Page 40 of Murder in Moonlight
Solomon sighed. “Also risky. He would have to be very desperate indeed, and I’m not convinced he is. On the…” He trailed off, for Constance had suddenly darted toward the half-open door and was peering through the crack.
His lips twitched. “I saw a farce like this once at Drury Lane.”
She glanced back over her shoulder. “It’s the police from Scotland Yard,” she said, and sallied forth to meet them. Solomon, giving up on discretion, followed her.
Chapter Nine
The footman, clearlyunder orders as to how to treat the police when they arrived, was instructing them in a very superior manner to go to the tradesmen’s entrance.
Constance heard a voice arguing indignantly from the front step, until another voice interrupted. “Oh, for the love of—” And abruptly, the footman fell back as the door flew wide open, almost knocking him off his feet. A man in a worn overcoat walked into the house, a younger man trotting at his heels.
“You may inform your mistress that Inspector Harris and Sergeant Flynn are here,” the first man said briskly. “I shall be happy to see her as soon as she is able. In the meantime, you had better take my sergeant to your superior, a butler or a housekeeper—” He broke off, blinking, as his roving gaze landed on Constance and Grey.
He groaned, though his dismay was nothing compared to her own. “Oh no. Please tell me the Tizsas are not here too?”
“The Tizsas are not here,” Constance said kindly, advancing on him. She might as well brazen it out. “How do you do, inspector?” She glanced at the footman, whose mouth had fallen open. “Perhaps you could arrange for tea and some breakfast for these gentlemen? I suspect they have had a long journey.”
Inspector Harris was not a man who revealed his own thoughts easily, but even he was looking slightly dazed by the easy way the notorious Constance Silver ordered the servants of a respectable lady—and was immediately obeyed, too. Theyoung sergeant strode off with the outraged footman toward the servants’ quarters.
“Good morning, inspector,” Grey said in his quiet, imperturbable way. “Perhaps you would care to come to the morning room for the moment? I am not sure what plans have been made for you, if any.”
Constance led the way, almost surprised by the strength of her desire to stay at Greenforth and solve the mystery. Though once Harris revealed her identity, she and her baggage would be on the front step. Or in the backyard, more likely.
Harris rarely minced his words. He swung on Constance at once, even while Grey was closing the morning room door. “Him, I can understand. But I’ve been led to believe that this is a highly respected family. Why are you here?Howare you here?”
The jibes did not hurt Constance. How could they, in the circumstances? The inspector was merely looking for information. And she could not think how to make him keep the secret of her true identity. Allure would not work. He had all a law officer’s disapproval of her trade. Nor could she tease him—he was too serious about his profession.
Perhaps she could persuade him of an ambition to reform? Only, how would that play to the outraged Winsoms when he spoke to them about it? She shrank from admitting the humiliating truth, that she was searching for her unknown father…
Grey cleared his throat. “Mrs. Silver is here at my request, inspector. I have been conducting an investigation of my own—not a criminal one, of course—and I asked for her help. Naturally, she is not known to these people by her own name, but as Mrs. Goldrich. I would be grateful if you kept that to yourself.”
Constance gazed at him in wonder. He had lied for her, so that there was at least the possibility of her staying. Whetherfrom reluctant friendship or simply because she was useful, she did not mind. Either way, she was warmed.
Grey did not so much as glance at her. He was holding the inspector’s stern gaze without difficulty or embarrassment. He even smiled, very faintly. “You may regard her as my employee, in a strictly business sense.”
Harris’s face cleared. Of course, if she was being paid, that explained everything to him. Though he still snapped, “I am conducting a murder inquiry in this house. If necessary, you will both be investigated like anyone else.”
“If she is guilty, of course I release you from any obligation to me,” Grey said smoothly. “But the truth is, Mrs. Silver and I found the body of Mr. Winsom together. The family and the guests believe I was alone.”
Harris’s lips twisted. “Preserving the lady’s reputation, Mr. Grey?”
He didn’t even smile. “Yes. Mrs. Goldrich is a respectable widow.”
“Of course she is. So respectable you obtained an invitation for her.”
“I obtained the invitation,” Constance said, growing irritated with being discussed as though she weren’t present. “Through Mr. and Mrs. Winsom’s son, Randolph.”
Harris’s gaze flickered to her. “That, I believe. Well, you had better tell me what happened here.”
“Mr. Grey will tell you,” Constance said. “I’ll fetch my notes from the library.”
The hallway was almost eerily empty as Constance crossed to the library, where she discovered her notes where she had left them. The two sheets bore signs of being well thumbed, as though everyone had been making sure they were accurate and she had not slipped in anything to make their positions appear worse.
There was still no one in sight as she returned to the morning room, not even the footman who should have been guarding the door. A vague hum of conversation did seem to emanate from the breakfast parlor, so presumably everyone was gossiping in there about the arrival of the detectives from Scotland Yard.
In the morning room, Grey had clearly described the discovery of the body, and was just handing Harris the handkerchief he had discovered clutched in Winsom’s fingers.
Harris spread it out on the arm of his chair. “A.B.?”
