Saddled with Death

  ***

  “Well it did look odd, Miss,” Tillie excused herself a little later. “All I could see across the table was your head and a pair of legs. I thought, that ain’t natural.”

  “And you threw eggs at her,” Bea said, not for the first time.

  “I hope there’s enough left for the baking,” Emma murmured inconsequently.

  Bea shook her head. She was sitting on the floor, fastening off a bandage wrapped around the cut on Emma’s leg.

  “I don’t think anyone is thinking of cakes and biscuits right now. You’re going to have a nice little scar there now,” she added, “but fortunately the cut isn’t deep.”

  Janey, quiet for once, refilled Emma’s teacup, to which Matty added a splash of brandy, for the second time. Mr. Macdonald and Mr. Devereaux were securing Dora Appleton until the police could deal with her. Bea had administered a dose of laudanum, so they wouldn’t have too much trouble with the woman, though there was little fight left in her. Alex and Jim had taken Anthony out somewhere. Emma felt particularly sorry for him. It was clear that his mother was mentally unstable, driven to do what she did by her obsession with her position in life and her feeling of having been badly treated.

  “This is what happens when you stick your nose into other people’s business,” Matty remonstrated, though gently.

  “Dear Matty,” she murmured, putting her head on his shoulder. She had stopped shaking and the brandy was making her sleepy.

  He patted her shoulder awkwardly. “That’s okay, old girl. But don’t do it again.”

  “But she solved it, Matty,” Bea insisted. “Aunt Appleton could have gotten away with it. It would have haunted us forever if we hadn’t known who did it.”

  “Has your mother been told?” Emma asked, trying to rally.

  “Yes, and she’s very pleased it’s been sorted. But I didn’t tell her about the fight. She doesn’t need to know you put yourself in danger.”

  This was said with a note of warning. Emma took it on board.

  “What about Madame Fournier?” she asked. She could only imagine what Madame was feeling right now. It was her leading Vernon Appleton on to contemplate marriage that drove Dora Appleton over the edge.

  “She’s upset,” Bea said. “I imagine she will be more careful who she flirts with in future. Which is a shame, she didn’t mean any harm.”

  “No,” Emma said, stifling a yawn, “but she did rather enjoy the fact that it annoyed Mrs. Appleton.”

  It was all a result of people, who didn’t like one another very much, spending too much time together.

  Mr. Macdonald came back into the kitchen.

  “How is that cut on your leg, Emma? Not too much damage, I hope?”

  “No, thank you,” Emma said. “Bea has bandaged it up nicely and I can barely feel it.”

  “Good. You did a fine job ferreting her out.”

  “All I did was talk to people.”

  “Well,” he said, “you’re good at that, anyway.”

  Emma opened her mouth for a smart come back.

  “I think you should rest for a bit,” Bea spoke up quickly.

  Emma found herself bundled off and tucked into bed. She was asleep in seconds but woke two hours later with a fuzzy head. This was why, she reminded herself, she never normally had a nap during the day. She went to the kitchen where she found preparations under way for dinner.

  “How are you feeling?” Bea asked. She was rolling pastry. A large pie dish filled with chicken and vegetables was on the table beside her.

  “My head’s fuzzy, but otherwise I’m fine.”

  “That’s the brandy,” Janey said, from the other end of the table where she was shelling peas.

  “Madame and Sachi and Mr. Devereaux have left,” Bea said, before Emma could respond to Janey’s remark.

  “What? Already?”

  “The Swallow called in,” Bea explained. “They’d broken a steering joint and needed it mended at the smithy. Madame immediately asked if they would take three passengers.”

  “What about the police? Shouldn’t they have waited for them?”

  “Dad didn’t seem to think it mattered. We know what happened and I think he was just glad to be rid of them. One could say they had outstayed their welcome.”

  She would have liked to speak to Madame and Claude, if just to say goodbye. She would probably never see them again. Perhaps she would write, but realised she didn’t have an address.