Tuppence (The Tipton Hollow 3)

Smiling at her staunch and ready defence of his nephew, Sir Reginald nodded his acceptance of the warning, and mulled over what she had just said. “Do you know if Mr Lewis might have led the locals to believe he purchased your farm off you? Or that his offer to purchase it had been accepted by you?”

“I have no idea,” Tuppence whispered. It was horrifying to think that if he had, Mr Lewis had then been murdered for it. “I don’t see why he should, especially when he knew he wouldn’t be able to complete a sale. Richmond must be the killer. He must have killed Mr Lewis because he was the only other man in the area who wanted my farm. Besides, Richmond is the only man who has threatened me lately.”

“The problem is, my dear, that nobody saw you talking to Richmond. Nobody overheard your conversation with him so there is just your word against his. I don’t doubt that if the police ask him about the conversation, Richmond will deny that it ever happened. I don’t doubt that he will deny having offered lower than the market rate for your farm either, especially now that Mr Lewis’s body has been found on your farm.”

“Why?” Tuppence whispered, feeling the facts and evidence she had foolishly believed could be eradicated suddenly start to build around her again until they formed a veritable fortress; a cell of a different kind that she wasn’t at all sure she could get out of.

“Because it makes him look guilty, my dear. Look, if Angus Richmond didn’t kill Mr Lewis, he will admit to having offered to purchase your farm because he will see no reason to lie about it. He will deny having threatened you, though, because he knows you cannot prove he said it, and it makes him look guilty. If he denies having offered to purchase your farm, it is most probably because he is guilty of either Mr Lewis’s murder, or trying to swindle you. In other words, he is a liar who has a lot to hide.”

Tuppence contemplated that for a few moments. “He will lie to protect himself but will inadvertently make himself look guilty by doing it.”

“Exactly, and that is why I base my work on facts, my dear.”

“But I cannot prove that he offered to buy my farm.”

“Why else would he call upon you that day? Do you have any social connection with the man?”

“God, no,” Tup

pence snorted.

“If he confesses to having visited you then he has to explain why he called at your farm. He isn’t a neighbour, so cannot even say that calling by to check on you is his neighbourly duty.”

“My life has been perfectly fine, perfectly safe, until Angus Richmond turned up on my farm. The day that he appeared, and made that vile threat, everything has gone wrong. Not only was there that intruder who kept trying to scare me and chased me across the yard, but then Mr Lewis’s murder. It must be Richmond who is the killer. Nobody else in the village has ever threatened me before.”

“I agree that it does look rather coincidental,” Sir Reginald edged. “However, what has happened is also almost too coincidental to be believed.”

“You don’t think it is him, do you?” Tuppence moaned, wondering what she was missing, or what he knew that she didn’t.

“What I can say is this; if it is Richmond who is the killer then he is extremely foolish. He has made himself look guilty and will make himself look like a killer if he tries to deny having been on your farm, or that he issued you with a threat while he was there.”

“If it isn’t him?” Tuppence asked weakly. “Where do we look to find a killer?”

“We don’t look for him at all. He is going to have be flushed out of the undergrowth by the police,” Sir Reginald announced flatly. “But this mysterious third person will be found if there is one.”

“Are you heading back to London now, or are you staying until this is over?” Tuppence asked, warily eyeing Aldridge Manor outside of the carriage window.

“I am going to stay,” Sir Reginald informed her, his eyes glittering brightly with anticipation.

“You are enjoying this, aren’t you?” Tuppence cried, throwing him a rueful look to which he grinned unrepentantly.

“I have already told you, my dear. I love a good mystery,” Sir Reginald murmured. When he glanced at the house, his smile died instantly but his tone was no less conversational as he said: “Ah, trouble is afoot I see. Leave this to me.”

Tuppence, who hadn’t the faintest clue what the man was talking about, climbed down from the carriage, and straightened her skirts. It was when she glanced up at the house, and her gaze fell upon the splendidly dressed matronly woman standing on the top step, that Tuppence knew immediately what ‘trouble’ Sir Reginald had been referring to. For once, she was more than happy to allow Sir Reginald to handle this ‘trouble’ for her as well.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Tuppence reluctantly climbed the stone steps and felt her stomach quiver with nerves. She wasn’t at all sure if staying here was a good thing or not, but now that it was apparently enshrined in law there wasn’t a damned thing that she could do about it. What struck Tuppence as more disconcerting than anything was that she wasn’t sure how to greet the woman, whose stony stare seemed to tear strips off her already fragile strength.

“Get up. We don’t bother with all that here,” Gertrude snapped dourly when Tuppence started to dip into an awkward, wobbling curtsey. She threw a dark look at her brother before raking Tuppence with a questionable look. “You had better come on inside then.” But it was clear from her tone that she didn’t approve of it.

Gertrude scowled at the frail creature with Sir Reginald. She suspected that a good gust of wind was going to blow Tuppence back down the steps if she lingered on them for much longer. This was the first time she had ever taken a proper look at Miss Tuppence Smethurst, and it told her everything she needed to know. While she had seen Tuppence on many occasions when she had been a raggedly dressed young girl racing through fields with her friends, she hadn’t seen Tuppence as an adult. To say that she was surprised, if somewhat stunned by what she saw, was an understatement.

Yes, Tuppence still had that somewhat wild element about her that was almost untamed. Gertrude didn’t doubt that Tuppence would never be completely at ease taking tea in the formal tea rooms society usually frequented, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t glide with elegance. As she ascended the steps toward the front door, as exhausted as she was, Tuppence’s tread was light, her shoulders were squared, her posture was as elegant as any aristocrat’s. If it weren’t for her rather bedraggled clothing she wore, Gertrude would have been inclined to believe that Tuppence had been born and bread in society. As much as it galled her, Gertrude was also struck by Tuppence’s natural beauty. Without any primping and preening, or covering of any kind, Tuppence really was stunningly beautiful. Gertrude began to understand why her son was so enraptured by the hard-working farmer.

“I understand that you have been through an ordeal, my dear,” Gertrude began once they were inside the main entrance hall. She raked the young woman with a curious look. Mentally, she was planning a bath, a good hair brushing, a large meal, and a warm evening beside the fireplace for the young woman. Seeing to the young woman’s essential needs whilst she was in the house was of paramount importance because Gertrude suspected that if Tuppence didn’t receive proper care, she wasn’t likely to be of this earth for much longer.

“I didn’t do it,” Tuppence whispered awkwardly.