With dismay, Pru saw Coral’s eyes lose focus. “Coral, if someone caused his death, wouldn’t you want to know? Wouldn’t you want that person brought to justice?”
“How?” Coral whispered. “How did it happen?”
“The police don’t know yet, that’s why they’ll still be in the house and the garden. They’re searching for information to help them understand. Any
thing that you know—any little thing at all—could help them. Later today, would you talk with Christopher about it? Explain where you were yesterday morning?”
Coral’s breath came quicker and quicker. Pru feared that she would hyperventilate and so took hold of her arm to break whatever spell she seemed to be under.
“What would I know that could help?” Coral whimpered. “I went away yesterday morning, and I came back and he was dead. Gone. It shouldn’t have happened that way, Pru, it really shouldn’t have.”
“Where did you go?” Pru asked in a light tone. Just a chat.
“My morning in Oxford. I…had an appointment. Two appointments. Every Monday. And the shopping. He knew that.”
“Appointments…where?”
Coral looked down at her nails, painted a dusky shade of pumpkin to match her dress.
“You were having your nails done?”
Coral nodded. “Nora’s Natty Nails. I’m usually gone by half six—I’ve a standing appointment at half seven—I’m their first of the day, always have been. And after that, as soon as the bookshop opens, it’s story time, and then I have a coffee at the Bodleian Café before I do the shopping. I had a bit of a late start yesterday and I went to tell Uncle Batty I was leaving, but someone was with him. I decided not to wait, so I left. I never said goodbye.”
“Who was with him?” Pru asked. “Dr. Cherrystone?”
“It could’ve been that woman.” Coral’s voice hardened on the words. “She comes and goes as she pleases, I can tell you. All I know was the door was closed. It’s our sign that he didn’t want to be disturbed.”
The brief conversation engendered more questions than answers. But Coral walked on and didn’t stop again until they’d reached the blue-and-white police tape stretched across the drive, leaving Pru to wonder about story time and ponder the identity of “that woman”—although she could venture a guess.
—
Apart from PC Mills at the door and another uniform in the courtyard, Glebe House and gardens seemed deserted. Coral insisted on taking a bath before packing any clothes, and so Pru sat in the bedroom and waited, using the time on her phone to research the effects of aconite poisoning. A text came in from Natalie, inquiring after Coral. When Pru replied, Natalie sent another, saying she’d come up to Glebe House to offer assistance.
The bathwater ran and steam escaped from under the door, bringing with it the scent of lily of the valley. A lovely whisper of spring. Pru’s eyelids grew heavy until she jerked upright, startled by PC Mills putting her head in the door.
“Sorry, Ms. Parke. I’m on break and thought you and Ms. Summersun might like a cup of tea.”
“What I’d really like is to have a walk round the garden. I didn’t sleep well last night, and I’m about to fall asleep. Would you mind drinking your tea in here while Coral is in the bath?”
Mills obliged, and Pru made her way out to the courtyard and beyond. She avoided the Herb Garden—taped off—and strode down the Thyme Walk, Stilt Garden, and to the end of the Long View. There, standing on the garden side of the ha-ha, she admired Constance Summersun’s favorite scene, the one that had been duplicated on the tapestry in Coral’s room.
Pru stepped away from the view and walked a path that led her to the edge of the Wild Garden, a shady area near an arched footbridge over a brook. Labrador violet carpeted the upper bank, and below, stands of candelabra primroses grew in the muddy banks. Although they were bedraggled by early autumn, she knew they would look glorious in late spring—golden yellow, orange, pink, and purple. She scanned the bank seeking other treasures. That’s when she saw a patch of bare soil—perhaps the only bare soil to be had at Glebe House gardens.
She left the bridge and stepped into the thick growth. A hole had been dug, a plant removed—but a few leaves had been left behind. Leaves divided with pointed tips like a maple. Look here, the leaves said, monkshood! Perhaps another clue, but as with the plant she’d spotted hanging out of the urn in the courtyard, a bit heavy-handed.
Still, she would ring Christopher with her discovery. Pru marked the spot with a long stick covered with stiff lichen, but it didn’t stand out as much of a marker. She dug in her bag, came up with one of several spare hair clips, and attached it to the top of the stick. Not exactly blue-and-white police tape, but it would do.
She made her way back, detouring through the White Garden and reaching the Lutyens Steps just as Coral came round the corner in a fresh frock—old cabbage roses, a dusky shade of deep pink that both contrasted with and complemented the color of her nails—and a fresh pair of shoes.
“There you are, Pru, I was afraid you’d gone back without me. I haven’t packed yet, but if you’ll only…” Her voice drifted off into nothing as she stared over Pru’s shoulder.
