“How the devil would I know? Look, I got work to do, and I don’t think much of yours. My best to Dr. Chadwick.”
Chapter Six
Miss Mortimer, thelady of the manor, welcomed Constance and Solomon to her drawing room. Although it was not a particularly large house, it was well maintained and decorated and looked to be a very comfortable home.
Her companion, Miss Jenson, set aside her needlework and gave the visitors several long, assessing looks. Almost like a bodyguard, Constance thought. Or perhaps she was guarding her own position.
“I’m so glad you found the time to join us,” Miss Mortimer said with her sweet smile. “Tea will just be a few moments. How do you find our village?”
“Most charming,” Solomon said.
“And your commission from the good doctor prospers?”
Solomon did not blink. “We have not yet accomplished our goals.”
“How foolish of me! You have only just arrived. You must tell us if we can help in any way.”
“Actually, you can,” Constance said. “By telling us your impressions of Sutton May and its inhabitants. Have you always lived here?”
“Yes, by and large. Apart from a few forays to school and Town, and travels abroad. This has always been my home.”
“And yours, Miss Jenson?” Solomon asked politely.
“Oh, no. I grew up somewhere quite different. I only came here after Jessica’s—Miss Mortimer’s—mother died. As her companion.”
“That was over thirty years ago,” Miss Mortimer said. “I think we can call it your home.”
“How did you meet?” Constance asked. “Are you related?”
“Only by interests,” Miss Mortimer said. “Hannah was my teacher when I was sent away to school, and we became friends. Naturally, when my father said I should have a female companion, I thought of her.” Her eyes twinkled. “I can see you are thinking it is unusual to have a lady of the manor without her lord. I never chose to marry, but I believe I have been as good a squire as my father. The estate was never entailed, you see, so I was his heir. Shocking, is it not? Would you care for a quick turn in the garden now that the sun has come out?”
Since it was February, there was not a great deal to see in the garden, apart from a few clumps of early daffodils and crocuses. Miss Jenson brought shawls, dropping one around Miss Mortimer’s shoulders and offering another to Constance, who accepted it gracefully. She had the feeling the lady of the manor wished to talk to her, a notion proved right when Miss Mortimer took her arm and, with the aid of her walking stick, all but galloped around the path until a low hedge separated them from Solomon and Miss Jenson.
The old lady began without preamble. “I know you are you looking into the matter of the nasty letter Mrs. Chadwick received, so I shall tell you at once that I received one too. Here. We don’t have long.” She thrust an envelope into Constance’s hand. “Hide it. I don’t want Hannah to know.”
“Why not?” Constance asked, tucking the letter into her substantial handbag.
“She worries enough. And is likely to blame the wrong person. This is between you and me.”
“I will share it with Mr. Grey,” Constance warned.
“But not Dr. Chadwick?”
“Not if you don’t wish it.”
“I don’t.”
“Who do you think sent it?” Constance asked.
“If I knew that, I could put a stop to it. I am placing my trust in you to find out.”
“I shall try to earn that trust. When did you receive it?”
“About a month ago. I thought I was the only one until Dr. Chadwick told me about his wife and the others, and I realized something must be done.”
“Do you have any idea what inspired your letter?” Constance asked.
“It’s somewhat vague, as you will see. But I have not evicted anyone, held any recent orgies, or committed any crimes. I haven’t even put up rents for several years, though I fear I will have to very soon. I am at a loss.”
