Rutledge’s glance crossed May Trent’s. She smiled pleasantly, as if they were discussing a mutual acquaintance. But her gloved hands gripped each other.

“That brings me to the next question. In regard to your daughter-in-law—”

This time Sedgwick’s eyebrows rose. “Virginia? You seem to have a great deal on your mind this evening! Baker and now Arthur’s late wife. I don’t see how you could have known either one of them.”

“As a tangent to Inspector Blevins’s efforts to investigate Walsh’s role in Father James’s death, I’ve been looking into the priest’s background and interests. He did know Virginia Sedgwick, I’m told.”

“Can I offer you something to drink? Tea? A little sherry for you, Miss Trent?”

They politely declined.

“Virginia was sweet-natured, and she had half of Norfolk at her feet. Father James was no exception, as I remember.” Sedgwick smiled indulgently. “She seemed to feel comfortable with older men. Baker. Myself.”

“The priest was quite anxious about her when she disappeared.”

Sedgwick crossed his legs and flicked a small bit of mud off his shoe. “Yes, his support meant more than we can say. A great kindness, that was! As soon as we’d learned what happened to her, I sent him word.”

“As I understand it, she sailed on Titanic,” Rutledge said.

“It was some time before we realized that she was among the victims. It came as quite a shock.” His voice was heavy. “She’d had a quarrel with Arthur, you know— one of those things that happen in any marriage. Apparently she took it to heart. When she told him she wanted to go home, he told her not to be ridiculous, expecting it to blow over. Tragically, she left anyway.”

“Her body was never recovered?”

“Sadly, she wasn’t identified when the bodies were brought in. We didn’t know, you see, that she’d even sailed. Not until after the fact. Arthur was the one I worried about—he was frantic. When the police failed to find any trace, we worked through private sources. And in the end, Arthur went straight to Ireland. I’d have accompanied him if I’d realized he was going to be subjected to those pathetic photographs of the dead—imagine, if you will, trying to see a resemblance to someone you loved! But money has its uses. In the end, she came home to us. So many of the dead couldn’t be identified. It was—rather horrible to think about them.” He set down his drink, unfinished. “For a time, I was afraid I’d lose my son as well. I’ve tried for five years now to persuade him to put her death behind him and marry again. He won’t hear of it.”