Page 23 of Murder in Moonlight
She swallowed audibly. “Do you think he was running away when he was stabbed?”
“Impossible to tell. The grass is certainly depressed and churned up in places, but not enough, I would think, to show any kind of struggle.”
To his surprise, she bent down and touched the patch of mud in front of her, then glanced back toward the house. “The quickest way back to the house is not by the paths but through that flowerbed.” She rose unaided and walked over to it. The plants had been trampled, and the earth clearly walked on. “Too many feet to see any in particular.”
“They brought the body back into the house this way. And I daresay the constables poked around here too. If the murderer left his footprint, it’s well obliterated.”
“Mr. Winsom’s, too,” she said, “though I can’t imagine his barging through flowerbeds and trampling the plants. Was he sitting on the swing, and the murderer waited for him to move before he attacked?”
“Where would he hide? The moonlight was bright enough.”
“Perhaps he didn’t need to hide,” Constance said slowly. “Perhaps Winsom was waiting for someone. He would not fear his own guests.”
“True. We already know it was a planned crime, so the murderer is unlikely to have hidden here on the off chance of Winsom passing this way.”
“He could have followed him from the house… Only, wouldn’t Winsom have heard him? Turned to face him?”
“It must have been sudden,” Solomon said. “I think he was with someone he trusted. Perhaps they were walking together, and the killer fell back just a little and attacked.”
“There wasn’t much blood,” Constance said. “He died quickly. By luck or design, the knife must have gone straight though his heart. Then the killer bolted back to the house through this flowerbed?” She shivered and looked up at Grey, sudden anguish in her face. “Perhaps he even heard us coming. A minute or two earlier and we might have saved him.”
Chapter Five
Ivor Davidson wasshaken. Probably for the first time in his life, he found it difficult to think straight, to concentrate.
He had never expected the London police to be involved, and he had heard enough rumors of their privacy invasions to realize that he would soon be cast in a very poor light, if not clapped up and hanged. There was more involved here than just convincing a gentleman magistrate that he was a fellow gentleman and watching him deliver some poor ne’er-do-well to the Assizes for trial and hanging.
Everyone’s life would be turned inside out, and the state of Davidson’s once-promising business revealed. He could not bear the sight of Ellen’s tragic face—which perhaps was fortunate, since she seemed to avoiding his.
On the other hand, she must be an heiress, bound to inherit a good part of Winsom’s hoard…
But there was a time and place for everything, and this was not it.
Escaping the unbearable atmosphere of the house, Ivor let himself out of the garden room door with a sense of relief and was quickly buoyed up further by the sight of the delectable Constance Goldrich gliding toward him.
She had clearly been in the company of Solomon Grey, who walked on toward the stables with his loose, confident stride. Now there was a man Ivor should most definitely cultivate, only at the moment he did not feel remotely clear enough in his head.To lose himself in a little light flirtation—or even blind lust—seemed a much better short-term plan. And widows missed the physical comfort of their husbands…
“Mrs. Goldrich.” He bowed. “Have I timed my walk badly? You look as if you are returning from your own exercise.”
“Yes, but I am happy to keep you company,” she said with unexpected friendliness.
So he had hope. “I must apologize for my words last night,” he said as she turned and they set off together along the garden path. “I did not really mean to disparage Randolph to you. I was merely trying to make you a compliment, and it came out a little wrong.” He smiled winningly. “That is, very wrong.”
“Well, it’s not a technique I would advise in courting Ellen,” Mrs. Goldrich said wryly. “She seems rather fond of her brother.”
“When they aren’t teasing the life out of each other. Then you forgive me?”
“There is nothing to forgive on my part, Mr. Davidson. I am, after all, guilty of wondering much the same thing about you.”
“About me?” He didn’t know whether to be flattered she thought of him, or worried.
“Ellen is sixteen years old, a mere schoolgirl, however lively and pretty. You are a mature and successful man of the world. I cannot imagine you lack female admiration.”
“She is bored. Practicing flirtation in a safe environment.”
“I imagine you are very happy to help. After all, none of your other flirts have the felicity of being Walter Winsom’s daughter.”
He raised his eyebrows. “My, but you are sharp, Mrs. Goldrich. But then, I suppose none of the other gentlemen at your feet are Winsom’s son and heir.”
