There was something else Henrietta wanted to say. The bloodstain on her husband’s sleeve. She had seen it with her own eyes. The following morning she had taken the shirt and washed it in boiling water and bleach. It was on the washing line even now, drying in the sun. She wanted to ask him whose blood it was. She wanted to know how it had got there. But she didn’t dare. She couldn’t accuse him. Such a thing was impossible.
Too much too early piling up against Osborne. But the blood is certainly fishy.
She also knows that Brent suspects it might've been Osborne who went up to Pye Hall that night. Shouldn't she tell her husband about that?
