Page 26 of Murder in Moonlight
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Just before luncheon,Constance found the Reverend Peter Albright in the library. She had cause to dislike clergyman as a species, so she had to remind herself that her experience was not everyone’s. On top of which, when she had first come across Walter Winsom’s name in connection with her mother’s, she had set about discovering all she could about his family. No one had a bad word to say about Miriam Winsom’s husband.
The scion of an old, landowning family, he was well educated and ambitious. If a few people found him “holier than thou,” and a one-time fellow student described him as “a dull stick,” he was generally regarded as a good man who practiced what he preached. His parishioners liked him, praised his charitable efforts and his way with a sermon. An amiable if slightly debauched bishop of Constance’s acquaintance told her Albright was earmarked to replace him in the diocese in a few years. Albright had certainly never frequented Constance’s establishment, although she knew he visited the capital frequently, and no other madams or girls she had spoken to knew anything about him.
It was all in his favor. She might even have liked him had he not regarded her with quite so much suspicion in his eyes. And even that she could forgive, in theory, since he was, presumably, only looking out for his young brother-in-law.
He sat now at one of the smaller desks in the library, busily writing. A Bible was open beside him, and another book shoved to the edge of the table. He glanced up at her entrance, and his brow twitched before he set the pen in its stand and rose politely to his feet.
“Mr. Albright,” she greeted him with feigned relief. He was a man who appreciated modesty in women, so she made no effort to gain his admiration. It was probably a lost cause in any case. “You must be in a great deal of demand in such terrible circumstances. I hope you don’t mind my interrupting you?”
“Not in the least,” he said. “Is there some way I might assist you?”
“To be honest, I was hoping there was some way I might be of assistance to the bereaved family. I thought you would know best what needed to be done, any small service that a stranger might perform? Would any of the family be comforted by company, or should anyone be left in peace for now?”
“That is very thoughtful of you, Mrs. Goldrich.” He could not quite hide his surprise. “Everyone is still somewhat numb from the shock, but I shall pass your kind offer on to my wife and my mother-in-law. As for company… Only my mother-in-law seeks the privacy of her own rooms at the moment.”
Constance allowed her nose to wrinkle with distaste. “It will be so difficult once the police arrive from London with all their intrusive questions. I was thinking—particularly of Mrs. Winsom and her daughters—if we could present the police with the clear facts, there would be fewer questions for them to disturb the family with.” She felt like crossing her fingers as she said this, for she had no idea if it was true and rather suspected not. “I would be happy to collate what information we have?”
Albright blinked, wary but open to suggestion. She suspected this was how he conducted most of his life. “Such as?” he asked at last.
Constance sat on the chair by the next desk to his, and he sank back on to his own.
“Such as,” she said delicately, “who can be confirmed as in bed around the time the murder occurred, and if anyone saw or heard anyone else still up and about. For example, I imagine you and your wife would be able to confirm each other’s whereabouts very easily.”
“Of course,” he said stiffly. “We were in bed, as, I imagine, was everyone else.”
“Not everyone else,” she pointed out. “Not Mr. Winsom, for one. Was it his habit to take a walk so late?”
“Not to my knowledge, but I have known him to walk after dinner.”
“Did you hear him go out?” she asked. Seeing Albright’s nostrils flare, she added quickly, “If we knew when he went out, it might help keep the innocent out of the investigation.”
He mulled that one over. “Perhaps,” he said at last. “But no, I did not hear him go out. Nor anyone else.”
She assumed a puzzled, helpless expression. “What time did you retire, sir? I believe we all left the drawing room and went upstairs around eleven of the clock?”
“I believe we did.”
“Did you go straight to bed, or were you in a position to see anyone else moving elsewhere? The servants to lock doors or clear up downstairs? Someone looking for a book or a game of billiards, or a drink, perhaps?”
“I did not notice,” he said after a few moments. “But I can see those are sensible questions we can easily answer among ourselves.” He rose suddenly. “Shall we join the others for luncheon?”
Chapter Six
Again, everyone waspresent except Mrs. Winsom.
As Constance sat down, Albright said, “We have been talking, and it would make a great deal of sense if we could present these London policemen with the basic facts that will prevent them prying too disturbingly. I have asked Mrs. Goldrich to collate this information.”
Constance, discovering Solomon Grey seated next to her, met his hooded but admiring gaze with limpid good nature.
“Clever,” he breathed.
“I thought so.” She looked apologetically around the table. “Of course, I shall write it all down, so that we may all see it,”
“With what purpose?” Miriam asked.
“That of saving your family as much discomfort as possible. I cannot imagine you want the police hanging around you any longer than they need to. You all have enough to bear.”
