He asked himself how he would have viewed the death of Peter Teller and the death of Jenny Teller if he hadn’t known the background of events in Hobson. If he’d come here as Inspector Jessup had done with nothing to color his perspective but a man with a bad leg who’d had too much to drink and simply fallen down the stairs. Or a woman distressed by a death almost literally on her doorstep and very tired but unable to sleep, miscounting the drops from a bottle of medicine that she expected to give her some relief.

Hamish said, “But ye ken, it isna’ sae simple!”

Rutledge went to find Leticia.

“I’ll have to leave for London later in the afternoon.”

“There’s a cold luncheon in the dining room. I need to speak to you.”

He followed her there, and as she filled a plate and handed it to him, she asked, “What did you say to Walter?”

“What is it you think I said?” he asked.

She shook her head irritably. “He’s gone up to his room and locked himself in. The dressing room door, as well. They’ve come to collect Jenny’s body. Shall I tell them to wait?” She began putting food on her own plate with scarcely a glance at what she was choosing.

“Let them go ahead. What about Harry?”

“Mary has decided it would be too upsetting for him to see his mother’s body. She’s staying with him at the rectory.”

“If his father finds that acceptable, the police will have no objection.”

“It wouldn’t matter if you did.”

He smiled. “What do you really want me to say, Miss Teller? Very well. The inquiry is closed in Hobson, with the arrest of Florence Teller’s killer. It was someone who knew her. And while the evidence was unequivocally pointing to your brother—Captain Teller—he was not the cause of her death.”

He could hear the hiss of breath as she released it. “Then Peter was never guilty. Even though he died expecting to be arrested at any moment. Dear God. That breaks my heart.”

“He couldn’t see how events unfolded after he’d driven away. Until we tried to account for certain missing items, nor could we. But we might have reached our conclusions earlier if there hadn’t been so many lies to cover up who Florence Teller really was.”

“But I thought you knew,” she said forcefully. “She was Peter’s wife. The foolish mistake of a young man whose father refused to allow him to marry his cousin.”

“I’m sure Florence Teller would be happy to hear she was only a foolish mistake.”

Leticia had the grace to flush. “I wasn’t referring—”