An Ideal Companion. ANNE ASHLEY

from the normally taciturn Dr Dent before he left the room. Unfortunately, she glimpsed no such expression on the Colonel’s face as he continued to bend over the cold, lifeless figure between the sheets, seeming to examine far more thoroughly than the doctor had done.

      As she approached the bed she saw him slip a hand into the pocket of his jacket, before he moved over to the cupboard by the bedside and picked up the vessel that had contained the hot toddy. He raised it to his nose and appeared, if anything, grimmer than before.

      ‘Is something amiss, sir?’

      When he turned to look directly at her again it was with the same fierce intensity, which made her feel hopelessly unprotected, as though she could conceal absolutely nothing from those eyes of his.

      ‘Was Lady Beatrice in the habit of taking strong opiates?’

      Hugo could see at a glance that his question had taken her somewhat by surprise. All the same, she answered promptly enough. ‘Her own doctor prescribes a draught, I believe. She keeps it in the top drawer, there by the bedside. But I cannot imagine she would have needed it last night, not after the hot toddy I made her. It was very strong. Although she sometimes had trouble sleeping,’ she added after a moment’s thought, ‘so she might have added a few drops.’

      Hugo continued to study her as intently as before. ‘And her sudden demise doesn’t come as a shock to you at all, Miss Harrington?’

      ‘I wouldn’t go as far as to say that, sir,’ she confessed, appearing distinctly troubled herself now. ‘Lady Beatrice admitted to me only quite recently that her constitution had never been strong. She frequently requested her own doctor to visit her here. As I mentioned before, she suffered a weakness of the heart and felt she might go at any time. Nevertheless I...’

      ‘You’re still shocked by the turn of events,’ he finished for her and she nodded. ‘In that case, Miss Harrington, it might be wise to permit Lady Beatrice’s own practitioner to examine her. After all, he would have been more familiar with the state of her health than anyone else.’

      ‘Yes, yes of course,’ she agreed after a moment, and then went directly over to the corner of the room to seat herself before the escritoire. ‘I shall send a letter with the groom. I need also to make arrangements for the funeral and get in touch with Lady Beatrice’s man of business.’

      Hugo, who had been heading back across to the door, checked at this. ‘Yes, of course, you must,’ he agreed. ‘It might also be wise, as the lady was a person of some standing in the locale, to apprise the local Justice of the Peace of the unforeseen turn of events.’

      The hand moving smoothly back and forth across the page stilled and a pair of soft brown eyes, clear and questioning, not to mention surprisingly trusting, surveyed him again. ‘If you consider that necessary, Colonel, then of course I shall.’

      It was at that moment Hugo found to his surprise that he was not proof against that innocent, trusting look. ‘If it will help, Miss Harrington, I can visit the worthy myself and apprise him of what has taken place here. He will perhaps require the names and directions of those strangers residing under this roof last night. I see no reason why they cannot leave, however.’

      ‘Indeed, not, sir. After all, not one of you was ever really acquainted with Lady Beatrice, and none of you benefits by her death.’ A sigh, clear and carrying, floated across to the door. ‘Only I can be accused of being guilty of that, as will be revealed when Lady Beatrice’s lawyer is consulted.’

      She was silent for a moment, then seemed to shake herself out of a brown study, and even managed a semblance of a smile as she looked in his direction again. ‘Thank you, Colonel. I have more than enough to concern me at the present time, without having to call on the Justice of the Peace. Sir Cedric Walsh lives in a large, stone-built house a mile or so out of town. I should be very grateful if you could visit him on my behalf and explain.’

      Once again Hugo studied her for a long moment before finally leaving the room and returning downstairs to the breakfast parlour. One glance at the congealed mounds on the plate was sufficient to convince him that his breakfast was now cold, but he wasn’t unduly troubled. His appetite had deserted him completely, so he merely reached for the coffeepot as he resumed his seat.

      ‘Devilish thing to have happened,’ Tristram Boothroyd announced, thereby breaking the subdued silence. ‘Didn’t know the lady very well, of course... Well, hardly at all, really. But it just don’t seem right sitting here, eating her fare, while she’s—’

      ‘Oh, please don’t, Mr Boothroyd!’ Miss Dent implored. ‘It’s such a dreadful thing to have happened. And Lady Beatrice so kind to open her home to us all, too!’

      Hugo refrained from remarking that, in his opinion, it was quite a different person altogether who was deserving of their gratitude. Instead, he drew their attention to the fact that, given the circumstances, they ought not to depart the house without at least leaving their directions in the event that contact with any one of them again became necessary.

      ‘But why should it, sir?’ The lawyer seemed all at once a little put out. ‘Dr Dent has given us every reason to suppose Lady Lindley died of natural causes.’

      ‘That might, indeed, be the case,’ Hugo conceded. ‘None the less, given the—er—suddenness of the lady’s demise, I think it might be wise to obtain a second opinion and suggested to Miss Harrington that she make contact with Lady Beatrice’s own practitioner without delay.’

      ‘Oh, that poor girl!’ Appearing genuinely distressed, Julia Adams rose from her chair. ‘I feel so wretchedly guilty having to leave her to deal with all this by herself. I shall go to her now and see if there’s anything I can do before we depart. And,’ she added on reaching the door, ‘I, for one, have no objection to leaving a note with my direction, if it’s of any help.’

      * * *

      Detecting the light knock on the bedchamber door, Ruth paused to bid enter, before sealing the missive she had been writing with a wafer. She then turned to see Mrs Adams slip almost tentatively into the room.

      By her own admission the widow was no stranger to death. She had witnessed her father being placed in the ground only a few short days before and had buried a husband tragically not many weeks after their marriage had taken place. So it came as something of a surprise to see the look of almost stunned disbelief flickering over the attractive widow’s features, as though she was having the utmost difficulty in coming to terms with the sight that met her gaze.

      A short time before Agatha had returned to the room and had respectfully drawn the sheet over Lady Beatrice’s face. Which was perhaps just as well in the circumstances, Ruth decided, studying her visitor intently, for a female closer to swooning she had yet to see!

      ‘Was there something you required of me, Mrs Adams, before your departure?’

      The gently voiced enquiry, thankfully, seemed to break the trancelike state the widow had appeared to be under. She finally drew her eyes away from the direction of the bed only to place a hand momentarily across her forehead.

      ‘Oh, what must you think of me, Miss Harrington? I’m not usually so easily overset.’ She not only looked, but also sounded, now, deeply ashamed of herself. ‘It must have been the shock that perturbed me so much. The last time I saw Lady Beatrice she was so very much alive and well. I would never have supposed such a thing could happen. And without any prior warning, too!’

      ‘It was unexpected, certainly,’ Ruth agreed, feeling slightly uncomfortable herself now. Whilst her mind had been fully occupied writing those various urgent letters, she’d hardly been conscious of Lady Beatrice’s body lying just a few short feet away. She could appreciate Mrs Adams’s reaction now. It did give one a distinctly uncomfortable feeling sharing a room with a corpse.

      ‘Dr Dent informed us all that—that it was her heart,’ the visitor revealed hesitantly.

      Having been imbued by Colonel Prentiss’s obvious scepticism, Ruth wasn’t altogether sure herself now. ‘Or some kind of