“I didn’t know them myself—Charles and I only took over the parish after their deaths—but that’s what the village doctor says, Dr. Flowerday, and he is the only person in Great Holling with an opinion worth listening to.”

Wanting to check I had not misunderstood her, I said, “So your husband was the vicar here, after Patrick Ive?”

“Until he died three years ago, yes. There is a new vicar now: a bookish chap without a wife who keeps himself to himself.”

“And this Dr. Flowerday . . . ?”

“Forget about him,” Margaret Ernst said quickly, which did an excellent job of fixing the name Dr. Flowerday firmly in my mind.

“All right,” I said dishonestly. Having known Margaret Ernst for less than a quarter of an hour, I suspected that all-embracing obedience was the tactic most likely to serve me well.

“Why did the inscription on the gravestone fall to you?” I asked her. “Did the Ives not have family?”

“None who were both interested and capable, sadly.”

“Mrs. Ernst,” I said. “Margaret, I mean . . . I can’t tell you how much more welcome in the village you have made me feel. It’s plain that you know who I am, so you must also know why I’m here. No one else will speak to me, apart from an old chap at the King’s Head Inn who made little sense.”

“I’m not sure my intention was to make you feel welcome, Mr. Catchpool.”

“Less unwelcome, then. At least you don’t flee from me as from a monstrous apparition.”

She laughed. “You? Monstrous? Oh, dear.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

“This man who made little sense at the King’s Head—did he have a white beard?”

“Yes.”

“He spoke to you because he is not afraid.”

“Because he’s too furiously drunk to fear a thing?”

“No. Because he was not . . .” Margaret stopped and changed course. “He is in no danger from the murderer of Harriet, Ida and Richard.”

“And you?” I asked.

“I would speak to you as I have, and as I am, whatever the danger.”

“I see. Are you unusually brave?”

“I am unusually pigheaded. I say what I believe needs to be said, and I do what I believe needs to be done. And if I happen to catch a suggestion that others would prefer me to remain silent, then I do the opposite.”

“That’s commendable, I suppose.”

“Do you find me too direct, Mr. Catchpool?”

“Not at all. It makes life easier, to speak one’s mind.”

“And is that one of the reasons your life has never been easy?” Margaret Ernst smiled. “Ah—I see you would prefer not to talk about yourself. Very well then. What is your impression of my character? If you don’t object to the question.”