Page 30 of Murder in Moonlight
Mrs. Winsom scowled at her. “Go and find something to do in the dressing room, Wilson.”
Obediently, the woman opened the door on her right and went into the room beyond. Solomon glimpsed a fully made-up bed with an opulent, masculine dressing gown laid across it, and a mirrored dressing table with a man’s hairbrushes and other accoutrements laid out. A quick glance about the much more feminine outer room showed him only feminine accoutrements. Mr. and Mrs. Winsom had slept apart.
He wondered how recent that was. Only since she had learned about his affair with her friend Alice Bolton? Or had she? Did it even exist in more than Constance’s imagination?
He refocused his eyes on the widow. She looked terrible, her skin somehow shrunken and pale, her eyes red with weeping.
“How are you?” he asked gently.
“I don’t know.” She tried to smile. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Remember all the good things about him and your time together.”
“Yes,” she said eagerly. “He was a good man, generous and kind. And such fun. Everyone liked him, you know! Didn’t you?”
“Indeed I did,” Solomon said honestly. How could he question this fragile creature about her husband’s murder? About where she was, and who had hated him?
“And yet someone killed him,” she whispered, gripping her chair arm so fiercely that her knuckles were white. “Do you think the police will find the terrible person who did this?”
“I sincerely hope so.” He leaned forward. “You know they will ask you questions that seem both intrusive and impertinent?”
Her eyes widened. “Me? Questions such as what?”
“Such as the state of your marriage, who were your husband’s friends and enemies, why he would be walking in the garden so late, what time he left you—that kind of thing.”
Her mouth opened and closed in silence. She dropped her hands into her lap, gripping her fingers together, and gazed at them. “And must I answer?”
“I think so. It is their duty to find out everything they need to in order to discover the culprit. We have all been cooperating downstairs in order to tell the police where we were at the crucial time.”
A surprisingly cynical smile flashed across her face and vanished. “Have you?”
“Sort of. Mrs. Goldrich has written it all down.”
“Mrs. Goldrich,” she repeated. She lifted her eyes suddenly to his face. “Does she want to marry my son?”
“I don’t believe so. Her feelings seem to me more…sisterly. Do you not approve of her?”
“She is a widow, several years his senior, and he is too young to be married.”
“I don’t believe you need to fear it. Nor has she any need to marry anyone for money.”
“Perhaps she is lonely, being a widow.” She closed her eyes. “Like me.”
“It might help to talk to her,” Solomon said, not entirely to pave Constance’s way to a more intimate conversation. When she chose, Constance could exude an unjudging understanding that was both soothing and beguiling. And probably a professional skill. Knowing that, he had still told her about David’s disappearance. Sort of. He had never told anyone that. His many exhaustive, fruitless inquiries had always been impersonal.
“I shall think about it,” Mrs. Winsom said. “I have been thinking about so many things… It must be terrible for everyone to be trapped here with this awfulness.”
“Everyone is concerned for you and would help if they could. Mrs. Winsom, did your husband discuss his business ventures with you?”
“Not really. Ladies do not have a head for business, you know. Why?” Her expression changed. “You think someone was in such a dispute with Walter that they—”
“I don’t know,” he said quickly when she struggled for breath. “I’m sure the police will look into it. I can’t imagine anyone here had such a dispute.”
“No,” she said a little doubtfully, but did not elaborate.
“Were your husband and Mr. Bolton in broad agreement about the running of the bank?” he asked.
“Oh yes,” she said, without any real thought. “Thomas always so admired Walter…and Walter was quite in awe of Thomas’s head for figures, his knowledge of the markets…whatever they are. It was a perfect partnership. Thomas will be lost without him.”
