“But youhavethought about it,” Constance said.
“Of course I have,” Emmeline said tiredly. “I wonder about everyone who calls, everyone I meet in the village or speak to in shops, every patient who knocks on the door. It is not…pleasant to suspect such things of one’s neighbors.”
Constance nodded with genuine sympathy.
Solomon accepted his cup of tea with a murmur of thanks and spoke for the first time. “Have you considered that althoughthe letter was sent to you, it was actually aimed at your husband?”
Emmeline frowned. “What do you mean?”
“He is upset on your behalf, which may have been the purpose. You help Dr. Chadwick, but he is the physician, the man who, without being melodramatic, holds the lives of his patients in his hands.”
“Then why upset him?” Emmeline said tartly.
“Why, indeed?”
She sat straighter, a spark of hostility in her eyes. “My husband is an excellent physician.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Solomon said. “But some things are beyond any doctor. People die, or don’t recover as they should, and doctors can be blamed quite without cause. It’s human nature.”
Her frown deepened while she mulled that. Then she spoke with reluctance, as though the words were dragged from her. “There was the Gimlets’ child over at Dravenhoe Farm. She had always been delicate, and when she caught diphtheria… The poor little girl died. There was nothing Charles or anyone could do for her.”
No one could doubt the genuine pain in Emmeline’s face and voice.
“When was this?” Constance asked.
“Two or three weeks ago now.”
Not long before the letter, then. Interesting.
“You mentioned your own daughter,” Constance went on. “Do you have other children?”
Emmeline beamed. “Edgar, our son. He is almost fourteen. He is at school just now, but you are bound to meet him soon.”
“Where does he go to school?”
“Here in the village.” Emmeline’s smile remained but had grown slightly fixed. “For now. Mr. Ogden does his best, ofcourse, but to go to university, Edgar will need more advanced teaching.”
“Does your daughter attend the village school, too?”
“Oh, not anymore! Sophie is nineteen. She should be back from her errands any moment.”
“Are your children aware of the anonymous letter?” Solomon asked.
“Sophie is, though I tried to keep it from her… Ah, here she is.”
The sound of the front door closing was easily heard in the parlor, as was a female voice calling cheerfully down the passage.
Emmeline went to the parlor door. “Sophie? Come and meet our guests.”
A moment later, a tall young woman came in, still untying the ribbons of her bonnet. She had merry eyes, rosy cheeks from the wind, and a perfect complexion. If her features were not quite regular enough for beauty, Constance suspected that few would notice.
The girl’s eyes widened in surprise as her mother introduced them. “Are you Papa’s investigators? I was expecting a couple of slightly seedy old men whom I would resent having to talk to!”
“Then we are glad to disappoint you,” Solomon said, amused.
He bowed over her hand, and Constance did not miss the younger woman’s swift appraisal, the inevitable acknowledgment of an attractive male. But though she flushed slightly, Sophie did not gawp, merely turned to Constance with the same air of friendly surprise.
“Is this a common thing, then? To send or receive such cowardly letters?” she asked them.
