Pamela Sherwood

by A Song at Twilight

  “Good morning, Inspector Taunton.” Sophie spoke up from directly behind him.

  Her voice, as always, was silvery clear. And Robin had never been less pleased to hear it than at this moment. Clenching his teeth, not trusting his voice, he risked a glance at his love.

  She wore the dark green riding habit he remembered from London, cut with a severe simplicity that flattered her slender figure and made her look taller and slightly older. A high black riding hat crowned her head, the veil folded back to expose her heart-shaped face: the fresh skin, brilliant green eyes, and warm lips, curved in a faint but sweetly obliging smile.

  More striking even than her sophisticated clothes was her air of self-possession. The presence she exuded onstage was on full display now, shining like an electric chandelier: here was Somebody to be reckoned with, her demeanor announced. The young constable was staring at her, not quite openmouthed but close enough, and even the stolid sergeant looked impressed.

  As did Taunton himself. His eyes widened, then he rallied, “Good morning, Miss—”

  “Tresilian,” she supplied, extending her hand. “Sophie Tresilian. You’ve already met my brother—Sir Harry Tresilian?”

  “Ah, yes.” Taunton took Sophie’s hand. “How do you do, Miss Tresilian? Pray, be seated.” He gestured to a vacant chair just a few feet from Robin’s. “I understand you are here to give a statement?”

  Sophie sat down with perfect composure, close enough for Robin to catch the faint perfume of violets wafting from her skin. “Indeed I am, Inspector. I’d heard that you wished to question Mr. Pendarvis, and I wondered if you would find it useful to speak to me as well.”

  “Inspector, do you believe Miss Tresilian’s statement to be strictly necessary?” Robin asked, pointedly ignoring her.

  Taunton glanced at him with an expression as bland as milk. “I appreciate any information that might help clarify the events of yesterday, Mr. Pendarvis. And I commend Miss Tresilian’s willingness to cooperate with this investigation.”

  Damn. Stymied, Robin sat back in his chair as the inspector and the sergeant turned their attention to Sophie.

  “Name, Miss?” Jenkins inquired, pen now poised over a fresh sheet of paper.

  “Sophia Catherine Tresilian,” she supplied.

  Robin did his best to sit stoically as Sophie replied to their most basic questions, giving her age (twenty-three) and current place of residence (Roswarne House). But he felt his pulse quicken and his stomach knot when Taunton inquired with studied nonchalance, “Now, Miss Tresilian, how exactly did you come to be involved in this matter?”

  “Purely by chance. I happened to be present when Mr. Pendarvis received the news of his wife’s death, and we traveled down to Cornwall together.”

  The way Taunton’s gaze sharpened at this detail had Robin tensing in his chair. “Indeed? And how was it that you ‘happened to be present’ then?”

  Sophie did not turn a hair. “I am a professional singer, based in London, Inspector. Last week, I gave a concert at the Royal Albert Hall, which Mr. Pendarvis attended. He came backstage afterward to offer his congratulations. Two nights later, I performed at a soiree given by Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Sheridan at their Park Lane residence, and Mr. Pendarvis was among the invited guests. We have been continually in each other’s company since then.”

  “Continually?” Taunton echoed, looking nonplussed. “Then you and Mr. Pendarvis are on terms of intimacy?”

  Robin just managed not to flinch at Taunton’s choice of words. Intimacy… dear God.

  “I consider Mr. Pendarvis a close friend of the family, as well as a business associate of my brother and cousin,” Sophie said smoothly. “And I was delighted to see a familiar face, as I have not been back to Cornwall in over a year.” She gave Taunton her most winsome smile. “There was a great deal of catching up to do.”

  In other circumstances, Robin might have been amused to observe that Taunton was no more immune to that smile than he was. All the same, he could tell that the inspector was preparing to probe further. “So you accompanied Mr. Pendarvis to Cornwall out of friendship?” he asked, his tone suggesting a wealth of hidden meanings.

