Angela Hartley misunderstood Josephine’s wistful glance in its direction. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, her voice deceptively strong against the silence, ‘we shouldn’t be spoiling everyone’s Christmas like this when Hilaria has gone to such trouble. You ought to be enjoying yourselves, not shut up in here with me.’

Josephine looked at Marta, baffled that the pressure to make every Christmas a happy one was so deeply rooted in the English psyche that not even murder could get in the way. ‘Please don’t think about it,’ she said, horrified that Mrs Hartley should be blaming herself on top of everything else she must be feeling. ‘I’m just so sorry there isn’t more that 184we can do. It’s precious little consolation, I know, but your husband couldn’t be in better hands. Archie won’t rest until he finds out who did this.’

‘But it’s all my fault.’

Marta took her hand, so affronted by the idea that she spoke almost angrily. ‘Of course it isn’t. Why on earth would you say that?’

‘Because it’s true. Richard only came here to make me happy. We don’t usually go away for Christmas, and I know how special he was trying to make it for me – and why. There’s an irony in that, don’t you think? In wanting to make it memorable. Only for this to happen.’ She wound the silk round each hand and pulled it tightly, as if she could take her frustrations out on the material. ‘We’ve tried not to let it spoil our marriage, but we never thought …’

The emotion in her eyes was too much, and Josephine had to look away. The shock of finding herself so suddenly alone would be devastating enough for Angela Hartley, but her obvious reliance on her husband made her even more vulnerable now that he was gone. ‘How long had you been married?’ Marta asked.

‘The fifth of September 1910, before we moved to London. I wish we’d never come back, really, but Richard was only trying to help.’

‘Did something happen last night, Mrs Hartley?’ Josephine asked, and then, when there was no response: ‘When did you last see your husband?’

‘I’ve been trying to remember. I know it’s important, but the harder I try, the more confusing it becomes.’

‘Take your time.’

‘It’s all so muddled, you see.’ 185

Marta gave Josephine a warning look, discouraging what was beginning to sound like a police investigation, but she ignored it, spurred on by a troubling suspicion that she should have done more to help last night; if she had waited with Mrs Hartley, or even gone to look for the vicar herself, things might have turned out very differently. ‘We bumped into each other in the corridor,’ she prompted gently, ‘and you said he’d gone to talk to someone. Do you know who it was?’

‘Oh yes, I remember now. You were very kind, and you showed me the way back to my room.’

‘That’s right. Then what happened?’

‘I was cold, so I got into bed and waited for Richard to come and say goodnight, but I must have fallen asleep because I don’t remember him coming back.’