painter-cousin who lives in a cottage on the grounds named Francis Fellowes; and, in addition to the servants, the sister. Her sister. I found it odd that Madeline Galloway was part of that household. She acts as Mr. Holdsworth’s secretary or assistant. I find this rather strange.” Kamir closed his notebook.
“It was through Madeline that Jane met her husband. Jane was visiting there.”
Kamir turned to Jury in surprise. “But that would mean Miss Galloway had been in the household for, what? Certainly over sixteen years.”
“Eighteen or nineteen. She was in her twenties, I think, when she first took that job.”
Kamir frowned. “But she looks so much younger than she must be.”
Jury turned quickly to meet Kamir’s frown. “ ‘Looks’? How on earth have you had time to see her?”
“Just this morning, early. But she’s here, Mr. Jury. In London. At Brown’s Hotel. And so is Genevieve Holdsworth. They’ve been here for two days; the sister came up to London to interview a few people for Mr. Holdsworth. He wishes to have his library catalogued, or some such thing. Mrs. Holdsworth came to shop, apparently. You didn’t know they were here?”
To Jury, Blackheath’s verdant green expanse and its far horizonwere shrinking to little more than a stingy garden plot, the leaden sky closing in. “I didn’t.” Why in the name of heaven keep something as simple as the visit of one’s sister a secret? It’s just someone you don’t know. He had been hurt enough to think that she’d needed to keep any visitor a secret. He leaned forward, his forearms on his knees and his head down.
Quickly, Kamir added, “Her purpose in coming here was not to see Jane Holdsworth. Although she did say she had intended to.”
Jury looked up into Kamir’s troubled face. “Then it wasn’t Madeline—or Genevieve—she was going to see last night?”
Kamir sighed. “Not according to Miss Madeline.”
“What about these calendar entries?” Jury felt a fool. Her lover, and he didn’t appear to know anything. “We—ate out usually. I didn’t see much of the kitchen.” I hardly know a room in this house except the bedroom . . . And then he looked at Kamir, hard. “Hadn’t she entered whoever it was on this damned calendar?”
“No. There was only your name.”
“Her sister. What was she like?”
“Pretty, in a thin, rather nervous sort of way. Intelligent. Rather strange a woman like that would reach middle-age without marrying.” Kamir looked at Jury.
“I believe she thought she would be. I believe she meant to marry Graham Holdsworth.”
Kamir held up his hands in a questioning gesture. “We spoke of enemies?”
“Would she have waited eighteen years?”
“Some will wait forever.”
“Alibi?”
“No.”
“Would you mind if I spoke with her?”
“No. As I said, she is at Brown’s. But I believe she leaves today on an afternoon train from Euston. Genevieve Holdsworth left early this morning.”
But Jury’s mind was less occupied with them at the moment than it was with Kamir’s earlier statement, There was only your name.
He rose and said, “Perhaps I’ll also take an afternoon train from Euston.”
Kamir turned his brown, searching eyes on Jury’s face. “If the situation were reversed, Superintendent—”
Jury half-smiled. “I know, your name on the calendar; your prints all over the house; you, the last one as far as I knew, to ever see her alive . . .” He paused. “Oh, I’d tell you you wouldn’t be taking the train from Euston.”
12
At Euston Station, Alex slipped two twenties on the turntable and asked for a single, first-class ticket to Windermere. Both ticket and change were spun back to him without the clerk’s even looking up.
• • •
Perhaps it was a waste of money, he thought, stowing his rucksack and slicker overhead in the empty compartment. He could as easily have paid for a second-class and then just moved along here once his ticket had
“It was through Madeline that Jane met her husband. Jane was visiting there.”
Kamir turned to Jury in surprise. “But that would mean Miss Galloway had been in the household for, what? Certainly over sixteen years.”
“Eighteen or nineteen. She was in her twenties, I think, when she first took that job.”
Kamir frowned. “But she looks so much younger than she must be.”
Jury turned quickly to meet Kamir’s frown. “ ‘Looks’? How on earth have you had time to see her?”
“Just this morning, early. But she’s here, Mr. Jury. In London. At Brown’s Hotel. And so is Genevieve Holdsworth. They’ve been here for two days; the sister came up to London to interview a few people for Mr. Holdsworth. He wishes to have his library catalogued, or some such thing. Mrs. Holdsworth came to shop, apparently. You didn’t know they were here?”
To Jury, Blackheath’s verdant green expanse and its far horizonwere shrinking to little more than a stingy garden plot, the leaden sky closing in. “I didn’t.” Why in the name of heaven keep something as simple as the visit of one’s sister a secret? It’s just someone you don’t know. He had been hurt enough to think that she’d needed to keep any visitor a secret. He leaned forward, his forearms on his knees and his head down.
Quickly, Kamir added, “Her purpose in coming here was not to see Jane Holdsworth. Although she did say she had intended to.”
Jury looked up into Kamir’s troubled face. “Then it wasn’t Madeline—or Genevieve—she was going to see last night?”
Kamir sighed. “Not according to Miss Madeline.”
“What about these calendar entries?” Jury felt a fool. Her lover, and he didn’t appear to know anything. “We—ate out usually. I didn’t see much of the kitchen.” I hardly know a room in this house except the bedroom . . . And then he looked at Kamir, hard. “Hadn’t she entered whoever it was on this damned calendar?”
“No. There was only your name.”
“Her sister. What was she like?”
“Pretty, in a thin, rather nervous sort of way. Intelligent. Rather strange a woman like that would reach middle-age without marrying.” Kamir looked at Jury.
“I believe she thought she would be. I believe she meant to marry Graham Holdsworth.”
Kamir held up his hands in a questioning gesture. “We spoke of enemies?”
“Would she have waited eighteen years?”
“Some will wait forever.”
“Alibi?”
“No.”
“Would you mind if I spoke with her?”
“No. As I said, she is at Brown’s. But I believe she leaves today on an afternoon train from Euston. Genevieve Holdsworth left early this morning.”
But Jury’s mind was less occupied with them at the moment than it was with Kamir’s earlier statement, There was only your name.
He rose and said, “Perhaps I’ll also take an afternoon train from Euston.”
Kamir turned his brown, searching eyes on Jury’s face. “If the situation were reversed, Superintendent—”
Jury half-smiled. “I know, your name on the calendar; your prints all over the house; you, the last one as far as I knew, to ever see her alive . . .” He paused. “Oh, I’d tell you you wouldn’t be taking the train from Euston.”
12
At Euston Station, Alex slipped two twenties on the turntable and asked for a single, first-class ticket to Windermere. Both ticket and change were spun back to him without the clerk’s even looking up.
• • •
Perhaps it was a waste of money, he thought, stowing his rucksack and slicker overhead in the empty compartment. He could as easily have paid for a second-class and then just moved along here once his ticket had
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