  Sophie raised her brows. “Naturally.” She sounded surprised that he would even ask. “I shouldn’t like to think of anyone making the journey alone, in such circumstances—least of all, a good friend. Besides, I had no further engagements or commitments keeping me in town.”

  Taunton regarded her searchingly. “How well-acquainted were you with the deceased?”

  “With Mrs. Pendarvis?” Robin felt his pulse jump, but Sophie gazed steadily back at the inspector. “I didn’t know her at all well. We met on only one occasion, four years ago, and did not speak.”

  The inspector’s brow creased slightly. “You did not know the wife of a man you consider a close family friend?”

  “Mrs. Pendarvis took up residence in Cornwall while I was finishing my training in London,” Sophie replied with perfect truth. “As I have been continually touring for the last four years and seldom came home to visit, our paths did not cross. But it was a shock to hear that she had died so suddenly—and by such violent means.” She paused, then looked Taunton square in the eye. “I hope that you catch whoever is responsible.”

  And that too was no less than the truth, Robin thought. Even Taunton seemed convinced of that much, because he changed tack, much as he had done with Robin. At any rate, he asked Sophie only a few more questions, none of which ventured into potentially dangerous territory, though Robin could not help wondering if Taunton suspected the true state of things between Sophie and himself. The thought was like an itch between his shoulder blades, making him edgy and uncomfortable. He had never been more relieved than when Taunton thanked them both for their cooperation and told them they were free to go, although he might have further questions for them at a later time.

  Robin broodingly watched Sophie’s slim, straight back as she preceded him out of the police station. The innocent girl he’d thought to shelter, the formidable woman she’d become—once again, she’d surprised him, steering her way through the interrogation with the assurance and expertise of an old salt navigating through stormy seas: presenting an honest account of their meeting in London, while avoiding the Scylla and Charybdis of their past romance and recent reunion. Moreover, she’d firmly established that they were both far from Cornwall at the time of Nathalie’s murder. Almost certainly that had been her motive for coming to the police station in the first place.

  He did not know whether he wanted to kiss her breathless—or shake her thoroughly.

  ***

  “I’d hoped to keep you out of this, entirely.”

  Robin’s voice was as stiff as his backbone. Sophie could sense the irritation rolling off him in waves as she had from the moment they’d left the police station. Fortunately, he’d held his tongue until they were safely out of the village and riding back along the main road, toward Roswarne and the hotel.

  “Well, I am in it now, so there’s no point in stewing about it,” Sophie said bracingly.

  He cast her a darkling glance. “On the contrary, I would say that possible damage to your reputation is well worth ‘stewing about,’ as you put it.”

  “My reputation? Because I mentioned we spent some time together in London? What nonsense!” Seeing his mouth tighten, she added defiantly, “I daresay there’d be whispers about me in any case, considering my profession, and I’m used to that sort of thing. So let them whisper—we have more important things with which to concern ourselves than gossip!”

  “Don’t underestimate the damage gossip can do,” Robin warned. “You might want to consider being more circumspect in future. And marching into the police station to defend a man being questioned in his wife’s murder isn’t exactly circumspect. I’ll warrant Taunton and his lot are already speculating as to why a young lady of good family would put herself out like that for ‘a close family friend.’”

  I came to confirm your al
ibi, you ingrate! Sophie bit back the angry words and glared at him instead. “I don’t care if they—or the whole county, for that matter—think I have more lovers than the Whore of Babylon, as long as you’re cleared of suspicion in Nathalie’s death! And I told you before, I mean to be your partner in all things, not some helpless infant who has to be protected all the time, so stop trying to wrap me in cotton wool!”

  Robin’s eyes blazed back at her, burning blue, then just as quickly, the anger faded and he dropped his gaze with a sigh. “I was doing that, wasn’t I? Forgive me—old habits die hard.” He stared down at his horse’s neck. “I just—wanted to build something entirely new with you. Unconnected to the past, and untainted by it.”

  “Well, that’s a lovely thought, but not exactly practical,” Sophie remarked. “Because what’s between us already has roots in the past, just as much as your marriage to Nathalie.” She urged Tregony closer to him on the road and added more gently, “Let’s not quarrel, dear heart. We are on the same side.”