Pru turned to find Oliver Ottershaw standing behind her. Oliver and Coral locked eyes on each other at twenty paces with Pru trapped in the middle.
“Hello, Oliver,” Coral said in a tiny voice.
“Hello, Coral,” he replied. “I’m sorry about Batsford.”
“Yes, thank you,” Coral said in a broken whisper.
A minute of silence ensued in which Pru found it difficult to breathe.
“I came down with Natalie,” Oliver said at last, his voice husky. He cleared his throat. “She wanted to see how you are. She’s just inside.”
“Well, then, I’d better go in and see to her.” Coral dropped her gaze to the ground and circled round the edge of the space, brushing the hedge with her skirt as she kept her distance. “I’ll just be…” When she reached the opening to the courtyard, she fled.
The spell broken, Pru wiggled her fingers. “Hello, Oliver. Didn’t see me here, did you?”
“Hiya, Pru,” Oliver said, his eyes on the point of Coral’s departure.
“What a surprise to learn that you and Coral know each other.”
Oliver stuck his hands in his denim pockets and shrugged. “I started at Grenadine Hall a year before Constance died. I met Coral when she came back for her mother.”
“She stayed after, didn’t she? She was here what, a year?”
“Eleven months,” Oliver replied. “And two weeks.”
At once, the image of Coral scampering down the path to the Pool Garden with someone—both of them starkers—came into sharp focus, and Pru had to avert her eyes from the man who stood before her, fully clothed though he was.
“This is a terrible time for her, Oliver. She needs people around her who care.”
“She doesn’t need me.” Oliver’s voice took on a distinctly cool tone. “She made that perfectly clear. Will you tell Natalie I’ve gone back?”
“That’s it?” Pru asked. “One strike and you’re out?”
Oliver frowned at her, reminding Pru she should never try to use a baseball term with a Brit, because in cricket, the batsman cannot strike out.
“She’s lost a great deal,” Pru said. “Her mother, twice widowed, and now Mr. Bede. I’m only saying, you could at least be a friend.”
“I’ll see you Saturday at the fête, will I?” Oliver asked as he left.
“Yes, of course!” Pru called after him.
The autumn fête on the grounds of Grenadine Hall—it had completely slipped her mind. Jo and Cordelia and Lucy would arrive on Friday. Christopher would work at the Badger Care booth. Such happy memories from the first time.
Would this be finished by Saturday? Did Christopher have a list of suspects and he’d already started ticking off motive and opportunity? What motive could there be to kill an old man?
Pru jumped at the crack of a twig behind her.
“Sorry, good morning,” Cherry said as he strode up the path from the Thyme Walk. He wore sage-green twill trousers, a madras shirt, and sturdy walking shoes—the perfect country gentleman out for a walk—along with a black leather doctor’s bag. “I do seem to be good at startling you, don’t I? It’s just, I thought you might have seen me.”
“Walking up the Long View?”
Pru asked with a smile. “Not exactly a hiding place, is it? It’s only that I was a bit distracted.”
“I rang Fabia earlier to ask after Coral,” Cherry replied as he drew out a handkerchief and mopped his brow. “She said the two of you had come back. How is she?”
“Dealing with it—little by little.”
“You’ve been appointed her caretaker, have you?”
Pru heard a mocking undercurrent to Dr. Cherrystone’s sentiment, and she didn’t like it.
“I don’t mind helping out,” she said, although in the middle of the night she had minded a bit.
“I’m sorry if I don’t sound as sympathetic as I should—prerogative of the family physician, I suppose. I’ve known Coral most of her life. Her mother would’ve done anything for her—quite spoiled her, in fact. That isn’t always a good thing.”
“It isn’t all bad, either.”
“Well, she won’t stay after this is finished,” the doctor said, looking down the Long View. “Surely you can see that.”
Three days ago, Pru would’ve agreed with him, but since then, she had grown to believe Coral cared a great deal for Glebe House. She had come home.
“And so,” Cherry said, “you are married to the detective inspector. Batsford’s death—have they confirmed aconite poisoning?”
Both the statement and the question seemed to invite explanations, which Pru had half a mind to give, but a voice in the other half of her mind sternly reminded her that information regarding the inquiry was not to be given out willy-nilly. Also, she didn’t like Cherry’s tone about Coral.
“Yes, well…”
“You remember Christopher showed us the capsule, don’t you?” Cherry asked. “And I spoke with the medical examiner in Cheltenham. I was, after all, Batsford’s physician. Are the results in? Is there a suspect?”
“As Inspector Pearse says, the inquiry is ongoing.”
Cherry glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She sensed they’d moved into an interrogation, and she didn’t think she should be on the wrong end of it.
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