No one stepped forward at first to throw in the first handful of earth until the constable came up, did his duty, and said under his breath, “I hope you’ve found peace, now.”

Edwin walked up, stared for a moment into the grave, as if he were praying, and then took a firm handful of earth and scattered it gently. It dropped like the first sounds of a heavy rain on the roof as it struck the wooden coffin. Amy Teller followed him, and others came up as well, among them Mrs. Greeley and then Sam Jordan. Lawrence Cobb, watched by his uncle, paused for a moment looking up at the cloudless sky, then gently dropped a yellow rose into the grave. It landed at the broadest part of the coffin, and he nodded, as if that was what he’d intended. Without a word, he walked on, ignoring the red-haired woman just behind him. Rutledge could see her resemblance to Mrs. Blaine, but Betsy was slimmer, prettier. Her mouth was drawn tight now, and he noticed that she didn’t look into the grave or reach for a handful of earth. Instead her eyes were fixed on her husband.

Hamish said, “He’ll no’ spend a restful night.”

Rutledge was the last of the mourners to step forward. Mr. Kerr gave the benediction, and then Florence Marshall Teller was left to the attentions of the gravediggers and the sexton.

Rutledge stood there for a moment longer, then went to join Edwin and Amy Teller as they walked back to their motorcar.

“I’m glad we came,” Edwin said with conviction. “It was the right thing to do.”

“A very simple service,” Rutledge said. “But I think it suited her.”

“I’ve always liked that psalm,” Amy said. “ ‘I will lift mine eyes unto the hills . . .—”

Edwin said, “The curate spoke of a child. A boy. Were there any other children?”

“Only the one son. I’m told he died of illness many years ago.”

“But you told me—I thought you said he was still alive,” Amy accused him.

“I said I was unable to ask his views,” Rutledge answered her.

“How sad,” Edwin Teller said. The words sounded sincere, rather than a conventional expression of sympathy. “For her.”

“Was she your sister-in-law?” Rutledge asked without emphasis.

Edwin Teller stared at him. “This is neither the time nor the place,” he snapped.

Rutledge replied, “Where then is the proper place?”

But there was no answer to that. Even Amy Teller looked away, her face pale.

They had nearly reached the Teller motorcar. Before he could press the issue, Rutledge was distracted by a boy running toward the churchyard, in the direction of Constable Satterthwaite. Rutledge excused himself and left the Tellers standing there.

By the time he’d reached the spot where Satterthwaite was standing listening to the boy, the constable looked up.