"Since she was born," Mrs. Plimpton replied, her voice thick with grief.

Monk tried a different approach. "Was she extremely fond of Mr. Argyll?"

"No," she said abruptly, then realized she had been too forthright. "I mean ... I mean o' course she liked 'im, but it were she as broke it orff, not 'im." She gulped. "Mr. Monk, she would never 'ave taken 'er own life! If yer'd 'ave known 'er, yer wouldn't even think on it. She were that determined to prove as poor Mr. 'Avilland were killed, not took 'isself, an' she were on the edge o' doin' it! 'At excited, she were. . . ." She stopped, sniffing and turning away.

"If she didn't take her own life, Mrs. Plimpton, what do you think happened?" he asked. He said it gently, letting her know he took her opinion seriously.

She looked back. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, her nose pink.

"I think she found out 'oo sent that letter to 'er father lurin' 'im inter the stable ter be shot," she said defiantly. "The master'd never 'ave shot 'isself, any more'n she'd go jumpin' off bridges." She took a deep breath. "An' don't yer go sittin' there eatin' my cake an' tellin' me as they would."

He was startled. No one else had spoken of a letter.

"What letter, Mrs. Plimpton?" he said quietly, controlling the urgency in his voice with an effort.

"Letter as come ter 'im the night 'e died," she answered.

"Mr. Cardman didn't mention it."

" 'Cos 'e didn't know," she replied reasonably, automatically refilling his cup from the big brown teapot. "It came ter the back door an' Lettie took it to 'im. We didn't find it after, so I s'pose 'e didn't keep it. But it was right after that that 'e told Mr. Cardman as 'e'd decided ter sit up, an' no one was ter bother waitin' fer 'im. 'E'd lock up 'isself. It were somebody as was goin' ter meet 'im, I'd set me life on it!" She drew in her breath in a little gasp, as if realizing suddenly that she was right: Havilland had done just that, and lost his life.

"You are quite sure?"

"Course I am!" She was shaking now, but her eyes did not waver.

"May I speak to Lettie?" Monk asked.

"Yer think I'm makin' it up!" she accused him, her face pinched, her breathing heavy.

"No, I don't," he assured her. "If I did, there would be no point in my speaking to Lettie, would there? I want to see what she remembers of it: paper, ink, handwriting. I'd like to know if she saw Mr. Havilland open it, and how he reacted. Was he surprised, afraid, alarmed, or excited, even pleased? Was he expecting it or not?"