‘Forgive me, I’m not entirely clear on your family’s history. You’re the third daughter?’
‘The second. And the fifth child. The one that was sent to Bristol. In the course of time, I married and was widowed.’ She gave me a long look. ‘I’ve been to see the constable but I’m told he’s ill, and you’re dealing with the matter in his stead.’
I started to offer my sympathies for her parents’ deaths but she waved them away. ‘I can’t say I ever had any fondness for my parents, Mr Patterson. It’s difficult to love someone who gave you away. Be so good as to tell me what happened.’
‘As far as we can tell, your sister Alice stabbed everyone in the house before fleeing the scene. The watchmen are looking for her, but haven’t found her yet.’
‘And what do you presume her reason to have been?’
‘There was some money missing – probably not a great deal, but perhaps enough to get her back to London.’
Her lip curled; she said, after a moment, ‘She was always a spoilt brat, thinking of nothing but her own pleasure. But I find it difficult to imagine her a murderer.’
‘You know her well then? Despite being brought up in different households.’
‘We have met. And Sarah frequently wrote to me about her.’ She paused, said, ‘She can be engaging but has a will of her own. I had a letter only a day or so ago from Sarah, relating her homecoming. She was intolerable, apparently. She refused to do anything to help about the house and shop, wanting to know why there were no servants.’
That was unusual – I’d have expected the Gregsons to have at least a maid. Mrs Fletcher’s gaze was intent on my face. She said, ‘I take it you never met my father? He was not a man to spend more than he had to – he had a wife and daughter to do the work, after all. He was always mean, in spirit and in deed.’
Her tone held such contempt that it nearly took my breath away. My expression must have betrayed my feelings; she said bluntly, ‘I despised my father, Mr Patterson – his petty-mindedness, his narrow vision and his joyless spirit.’
Which was comprehensively damning. ‘Do you know if your father kept much money in the house?’
‘He might have. He never let a penny go unless he was forced to. I’ve seen him strike my mother for buying a ribbon.’
‘He was violent?’
Her lip curled again. ‘A man has the right to chastise his own wife, does he not?’
I wondered if the late Mr Fletcher had dared to take similar measures.
‘Well.’ She brushed down her skirts. ‘At least some good will come of it. There are only three of us left to inherit: my brothers in London and Exeter, and myself. My mother left me her jewellery and the household goods. I would like to retrieve the jewellery as soon as possible.’
So we came to the real reason for her visit. At least she was direct.
‘We could go down to the shop now,’ she said, adding, as an afterthought, ‘If it’s convenient.’
I shook my head. ‘Nothing can be done until after the inquest. The bodies are still in the house, and the jury need to view the premises.’
‘After the inquest, then?’ she persisted.
‘I understand,’ I said carefully, ‘that the will is in the possession of Lawyer Armstrong. I have to follow his wishes in this matter.’
She looked at me long and hard, then rose to her feet. I rose too, of course.
‘I think you take a great deal on yourself, Mr Patterson,’ she said. And she swept out without another word.
I went back to the breakfast room, amused rather than annoyed. Esther was finishing off her toast and looked rather better; she listened to my account of Mrs Fletcher without much sympathy.
‘So she was only interested in her inheritance? And she criticized her father for his interest in money? Like father, like daughter, clearly!’
I bent to kiss her cheek. ‘I must go or I’ll be late meeting Hugh and Balfour. Enjoy your letters.’
She looked almost cheerful. ‘No,
Learning to Kill: Stories