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lass in the locket will know.”
    â€œYes, very likely.” But finding her was going to be another matter.
    Making a point to look for the turning Morrison had spoken of, he saw it to his left three-quarters of a mile from the church. He drove on, passing through Furnham and out the other side, turning away from the river’s mouth toward the farms and pasturage wrested from the marshes. The farms were not large, but they appeared to be prosperous enough. Dairy herds, mostly, he thought, judging from the cows grazing quietly. With only enough acreage for the corn and hay to feed them. He could just see the green tips of the corn in a field beyond, moving with the light sea breeze.
    He found the Brothers farm and took the rutted turning that led to the house. Beyond it stood a weathered barn and several outbuildings.
    No one answered his knock, and after a moment he walked round to the kitchen door at the rear. There he found a woman in a black dress that had seen happier days, inside a wire pen scattering feed for the chickens bunched and clucking around her ankles. She looked up as Rutledge came toward her, her eyes wary.
    It was an expression he was growing accustomed to, here on the River Hawking.
    She said, politely enough, “Can I help you, sir?”
    â€œGood morning. My name is Rutledge. I’m looking for Mrs. Brothers.”
    â€œAnd what would you be wanting with her, when you’ve found her?”
    â€œI’m trying to locate anyone who knew the family at River’s Edge. The rector at St. Edward’s, Mr. Morrison, has told me Mrs. Brothers was once a housemaid there.”
    Nodding, she emptied the bowl she was holding in the crook of her arm and walked out of the pen, latching the gate behind her. “Come into the kitchen, then.”
    He followed her down the path and over the stepping-stones that led between the beds of herbs, flowers, and vegetables flanking the kitchen entrance. Someone, he noted, took pride in the gardens, for they were weeded and the soil between the rows had recently been hoed.
    Inside the kitchen, he saw the same care. The cloth over the table was not only clean but also ironed, and both the sink and the cabinets below it were spotless, as was the floor.
    â€œI’m Nancy Brothers,” she said, offering him a chair and going to stand in front of the broad dresser. “Why are you looking for anyone from the house?”
    â€œI’m not precisely sure,” Rutledge answered her. “This locket has been found, and I’m trying to trace the woman shown inside.” He took it from his pocket and held it out to her by the gold chain. “I was told she might have lived at River’s Edge.”
    Instead of reaching for the locket, Mrs. Brothers asked, “Are you a lawyer, then? Or a policeman?”
    He told her the truth. “I’m from Scotland Yard. We don’t ordinarily search for the owner of lost property. But in this case, it could help us in another matter of some importance.”
    Mrs. Brothers took the locket, found the clasp, and opened it. “Oh.”
    â€œYou recognize her?” Rutledge prompted as she stood there staring at the tiny photograph.
    â€œThe locket. It brings back memories,” she replied slowly. “I thought I’d put all that behind me.”
    â€œWhat had you put behind you?”
    She sighed, and turned her head to look out the window. “In the end it was a troubled house,” she said finally. “I’d have left if there had been anywhere to go. It’s not as if this was London or even Tilbury, where I could have found another position.”
    Was she making excuses for staying on, despite her feelings about the house? He wondered whether she was lying to herself or to him.
    â€œHow troubled?”
    Nancy Brothers took a deep breath. “It’s not my place to gossip about my betters.”
    â€œI understand. That’s commendable, in