‘She’s not one for flying off on a tangent,’ Harriet told him, looking thoughtful. ‘Most of the time she’s logical and practical, but this is about her family and Edith is very close to her grandparents. You’ve heard about her father? Yes, well that was a very difficult time for her, obviously. A tragedy like that could warp anyone but Edith’s mother bravely bore the brunt of it herself in London, while the Attlins kept Edith safe down here. She’s turned out remarkably well-balanced, on the whole.’ She grinned suddenly. ‘I can’t imagine what she’d say if she heard me say that; she imagines she was one of the scourges of my time at her school. She wasn’t, though, but I was probably more aware of her because of the distant relationship, even though she’s only just been brave enough to drop the “Miss Quigley”.
‘Anyway, anything that touches her family sends her into a panic and, of course, the old people are just that – old. Edith can’t bear to think of anything happening to hurt them.’
Rory digested this in silence then asked, ‘Why would this Colin Price have been asking about the vicar, do you think? I can understand an interest in the farm – loads of history there and he was a researcher, after all. He could have been hoping to get a lead on whether there might be stuff in the archive, things that might be saleable; but why the vicar?’
‘No idea.’ Harriet shook her head. ‘I’ve racked my brains and Sam was no help. It’s public knowledge that John Forrester was looking like a high-flyer, maybe even a fast-track to a bishopric, who knows? But his wife, who was a bit older, I think, seems to have had a lot of problems and had a breakdown, so last autumn he was appointed here to cover the four parishes. I suppose the thinking was that she could recuperate more easily; we’re quite high up here and out in the country, so there’s more air and less hustle and bustle.’ She made a face. ‘At least, that would be the official thinking, I suppose. In fact, of course, there’s as much stress in the country as in the town, if not more. Just fewer people and less noise.’ She cut another slice of cake and put it, unasked, on Rory’s plate. ‘The trouble is, not everyone is happy with the way a village works, everyone knowing your business. I’m not sure Gillian Forrester was too keen on that aspect of her new life.’
‘How did she die, then?’ Rory was curious. ‘The vicar’s wife, I mean. It can’t have been long ago, from what you’re saying, but he was hardly playing the heartbroken widower at that party yesterday.’
‘It was New Year’s Eve,’ said Harriet. ‘Sam and I were in Italy on a short break after a particularly stressful time. I heard about it when we came home. Apparently the move to the country wasn’t proving the success he’d hoped for, and Mrs Forrester reeled around most of the time in a daze. Nobody seemed sure if it was drink or drugs, either prescription or illegal, but the consensus was that she was out of it all the time. She wasn’t popular; she’d upset most of the village in the short time she was here, by being rude about everything. The pub was too noisy and needed smartening up, and the food they served was inedible.’ She broke off and grinned. ‘That was true enough when she first moved here,’ she said, ‘though it’s been in new hands since just before Christmas, and is doing very well. However, it was hardly tactful to complain loudly in the public bar one night, only days after she’d arrived in the place. She also moaned about the vicarage – too big, too draughty – and she was sarcastic about the village shop, said it was pathetic and run by amateurs. That really got up people’s noses as it won a prize last year for being a well-run community effort.’
Harriet sighed. ‘I tried, we all did, but the poor, silly woman alienated everyone who would have tried to make friends with her and there’s only so much you can do, or offer, without becoming a pest. Perhaps if she’d made an effort, responded to the various overtures, her health might have improved. However, the night she died the vicar was at bell-ringing practice in the belfry. Our bells are famous locally and the New Year changes are particularly fine. He was invited to bless the bells, and I believe he had a go at ringing too. Apparently he got home around 12.30 a.m. after they’d toasted the bells with champagne, and found her dead on the hall floor. She’d obviously staggered out of bed – she was in her nightdress – and the supposition is that she’d been going down to the kitchen. Or maybe the bathroom, the stairs are next to it and it was thought she could have made a mistake. The inquest found she was doped up to the eyeballs and wouldn’t have known which way was up.’