Daniel sighed. “It’s not easy to be at the scene of what could be an interesting murder and to watch it probably being bungled by a small-town cop.”
“Such prejudice.” I smiled. “You New Yorkers really do think you’re the bee’s knees, don’t you?”
“I just happen to be a top-notch detective who has solved any number of murders.”
“I seem to remember when we first met, you were about to throw me in jail for a murder I didn’t commit,” I reminded him.
“Well, you had guilt written all over you. And I got it right in the end, didn’t I?”
“Only just.” I pushed back the dark curl that had fallen across his forehead. “Anyway, I want you to go on being a brilliant detective for many years to come. So rest now. I’m going to take a little nap myself. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
Daniel’s hand closed around mine. “You did a splendid job, Mrs. Sullivan.”
I went downstairs and lay on the sofa with the rug over me. I was just drifting off to sleep when there came a light tap at the front door. What now, I thought. No peace for the wicked. I paused to smooth down my hair before I opened the door. Irene Van Horn was standing there. The last time I had seen her she had been in her night attire with hair spilling over her shoulders and eyes red with crying. Now she was back to the perfect vision of loveliness I had seen the day before, except that the dress was dark-green shantung—the closest to black that she had brought with her, I suspected. Her face still looked pale against the dark fabric—like a delicate porcelain doll that might shatter easily.
“Mrs. Sullivan. How is your husband doing?”
“Much better, thank you. His fever is down and he seems to be making good progress.”
“I am glad.” She gave me a tired smile. “I was just talking to my husband and he commented how distressing it must be for you to have your honeymoon turned into such chaos. I’m sorry but with our own grief we have not given much thought to you and your needs until now.”
“That is quite understandable, Mrs. Van Horn. May I say how sorry we are about your father. I could see how distressed you were yesterday morning and wished I could have done something to help.”
“Most kind,” she said. “But there’s nothing you or anyone can do. He’s gone. I’ll never see him again.” She put her hand up to her mouth, then composed herself. “My duties are now to the living. We would have invited you to dinner, but we suspected you would not want to leave your husband for that length of time.”
“No, I think I should keep a close eye on him for the next few days.”
“So we hoped at least you’ll come out and take tea with us on the lawn. It’s a lovely afternoon and tea on the lawn is something of a tradition at Connemara. My father’s chef is famous for his scones and éclairs.”
“Thank you. I’d like that,” I said.
“In about half an hour then.” She smiled again then walked away. I watched her go, wondering if I would have been so composed and gracious after the shocking death of a beloved father. She might have been spoiled but she had been raised with perfect social graces.
I went back into the house, splashed cold water on my face to revive me, then went upstairs to make myself presentable. Daniel was sleeping, but Martha was in the kitchen, having started work on our supper. I asked her to keep an eye on him and went off to take tea with the family.
The whole family assembled on the lawn next to the tower, seated in various poses in an assortment of wicker chairs. Elegant and unmoving, they created almost a replica of yesterday’s tableau, only this time they were suitably dressed: the men in dark suits, Mrs. Flannery in black, and Irene in dark green. The only differences were that on this occasion the two little boys sat on stools at their father’s feet. Also two maids in white caps and aprons stood by a white-clothed table, laden with a silver tea service and cake stands piled with various delights.
Mrs. Van Horn saw me coming and reached out a hand to me, thus breaking the tableau effect. “Mrs. Sullivan. Welcome. Do come and sit down.” She gestured gracefully to a wicker armchair beside her. “Alice, bring Mrs. Sullivan a cup of tea. Do you take oolong or Earl Grey, Mrs. Sullivan?”
I’d tried oolong but wasn’t so sure about the other. Still it was time to broaden my horizons. “Earl Grey, thank you.”
Tea was poured for me and luckily milk was offered. I knew that Daniel’s mother took her Chinese tea with lemon and I wasn’t so fond of that. I took a sip and was somewhat startled by the scented taste. Really the upper classes did eat and drink the strangest things.