Chapter 4

It had been three days since Ginny’s last visit to the graveyard at St. Dunstan’s. Three days since she’d been able to eat. Three days since she’d managed more than an hour or two of sleep at night before Elizabeth de Wolfe’s pleas for help startled her awake. She didn’t know how much longer she could go on like this before she lost her mind.

“You’ve rearranged those ribbons a dozen different ways, Ginny,” Della said from beside her. “And I doubt you even realize you’ve done so.” Della put her arm around Ginny’s shoulders and gave her a gentle hug. “What’s wrong, Ginny? You haven’t been yourself since Inspector de Wolfe was here. Please, tell me what’s wrong. Let me help you.”

Ginny turned her head until her gaze locked with Della’s. The moment their eyes made contact, Ginny lost control of her emotions. Tears she’d kept at bay for days filled her eyes, then ran down her cheeks.

“Lucy, watch the shop,” Della ordered as she led Ginny to the back room where they could be alone. When they were out of sight from any customers that might enter the shop, Della helped her to a chair beside the worktable, then made her a cup of tea from the water they always kept hot.

“Now, tell me what’s wrong, Ginny.” Della gave Ginny a cup of tea, then sat down in the chair next to her.

“Oh, Della,” Ginny hiccupped through her tears. “I don’t know what to do. I’m so frightened.”

“What’s wrong sweeting? Are you ill?”

Ginny shook her head. “No, I’m not ill. It’s nothing like that. It’s… it’s…”

Della reached for Ginny’s hands and held them. “What, Ginny? What is it?”

Ginny lifted her head until her gaze locked with Della’s. “I think I might know something about… about… Elizabeth de Wolfe’s murder.”

“What? How could you know anything? We only discovered she’d been killed last week. How could you possibly—”

Della stopped while a fearful expression covered her face. “What do you know?”

Ginny shook her head. “I don’t want anyone to know,” Ginny said. “What if I’m wrong?”

“If you know anything that might help the inspector find the person responsible for his cousin’s murder, you have to tell him.”

“What if he doesn’t believe me?”

“Then that will be his decision. You will have done your duty. The rest is up to him.”

Ginny placed her hands over her face and tried to compose herself.

“You have to go to the inspector with what you know. And you have to do it now. Before you become ill.”

Ginny took a sip of her tea. “You’re right, of course. I’m just so frightened. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Ginny shook her head. She couldn’t tell Della what had happened. Ginny knew her sister would think Ginny was as mad as their mother had been. “No. I need to go by myself.”

“Then go,” Della said, helping Ginny remove the apron the three of them wore while at work, then holding out Ginny’s bonnet and gloves. “Go now. You’ll feel better when you’ve spoken to the inspector.”

Ginny nodded, then headed for the door.

She knew she’d be lucky if the inspector didn’t transfer her to Bedlam when she told him that his cousin spoke to her from the grave. And that she’d spoken to her on more than one occasion.

Ginny walked to Inspector de Wolfe’s office on legs that threatened to buckle beneath her. She reached out to open the door with a trembling hand, then made her way to the inspector’s office where she was greeted by his secretary.

She tried to think positive thoughts, but she knew before she was shown to the inspector’s office that this was going to be one of the worst days of her life.

. . .

Will sat behind his desk trying to figure out what excuse he could use to call on Ginny Wattersfield again. There was something that drew him to her. Something about her warm yet vulnerable openness that he found endearing. He experienced a connection to her that baffled him. He’d never felt this way about anyone. Never felt the pull to anyone like he did to her.

But more than that, she knew something about Lizzy she wasn’t revealing. Perhaps if he went to visit her again, he could find out what that was. Perhaps if she got to know him better she would tell him what she knew.

Will closed the file he’d been studying and prepared to rise when a knock on the door stopped him.

“You have a visitor, Inspector.”

Will raised a questioning gaze.

“Miss Virginia Wattersfield.”

Will experienced a rush of anticipation. “Show her in, Randolph. And bring tea.”

“Yes, sir.”

Randolph moved aside to allow Virginia Wattersfield to enter.

The first detail Will noticed was the lack of color in Miss Wattersfield’s face. And her taut features. She looked at him through haunted eyes, and the smile he’d seen on her face when he’d visited with her earlier was nowhere to be seen.

“Miss Wattersfield. Please, come in.”

Will walked to her and reached for her hand. Her fingers trembled in his, and even through her gloves he realized her hands were like ice.

Will brought her into the room and showed her to a chair. Instead of sitting behind his desk, he sat in a chair next to her. “Something’s wrong,” he said without a preliminary greeting.

She lowered her head then nodded. Her eyes filled with wetness and before she lifted her head she had to brush at the tears that spilled over her lashes.

Randolph brought in a tea tray and poured Miss Wattersfield a cup of tea. Will took the tea, not sure the lady could hold a cup of liquid without spilling the contents.

