Page 76 of Murder in Moonlight
“Peter. There is nomeandyouin this. Onlyus. So we will pay our debts, and when my inheritance is released we can pay back the dowry money.”
Peter closed his gaping mouth. She was so matter-of-fact, stating the simplest solution. Weeks of worry—months, even—slid off his shoulders.
Miriam was frowning. “I’m surprised at my father, though.”
“I thought he was angry with me.”
“Why would he be angry with you?” she asked, clearly surprised.
“I thought he knew, that you had told him…you were not happy with me.” It was difficult to say, but he met her gaze as he did so.
A hint of color, perhaps shame, tinged her cheeks. “I am not unhappy. Perhaps I needed time to adjust, to work out why I was…angry.”
“And have you?” he asked gently. “Have you worked it out?”
She nodded slowly. “I was angry with him. With Papa, for deciding who and what would make me happy. Because he wasn’t even concerned with that. He wanted a gentleman in the family to counter his own fall into trade. You are a nobleman’s grandson in a respectable profession. And I am an obedient daughter.”
His hurt must have shown in his face, for she cast herself into his arms. “I let it sour me. I thought it wouldn’t matter if I was just a good wife to you. Actually, I like being your wife. It was my father I could not forgive for his utter selfishness, not just to me but to my mother and Mrs. Bolton, and all the previous women.” Her fingers dug hard into his shoulders. “I am glad he is dead,” she whispered, chilling his blood with terrible suspicion. “I shall go to hell, but not yet. Not yet.”
*
He called mehis friend. Constance rose with the pleasure of that thought in her mind. If felt like an achievement, even though the realist in her knew that they were barely acquainted, and that his feeling was inspired largely by their cooperation on the mystery of this murder.
More importantly, her awareness of his loneliness had been intensified since last night into something very like a mission. There was danger in that, for her. She was not used to physical attraction, and she hadn’t expected it to deepen as she grew to like him, with his subtle humor and his unexpected insights.
But she did like him, and she could not bear him not to know happiness, even those odd moments of reasonless joy that could come so unexpectedly, whether from laughter at a shared joke, some moment of beauty, or a friend’s well-earned success. It was almost as if he had cut himself off from such feelings, because he was so alone. He had no one to share with. He had lost more than a brother. He had lost a part of himself and found nothing—or allowed nothing—to grow in its place.
Except his work. He had turned himself from a struggling plantation owner into a shipping magnate, a wealthy importer with such a wide variety of business interests that even the abject failure of one could not touch his overall success. She knew thisfrom Lord James Andover, who had once suspected Solomon of stealing his own diamonds and setting James up to take the blame. It hadn’t been true. Everyone said he was an honest man, if a hard one to cross or to get the better of. Solomon Grey was one of the benevolent rich who gave their time and money to worthy causes.
But he brushed off questions about his work. She suspected it no longer interested him, but he had nothing else to replace it in his life. No wife or family, no great cause he valued above all others. No true friends, only acquaintances with whom to enjoy the fruits of his success.
Except me. I will be your friend. I will make you happy again if it’s the last thing I do.
A grand ambition, she mocked herself, and doomed to failure if she didn’t accomplish it in the next few days. After this murder was solved, she was very unlikely to see him again. She was a friend of the moment, not of his life.
But she would not let that sadden her. She had to stop thinking about him and think of the killer and how to trap him. Or her.
Having washed and dressed, she sallied forth to breakfast.
On impulse, she detoured to the study to see if the policemen were there. They were, poring over two large ledgers and looking baffled.
Surely these must be the bank’s ledgers? In which case, they would reveal whether or not Solomon was right in his belief that the bank was struggling.
“Good morning,” she said brightly. “Can I help?”
They both straightened and frowned at her. “Good morning,” Inspector Harris said, “and unless you understand bookkeeping, I’m afraid not.”
“Of course I understand bookkeeping,” Constance said. “I keep accounts for my household and my business.”
Flynn blushed, bless him. Harris frowned at her, then, after a quick exchange of glances with the sergeant, waved his hand at them. “Please do. We can’t make head nor tail of it.”
Constance tried not to preen as she took the sergeant’s chair. It was as well she didn’t crow, for it did not take her long to realize this was beyond her.
“Are these from the bank?” she asked. “They are rather more complicated than a small business or household. I know someone who could do it for you, but she’s in London.”
“She?” Harris uttered in disbelief.
“Oh, you’d be surprised by some of the skills my girls have acquired.” She spoke with her usual humor, which she rather expected to go over the policemen’s heads, but fortunately, Solomon Grey strolled in and acknowledged the sally with a crooked smile.
