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minutes.
    â€œHow long have you worked for the Berownes?” continued Gibbons.
    â€œTwo years,” she answered. “Almost two and a half.”
    â€œCould you give me your impression of your employers?”
    â€œThat’s easy enough,” she said readily. “Mr. Berowne could be a very generous man and a very pleasant one, but he was definitely the king of his castle. He seemed, to me, to be very fond of Mrs. Berowne, and she of him. If she married him for his money, he was certainly getting value for it.”
    â€œBut it seemed a happy marriage? For both of them?”
    â€œI certainly would have said so.”
    â€œWhat about Miss Wellman?”
    â€œShe’s a bit eccentric, and she’s got a sharp tongue, but she’s all right, really. I think she and Mr. Berowne got along quite happily until he remarried. She can’t stand Mrs. Berowne, and she makes no secret of it. Mrs. Paul doesn’t like her any better, but she doesn’t say so in so many words. Mr. Berowne was very fond of her, too.”
    â€œThat would be Marion Berowne, the daughter-in-law? And what about Paul Berowne?”
    She shrugged. “He didn’t get on with his father. Or his wife, for that matter. And he’s the only man I’ve ever seen who isn’t taken with Mrs. Berowne. But that’s probably prejudice—he wouldn’t like any woman who married his father.”
    Gibbons looked slightly uncomfortable. “So in your opinion, all men find Mrs. Berowne attractive?”
    â€œSure. Didn’t you?”
    â€œShe has a certain allure,” admitted Bethancourt, finishing his scone. “What do women think of her?”
    â€œJust the opposite,” said Kitty frankly. “All men fall in love with her; all women hate her. She doesn’t need them and she shows it.”

    â€œYou, too?” asked Gibbons.
    Kitty frowned, considering. “I can’t say I like her,” she answered, “but, on the other hand, she’s easy enough to work for. And, of course, she’s different with me because she does need me—she can’t cook for beans. Miss Wellman usually takes over on my night off.”
    â€œDo they still eat together, Miss Wellman and Mrs. Berowne?” asked Bethancourt. “I mean since Mr. Berowne’s death?”
    She laughed, displaying even white teeth. “Lord, no,” she said. “The very next day, Miss Wellman came to me and said she’d have a tray in her sitting room for all her meals. I told her fine, but she’d have to come down and get it. Mrs. Berowne still eats in the dining room.”
    â€œHow about breakfast that morning?” asked Gibbons. “Did everyone seem just as usual?”
    â€œI’m not in the dining room much in the morning,” she answered. “But everything seemed much the same. Mr. Paul came in late, looking bit hungover, but that’s not unknown.”
    â€œMr. Paul?” questioned Gibbons. “I thought he and his family lived in a separate house.”
    â€œOh, they do,” she said, “but Mr. Paul usually comes in to breakfast. Before Mr. Berowne retired, they used to breakfast together every morning and then go up to town together. Now Mr. Paul comes round most mornings to keep his father up to date with things. And Mr. Berowne still went up to the office twice a week or so.”
    â€œLiked to keep a finger in the pie, so to speak?” suggested Gibbons.
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œAnd I suppose Mr. Paul rather resented not being left on his own to handle things?”
    She shrugged. “There were arguments. I don’t know how serious any of them were—I don’t know much about business.”
    Gibbons leaned back, cradling his coffee cup. “Let’s go back to
that morning for a moment. Were you surprised to hear that Mrs. Berowne intended to walk to the village?”
    â€œI didn’t know she