Page 55 of Murder in Moonlight
The footsteps were not even particularly stealthy, merely slow and deliberate. Someone ascending a staircase, beyond the closed door. She only had one way out. She had backed silently into the outer room and turned down the lamp before curiosity overcame her once more.
Who else was braving the ban on this forbidden part of the house? And why?
She halted, trying to overcome her uneven breath, straining to hear over the sounds of her own heart, then began to move forward this time, once more toward the trysting room. This would surely tell her something, perhaps even solve the mystery of the murder…
She heard nothing. Surely she could peer around the door and glimpse whoever it was.
Without any warning at all, a dark figure filled the doorway between the rooms. A well-dressed man whose features were unrecognizable in the gray, shadowy light—until he moved a step inside with his own lamp.
Chapter Twelve
“Richards!” Constance gasped,with no idea whether she should be relieved or not.
“Mrs. Goldrich.” His voice was cold, and he did not bow. “Do you not know that this part of the house is dangerous?”
“Why, yes, Mr. Randolph told me when I first arrived. But I woke early, and I suppose curiosity got the better of me.” Was she talking too much? “You have duties here?” It never did any harm, after all, to turn accusations around.
“Of course,” he said. “I make certain there has been no further damage and carry out repairs where necessary. Like that one.” He nodded toward the rough repair over the rotted floorboards.
That repair had clearly been done years ago, probably as soon as Randolph had fallen through. But it did not seem wise to argue with Richards. Nor, for some reason, did it seem wise to bring up the subject of the well-used room beyond. He probably thought she was heading toward it for the first time, and she chose not to change his mind.
She had never thought of him as a large or threatening man before, but her stomach lurched as he advanced upon her now. Her instinct was to back away from him, but it had been so long since she’d let anyone intimidate her that she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She merely raised her eyebrows, and he halted again.
“If you please, ma’am,” he said, nodding toward the latched door she had closed over. “For your own safety.”
The words chilled her, even though he made no overt threat. She was hampered by bunched skirts that would trip her if she let them go. She had no defense.
She smiled. “Of course, you are quite right.”
She turned and walked in front of him to the door. Her neck prickled with fear. She could almost feel the blow, the shove, the pain. She had to force herself to take her time and pray he did not notice her shaking hand as she reached out and opened the door.
She stepped over the threshold, back into the main part of the house and the empty passage. She kept walking. Behind her, the door closed softly and a key turned. At last she could stand it no longer and glanced back.
Her knees almost gave way with relief, because he had remained on the other side of the door.
She stumbled back to her own room, closed and locked the door, and leaned against it. Slowly, she slid down until she sat on the floor. She could not remember the last time she had been so frightened.
Of Richards? The butler?
Had they been looking in the wrong place all the time?
*
Deborah Winsom wasroused from her torpor of horror and misery by outrage at the police inspector, who wanted to search Walter’s room.
“You want towhat?” she said, drawing herself up to her full height.
“Look around his private chamber,” Inspector Harris repeated. “We may find some clue there as to why he died and who is responsible.”
“If you imagine my husbandknewanyone who could do this to him—” Only he had. Thomas and Alice and Randolph all acknowledged that it must be the case. She would only look foolish to suggest otherwise. “I suppose I cannot stop you,” she said tragically. It seemed she had no control over anything anymore. Had she ever?
“You could,” Inspector Harris said surprisingly. “But your cooperation in this would be helpful to our investigation. I understand it seems something of an invasion, but if you wish someone to accompany me…?”
“Ishall accompany you,” she said frigidly, and led the way from the hall where he had accosted her, upstairs to her bedchamber. She sailed into Walter’s dressing room and stood in the corner, glaring at Harris. It made her feel marginally better.
Until, she realized, watching him rake through drawers and cupboards, that he had actuallywantedher presence. He did not appear to be finding much that interested him, but he asked her questions while he looked—increasingly personal ones.
“Was he an indulgent father?” he asked, pulling letters from a bedside drawer.
