“No, murder is inexcusable,” he told her flatly. “I can probably understand her feelings better than most. But I won’t walk away from my investigation when there are answers to be had.”

“But she couldn’t have known Mrs. Sedgwick! Even if somehow they’d met on shipboard, it wouldn’t have anything to do with Father James, would it? As for accusing her of killing him—!”

“She accused herself,” Rutledge replied, weariness in his voice. “It got out of hand, Mrs. Barnett—it sometimes does, when people are being questioned. I’m not sure why you came up here, but once you were here, I had no choice except to ignore you.”

Still rattled, she said, “Inspector Blevins would never —”

“I’m not Inspector Blevins.” He turned to shove the photograph safely away again in the desk.

“No,” Hamish pointed out, “and more’s the pity!”

Rutledge ushered Mrs. Barnett out of the room. As he shut the door behind them, he said, “Forget what happened just now. You can’t change it, for one thing, and for another, you don’t really understand all the reasons behind it. Meanwhile, since you’ve heard everything that has been said, I’d like to ask you what sort of woman Mrs. Sedgwick was.”

Mrs. Barnett seemed to have trouble concentrating on his question. They had reached the stairs before she began tentatively, “I—I can’t really tell you. I hardly knew her. She was always with one or another of the family—I seldom had an opportunity to say more than half a dozen words to her alone—”

Then she faced him. “I don’t know why this matters—!”

“Because in one way or another, she mattered to Father James. And even though we have Walsh in custody, we aren’t absolved from considering all the other avenues the victim’s life opens to us.”

Doubtful still, she answered, “I didn’t know her! But she seemed nice enough. Well born. I’ve heard she came from a very fine American family, a niece or cousin to the present Lord Sedgwick’s American wife. Quite pretty, as you could see for yourself. Rather shy and quiet, with a lovely smile.”

“Did she attend church here in Osterley?”

“Here? No, not very often. There’s a charming little church on the estate in East Sherham. But the Sedgwicks would come to Osterley around once a month, and the Vicar tried to interest Mrs. Sedgwick in good works. She was too shy, and always sent excuses for not showing up.”

“Did she have many friends in Osterley?” Rutledge asked as he walked with Mrs. Barnett through the French doors into the dining room. He saw her glance quickly over her shoulder as if she would like nothing more than to escape from him to her kitchen.