She pressed her hand to her brow again. “Let me think! Everything’s such a nightmare that I find it hard to — Was it yesterday? No, I think it must have been the day before. My maid was going into Liskeard, and I asked her to get the prescription made up again. Yes, I’m nearly sure that was when it was.”
The Inspector referred to his notes. “That would be Loveday Trewithian?”
“Yes. She is our butler’s niece. But she couldn’t have had anything to do with it, Inspector!”
He raised his eyes from his notebook. “She is engaged to be married to Mr Bartholomew Penhallow, I believe, madam?”
She gave a gasp, and clutched the arms of her chair “No! There’s no engagement! Who told you? Who can possibly have said anything about that to you?”
The Inspector did not feel it to be incumbent upon him to enlighten this nervous, and rather simple creature on the extent of the knowledge of the family’s more private affairs which was enjoyed by Loveday’s fellow servants. He merely said: “That is the information I have madam.”
She thought that Bart must have avowed his intention to marry Loveday. “It’s nothing but a passing fancy. I know my stepson did — did fall in love with her, but of course marriage is out of the question, and I’m quite sure Loveday knows it, because she’s a thoroughly nice girl, whatever you may have been told to the contrary!”
“Did Mr Penhallow know of his son’s intention to marry this girl?”
“Yes. That is... ”
“Was he willing for the marriage to take place?”