Laura smiled. “I’ve been exploring.” She wasn’t sure she was up to facing the artist when she felt so low. But perhaps she’d unconsciously brought herself here, for Cilla might supply the answers to herquestions.
Cilla grinned. “Please excuse my gardening attire. These were my French lover’s and are so much more useful than a dress. You’re just in time for lunch.”
Laura hesitated. “Thank you, but I should return to the house. They’ll be expecting me.”
“Nonsense.” Cilla opened the gate and stood aside. “My maid is here today. I’ll send her over to tell them you won’t be in for lunch.”
“Well, if you’re sure.”
“I’d love the company.”
Wondering if Cilla was ever lonely, Laura followed her along the path. “In London, some suffragettes prefer men’s clothes, to make a statement I suppose. But I doubt the villagers would approve if I did it here.”
Cilla chuckled. “They consider me to be a batty artist, so they tolerate me. But barely. You would cause a frightful scandal, however. Are you interested in women’s suffrage?” She looked surprised. “I wouldn’t expect a baroness to bother with such things.”
“I wasn’t always a baroness.” Laura bit her lip at the fractious tone of her voice. It wasn’t Cilla’s fault that she now struggled to understand who she was and what she wanted. “I was very much involved when I lived in Wimbledon.”
Cilla’s hazel eyes brightened. “I hope you intend to continue to support this excellent cause.”
“Yes, I do.”
“And Nathaniel approves?” Cilla’s tone was mild, but her sidelong glance alerted Laura that she doubted hewould.
“Of course,” Laura said airily. She needed a distraction and paused to look at the painting of the cottage garden in the moonlight. An impressive, moody work. “I walked past this cottage earlier.”
Cilla folded her arms and leaned against the wall. “That place is empty now.”
“Who used to live there?”
“Theo Mallory. Head gardener at Wolfram.” Cilla dropped her arms. She turned and walked through the sittingroom.
“I’ve met the head gardener, and his name isn’t Theo. Does he still work here?”
“Not anymore.”
Although she sensed Cilla’s reluctance to discuss it, Laura persisted. “Who is the lady in the red dress at the door of the cottage? Real or imagined?”
Cilla swiveled, eyebrows raised. “She was real. Tell me, what has Nathaniel told you about his wife’s death?”
Embarrassed, Laura shrugged. “Just that she died from a fall.”
“Then perhaps I shouldn’t talk of it. Come and keep me company while I prepare us a simple lunch. I have cauliflower soup and herby pie. If that appeals?”
“Sounds delicious. As you’re now without your maid, please allow me to help.”
Cilla smiled as she removed her hat. The green and brown scarf tying back her hair brought out warm lights in her eyes. “You may set the table. Such pleasant weather, we’ll eat outside.”
Laura discovered she was hungry. As she ate the delicious pie, she and Cilla chatted about the William Morris collection she and Nathaniel had seen. It was a pleasure to talk to someone who shared her interest. But when they’d exhausted that subject, the question that burned in Laura’s brain begged to beanswered.
“Can you at least tell me how Amanda died?” She reddened as the words popped out without prior thought. “I assumed a fall down the stairs.”
“You haven’t asked him?”
“I was gearing myself up to do so.”
Cilla frowned. “There’s no reason why Nathaniel won’t tell you.”
Laura dropped her gaze and flushed. “I think he still mourns her.”
