by Jean Rowden
‘Alive?’ Of all things, this wasn’t what Deepbriar had expected.
‘Yes. He left me. It was very sudden. He just walked out, and sent a letter a few days later saying I was to arrange the sale of the house. I was quite devastated, I loved living at the Manor, and I never guessed he wasn’t happy.’
‘Men often go a bit crazy when they reach a certain age,’ Deepbriar offered, feeling a twinge of pity. ‘If he met a younger woman—’
‘Oh no, there was no other woman. He’s living alone in Broadstairs. Well, not quite alone, I understand he has a dog.’ She shuddered. ‘Horrid dirty animals, I would never allow one in my house.’ She stood up. ‘Well, now you know my secret. I’d be grateful if you’d tell Mary for me. Of course I know I should come clean, as they say, and tell the rest of the village, but I’d rather not.’
‘Well …’ Deepbriar began, but she gave him no time to finish.
‘I’m at your mercy.’ she said, smiling tremulously. Like a heroine of the revolution off to face the guillotine, she swept from the room.
Deepbriar swallowed the last mouthful of stew, placed his knife and fork neatly together and sat back. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘I think you’re the best cook in the whole county.’
‘Either that knock on the head is still having an effect on you, or you want something,’ Mary Deepbriar said complacently.
‘Neither,’ he replied. ‘It’s a sorry state of affairs if a man can’t compliment his wife. You didn’t ask what Mrs Emerson wanted.’
‘I thought it might be police business, she was being a bit mysterious.’ She stacked the two plates.
‘She had a guilty secret,’ Deepbriar said, ‘but I’m supposed to tell you all about it.’
‘Maybe I already know,’ his wife said, as she went through into the kitchen.
Deepbriar picked up the empty dish and followed. ‘Know what?’
‘That she isn’t a widow. Her husband left her. I don’t know how she came to make up that silly story about him dying in Peru, the wretch is living in Broadstairs.’
‘How did you know that?’
She turned from the cooker, lifting out the apple crumble. ‘We women have our sources,’ she said with a smile. ‘I’ve known ever since Bella moved into the village. Oh, by the way, we’ve decided on our next production. It’s not Puccini after all.’
‘No?’ Deepbriar’s heart leapt. ‘Please, tell me you’re doing Gilbert and Sullivan.’ Add that to Bella Emerson’s shame over the disclosure about Edgar and surely she’d move out of Minecliff.
Mary shook her head. ‘Carmen,’ she said.
Deepbriar barely suppressed a groan. Another murder. Poor Bizet.
Copyright
© Jean Rowden 2007
First published in Great Britain 2007
This edition 2011
ISBN 978 0 7090 9578 1 (epub)
ISBN 978 0 7090 9579 8 (mobi)
ISBN 978 0 7090 9580 4 (pdf)
ISBN 978 0 7090 8394 8 (print)
Robert Hale Limited
Clerkenwell House
Clerkenwell Green
London EC1R 0HT
www.halebooks.com
The right of Jean Rowden to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988