“But they gave her laudanum before,” Gran said, “and she didn’t like it. It made her so deathly ill.”

Amy started to speak, but one look from Rutledge and she held her tongue.

“When?”

“When I was here, of course. She’d hurt her back, and I came to stay. She found it hard to wake up. She felt all muzzy. She didn’t like it because of the baby.”

Amy said, “But Harry was away last night.”

Gran took another slice of cold toast. “Is there any of that nice jam left, dear? The one I like so much.”

Amy brought her the pot of strawberry jam.

“Thank you, my dear.” She spread it across half a slice of toast. “Has anyone told Susannah we’re here? I don’t understand why she didn’t come down with us.”

“Mary is here. You’ve always liked Mary,” Amy pointed out.

“No, I haven’t. Just because she’s Jenny’s sister, she thinks she’s invited everywhere. I much prefer Jenny.” Frowning she began to cry again. “It’s so sad, you know. First Peter, and now Jenny. It’s very trying.”

Rutledge prepared to go. “Mrs. Teller?” he said to Amy. “I’d like to speak with you privately, if I may.”

“If it’s about Jenny and the laudanum—”

“No.”

With a glance at Gran, happily spreading jam on another slice of toast, Amy rose. He led her out of the dining room, but Leticia was in the study, sitting at the desk, making a list, and at the top of the stairs, he could hear Walter speaking earnestly to Mary.

As she answered him, Rutledge caught the words, “ . . . your fault, Walter. You must accept that.”

Rutledge said, “Will you find your coat? There’s no privacy here.”

“It’s raining, if you haven’t noticed it.”

“Your coat.”

She came back with it and said, “Edwin wants to know if I’ll be long.”

“Nothing will happen while we’re gone.”

Irritably, she handed him her coat to hold for her, and then together they walked out past the constable and into the rain. Rutledge opened the door of his motorcar for her, and then turned the crank. Reversing the vehicle, he drove past the rain-laden roses. Amy said, “I’ve just driven from London. Edwin wasn’t feeling well enough to take the wheel. I’m not in the mood for a tour of Essex.”

They had reached the gate, just out of sight of the house. There Rutledge stopped.

Without preamble, he said, “Florence Teller wasn’t married to Captain Teller, was she?”

Amy opened her mouth, then closed it smartly.

“What I need to know is why Walter used his brother’s name.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, looking at the trees that overhung the road.