  “So we are,” Robin conceded, after a moment. He rubbed his brow under the brim of his riding hat. “Forgive me, Sophie. I’m like a bear with a sore head this morning.”

  “Naturally you are, after yesterday,” she said, instantly remorseful. “And you look exhausted. Did you sleep at all last night?”

  “Oh, now and then. But Sara needed me, so I spent a fair portion of the night sitting up with her.”

  “She must be devastated, to lose her brother and mother this close together.”

  “She’s mostly confused and sad right now. And frightened—because of how her mother died. I’ve told her I want her to stay at Pentreath until I’m sure it’s safe for her to come home.”

  “A wise decision,” Sophie approved. “And you’re staying there too?”

  “For the next few nights, at least. But I must go to the hotel now, make sure things are under control. The guests will have concerns, as will the staff, and it wouldn’t be fair leaving Harry to cope with all this alone. There’s certain to be an inquest,” he added abruptly. “And anyone who might have seen or heard anything that night will be expected to testify.” He rubbed his forehead again, pinched the bridge of his nose. “God in heaven, how I hate this!”

  Sophie reached across the short distance between them to touch his arm. “We’ll get through this, dear heart. I promise we will.”

  A corner of his mouth lifted, ever so slightly. “Together?”

  “Together,” she agreed, smiling back.

  ***

  They parted, reluctantly but of necessity, at the crossroads marked by the hawthorn tree. Loath as Sophie was to let Robin go—especially after they’d so narrowly averted a quarrel—she had no wish to make things more difficult for him. He had a business to run, a wife to bury, and a child to comfort, all of which had to come first. She wouldn’t dream of adding to his burdens by thrusting herself to the forefront of his life and making demands he was in no position to fulfill. Their time would come, someday.

  Sighing, she turned Tregony homeward. It was lovely to be back in Cornwall, she reflected as she rode. And lovelier still to be reunited with her family, who’d greeted her like the prodigal daughter, all but killing a fatted calf in her honor. But then, her mother had hoped for years that she would make an extended visit. How tall Peter, now in his first year at university, had grown! And how much more confident John appeared, newly established in his profession and soon to be a married man!

  Absorbed in these pleasant musings, she rode up the drive to Roswarne, only to pull up short when she saw a woman in a dark blue habit dismounting gracefully from a white—or rather, grey—horse just before the front steps. The visitor’s hair glinted dark gold beneath the brim of her hat, and Sophie’s spirits lifted at once.

  “Aurelia! What are you doing here?”

  Lady Trevenan looked up with a smile. “I came to see you, of course. James told me you were back.”

  “Yes, I arrived yesterday afternoon,” Sophie replied, alighting from her own horse and hastening to embrace her friend and cousin by marriage. “It’s delightful to see you again! Won’t you come in for some refreshment?”

  “Nothing would please me more,” Aurelia assured her, returning the embrace.

  Linking arms and talking animatedly, they entered the house together.

  ***

  As always, Sophie was struck by how similar and yet how different Aurelia was from her twin, Amy: both tall, slim, and golden-haired, with brilliant blue eyes. Aurelia bore a faint scar on her cheek from a riding accident some years before, and there was a slight hitch to her step at times of fatigue. But a more significant difference was the expression in her eyes—more pensive and reflective—and her smile, which held a wistful sweetness every bit as captivating as Amy’s ebullience. Both were loyal to the bone, however, and Sophie knew just how fortunate she was to have their friendship. While Amy had provided her with a safe haven when her world had fallen apart, Aurelia had been her confidant and advocate during those halcyon days when she’d first discovered her love for Robin.

  “So, how are the children?” she asked, pouring out tea for them both. “Jared must be all of four years old now.”

  “Four, and the very image of James,” Aurelia reported with pride. “Dark hair, dark eyes, and the same—well, intensity, for lack of a better word.”

  “And the new one, Alexandra—does she favor you or James?” Sophie inquired.

  “She has dark hair, but my eyes, and James swears she has my smile too. She’s got him wrapped round her little finger already. And how is my niece? I gather you saw her in town.”

