“I’ll say. Margot Miller and the lady of the house, sipping tea and eating crumpets?”
Tennant folded the note and slipped it into his pocket. “I’d like to hear Mrs. Allingham’s explanation.”
“Will you drop me at Kensington station house on the way? Maybe one of those young coppers found the name on the lease.”
* **
An hour later, Tennant knocked on the door of Blenheim Lodge. While he waited for the footman, a newsboy trudged up the drive and walked around the house to the tradesmen’s entrance.
The door opened, and Tennant asked the servant if Mrs. Allingham was at home.
“I’m afraid the mistress is—”
“Inspector?” Mary Allingham said from the morning room doorway. “Can I help you? My sister-in-law isn’t down yet.”
“I apologize for arriving so early, but I wanted to ask Mrs. Allingham about a note she sent.”
“Louisa sent you a note?”
“No.” Tennant drew the invitation from his inner pocket and gave it to Mary.
She looked up with a puzzled frown. “My sister-in-law didn’t write this. It’s nothing like her handwriting.”
“You’re certain, Miss Allingham?”
“Of course. But it explains something strange that happened a few days ago.” She looked around for the servant. “Alfred?”
“Yes, Miss Mary?”
“Tell Inspector Tennant about Miss Miller’s visit.”
“Two days ago, it was. Showed up at the front door, asking to see Mrs. Allingham, bold as brass. I told her the mistress was out for the afternoon.”
“What was her response?”
“Stamped her foot and stormed off in a huff.”
“Thank you, Alfred,” Mary said.
Tennant waited until the door closed behind the servant. “Was your sister-in-law out or simply not receiving visitors?”
“Louisa had gone to Garrard’s, her jeweler, to inquire about a mourning brooch.”
“What did Mrs. Allingham say about the incident?”
“She thought Alfred had misunderstood, that the girl hadasked for me. But Margot never knocks on the front door when she comes for a sitting. She walks around back to my studio.”
“And you hadn’t arranged to see her?”
“No. I don’t understand. It’s such a . . . pointless, heartless prank to pull on a widow and a household in mourning.”
“Miss Allingham, I saw your morning paper arrive. You haven’t heard the news. Yesterday, Margot Miller was found dead in the maze at the horticultural garden. She’d been murdered the day before.”
“Good God! The afternoon she . . .”
“Yes. The day she called here. Miss Allingham, perhaps we could sit?”
“Of course.” Tennant followed her into the drawing room. She dropped onto a chair. “Margot, murdered. This is some sort of . . .”
