Page 59 of Murder in Moonlight
“Perhaps that washistrysting place,” Solomon mused. “I wonder whom with? Did he take one of the maids there?”
“Or several?” Constance said with unexpected distaste. “Have I missed some fear and abuse in the servants’ hall? He seemed so kind to young Owen.”
“And yet he was there,” Solomon said slowly. “Standing over him. He had no weapon that I felt when I struggled with him, but we have only his word that he was concerned for the boy, like us.”
“He’s in and out of the kitchen all the time,” Constance said. “He could have taken the knife any time.”
“He could,” Solomon agreed, frowning. “Only, why would a respectable butler stab his master in the back? There has to be more to it than being caught tippling in the wine cellar.”
“Maybe he’s not respectable at all,” Constance said. “Maybe—” She broke off with a sigh. “He’s been here for a decade and more. Why should he turn on Walter now?”
“Perhaps Walter caught him making use of his—er…trysting place and tried to dismiss him.”
“Risky,” Constance said, “when Richards must have at least guessed it was Walter’s. Aren’t they more likely to have made an all-men-together agreement of silence? And yes, before you ask, I’m sure that is what goes on among the gentlemen who encounter each other in my salons.”
“Whatever, I don’t like this.”
“Neither do I,” Constance said with a shiver. “I will be very glad to leave here.”
“Have you told Harris?”
“Not yet. He’s been searching Walter’s dressing room. Mrs. Winsom is outraged, though apparently they found nothing helpful. He was closeted with Alice Bolton when you came in.”
He rose and, without thought, held out his hand to her. “Let’s go back and try to catch him discreetly before he sees anyone else.”
Though she took his proffered hand and stood, he had the feeling that his courtesies amused her, whether because she did not consider herself worthy of them, or because she thought he was mocking her. He wasn’t, though neither was he sure whatdidcompel him. One didn’t hold doors for maids, after all—well, not unless their hands were so full they’d drop something.
By mutual, if tacit, agreement, they split up when they returned to the house. Solomon skulked in the hallway, waiting for the study door to open. Constance walked into the library and sat with a book open in her lap. He hoped it was the right way up.
Stupid. Of course she could read and write. He had seen her do so, and very neatly and stylishly, too. Where had she learned to do that? Someone had also taught her to speak like a lady. Unless she had been born a lady in the first place and the East End accent she had displayed to him the other day was the one she had learned.
So much of her life was a mystery to him… And would no doubt remain so.
The study door opened, and Alice Bolton sailed out, her cheeks flushed but her head held high. He thought she would walk right past him, but at the last moment, she seemed to notice him and a twisted smile tugged at her lips.
“I suppose it is a comfort that I am not the only suspect,” she said brittlely, and walked on.
Since she hadn’t troubled to close the door behind her, Solomon stuck his head around it. Inspector Harris sat at the desk, scowling at nothing, his hands dug deep into the pockets of his coat.
“May I have a word?” Solomon asked.
The inspector’s scowl only intensified. “Another one?”
Constance had not joined him after all, so he closed the door and sat down. “What do you know of Richards the butler?”
“Nothing,” Harris said shortly. “Barely spoken to the man. Flynn dealt with the servants, found nothing untoward.”
“He might be worth another look.”
Harris swore beneath his breath, though whether at Solomon or at the knock on the door that heralded Constance’s arrival, it was impossible to say. Solomon rose, invited her to sit in his vacated chair, and brought over Sergeant Flynn’s for himself. Harris watched these maneuvers with growing ire, until suddenly his face cleared and he sighed.
“I presume you haven’t come to accuse each other. Tell me quickly.”
Constance told him concisely of her encounter with Richards and their realization that the butler was, if not involved, then not quite what he seemed. Harris listened without comment until she finished.
Then he stood up. “Don’t you think you’re reading too much into what is probably just the man protecting his master’s reputation? But I’ll look into his background as well as yours. Now please go away. I’m busy.”
At that moment, another knock sounded at the door, and before the inspector could respond, Sergeant Flynn entered with the force of a gale.