  “Oh, Bella is thriving. She’s fair like Amy, but she’s got Thomas’s green eyes. And the sunniest nature too. Amy hopes to bring her down to Cornwall later this summer.”

  “So she’s informed me. I count it a victory that she wishes to spend her summer holiday here, city girl that she is!” Aurelia declared, smiling. “By the way, she wrote that your concert at the Albert Hall was a great success. I’m sorry we never got up to London to see it, but there was so much to do here.”

  “You saw me in Figaro last year. And, under present circumstances,” Sophie hesitated before continuing, “perhaps it’s just as well that you and James were here.”

  Comprehension flickered in Aurelia’s eyes. “You may be right. I don’t like to think what might have happened to Sara if we hadn’t been here.” She paused in her turn, then ventured, “I gather from what James has told me that you and Robin are—reconciled?”

  Sophie nodded. “When he was in London, we… talked. The bond we shared is still there. He told me he’d decided to proceed with the divorce, because he’d learned Nathalie was unfaithful again. He asked me if I would wait for him.” A smile tugged at her mouth. “I did not take long to decide.”

  “Oh, I’m so glad!” Aurelia squeezed her hand. “I know how much you loved each other, and how it broke your heart to leave him, even though you had no choice back then! But now you have a second chance.”

  “I know. I just wish it hadn’t come at such a price,” Sophie confessed. “It’s terrible that this should have happened. I know Robin did not want to remain married to Nathalie, but he never wished anything like this on her. He never wanted her dead.”

  “Of course he didn’t,” Aurelia said swiftly

  Sophie wished her own conscience were as clear. But was wishing your rival gone really the same as wishing her brutally, senselessly murdered? On further reflection, she thought not. If Nathalie had succumbed to an illness, like Cyril, or died in some sort of accident, it would have been a tragedy still—but a clean tragedy. The sort of misfortune that could befall anyone.

  But this… strangled in her own chamber by some unseen intruder and left to lie there undiscovered until morning? She suppressed a shiver at the thought.

  “And you needn’t feel guilty either,” Aurelia added, as though reading Sophie’s mind. “You would have had to be a saint not to resent Nathalie for
taking everything you wanted. But I know you’d never have wished such a fate even on her.”

  Sophie took a deep breath. “No, I wouldn’t. I just hope—Robin isn’t regretting his choice.” And there it was, the unspoken fear that had gripped her from the moment they’d heard the news but which she hadn’t been able to utter, until now.

  “Good heavens, why ever would he? You know he loves you.”

  “We were—together, when his wife was murdered.” Sophie bit her lip. “I can’t help worrying that it might be an ill omen, somehow.”

  Aurelia laid a hand on hers. “You mustn’t allow yourself to think that way. What happened to Nathalie was tragic. But Robin could have been anywhere in England at the time. And at least he needn’t fear being blamed for it, because he was with you.”

  Sophie didn’t know which surprised her more: that Aurelia showed no shock on hearing that Sophie and Robin had been together or that she’d instantly grasped the advantages of such an alibi. She choked down a lunatic giggle: Americans were nothing if not practical!

  Regaining her composure, she managed to say, “I thought it might help if I could vouch for his whereabouts over the last week or so.” She recounted her visit to the police station that morning. “They did seem inclined to believe me. At least, they found nothing to contradict what Robin had already told them. So—they had no choice but to let him go, for now.”

  “Naturally, you had to clear his name,” Aurelia agreed. “The only thing to do with ugly rumors is nip them in the bud before they grow into even uglier scandals. And goodness knows what’s happened is ugly enough!”

  “And there’s certain to be more ugliness, when the inquest is held,” Sophie said, sighing.

  Aurelia pulled a face. “Robin’s going to have his hands full keeping Nathalie’s little—indiscretions a secret.”

  “Her affair with Sir Lucas, you mean?”

  “Among others. I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but Nathalie had an eye to several women’s husbands.” A hint of frost crept into Aurelia’s voice. “Including mine.”