For some reason he couldn’t explain, the weight she carried was a burden he wanted to take from her shoulders. He wanted to take her in his arms and make it disappear. Such an urge was completely foreign to him.

“Do you need anything else?” Randolph asked.

“No, Randolph. I’ll call if I do.”

“Very good, sir.”

A few moments later he heard the door close behind Randolph and he knew they were alone. “There’s no hurry, Miss Wattersfield. Take your time. We have all day.”

She lifted her chin and looked at him through tear-filled eyes.

Although he’d noticed that her eyes were blue when he first saw her, their blueness was even more striking with tears puddled against them. And today he also noticed the deep gold of her hair.

Her features were delicate, with pale freckles that dotted her upturned nose. Not a single blemish marred her lovely face. Miss Virginia Wattersfield was pure perfection.

He waited, and eventually she reached to take the cup from his hands. He felt reassured as she took a small sip, then placed the cup on the corner of his desk.

“I’m terribly sorry,” she said.

Her voice was husky with emotion, and she dabbed at the wetness with a handkerchief she retrieved from her reticule. She took a deep breath that lifted her shoulders, then turned to face him.

“I need your help, Inspector. I didn’t know who else to go to.”

“You came to the right place, Miss Wattersfield. I will gladly assist you in any way I can.”

Miss Wattersfield lowered her gaze to her hands clenched in her lap and took in a shuddering breath.

“Are you in some sort of trouble?”

She shook her head. “This isn’t about me.”

“Then who?”

She turned her head and lifted her gaze so that she faced him. “I don’t expect you to believe me. In fact,” she said clenching her fingers harder, “I actually expect you to think that I am insane.”

“You are hardly insane, Miss Wattersfield.”

The corners of her full lips lifted slightly. “I wish I were as sure of that as you seem to be.”

“Why don’t you tell me what this is about, and why you doubt your sanity? Start with who this concerns.”

Will watched her struggle to begin. He knew, as often happened with people he was interrogating, they felt that once they began, there would be no going back. He also realized how terrified she was that he wouldn’t believe her.

“Before I begin, I’d ask that you know that I don’t understand what happened any more than you will. The only fact I’m sure of is that it did happen. I didn’t just imagine it.”

Will sat back in his chair and waited. It took several moments, but at last Virginia Wattersfield began.

“I didn’t tell you everything about the visit I made to St. Dunstan’s cemetery a few weeks ago.”

“How many weeks exactly?”

“Well, two, or two-and-a-half, I believe. I visit my mother’s grave regularly as I explained earlier, but on that occasion, I was late getting to the cemetery. A heavy fog blanketed the area, and by the time I left, I could scarcely see my hand in front of my face. The fog was that dense.”

She paused, and Will noticed the rise and fall of her shoulders when she took a deep breath. “Go on, Miss Wattersfield.”

“Because I was in a hurry to get home, I took a different route than usual. I was hurrying through the cemetery when someone spoke to me.”

She closed her eyes as if she were losing her resolve. Will knew he needed to encourage her to resume. “Did you recognize the speaker?”

She shook her head. “I turned in the direction the voice came from, but I couldn’t see anyone. The fog was so thick that it didn’t really surprise me. I waited, thinking the speaker would call out again. But it…she didn’t.”

“What did the speaker say?”

“The voice said…” Miss Wattersfield hesitated.

“Go on.”

“The voice said, ‘Help me. Please, help me.’”

Will frowned. “Are you sure you didn’t see anyone?”

She shook her head. “No one was there.”

“What did you do then?”

“I continued walking from the cemetery. But the voice called out to me again.”

“What did the voice say this time?”

“She said ‘Find my killer. Don’t let him go free.’”

Will rose to his feet. A dozen thoughts raced through his mind. The most prevalent was that the lady was playing some kind of joke on him. Perhaps she was insane.

Of course he didn’t believe her. But he remembered the tears she’d shed, and the trembling of her small body. She’d truly been frightened. She hadn’t faked such a violent reaction. He was sure of that.

Will took a few steps away from her, then turned to face her. He decided to let her play this out to see where she went with her preposterous story.

“What did you do then?”

“I followed the voice. It was coming from a grave off the path.”

“Did the voice say anything else to you?”

She nodded. “She said, ‘He’s not what he seems.’”

“Who’s not what he seems?”

“I don’t know. I was too terrified to think straight. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I called out that I knew the speaker was playing a cruel trick and I turned to walk away.”

“What happened then?”

“The voice called me back and repeated her plea.”

“Did you see anyone this time?”

She shook her head. “No. There wasn’t anyone there. But I followed the voice until I knew where it had come from.”

“Where was that?”

“The voice came from your cousin’s grave. From Elizabeth de Wolfe’s grave.”