Page 93 of Murder in Moonlight
“So while your husband was with Alice, you began an affair with her husband?”
“I didn’t mean to,” Deborah said, as though she had merely dropped something. “It just happened, and afterward, I was not remotely sorry.”
“It felt good to have your revenge on both of them.”
Annoyance flared in her eyes and then died. “Yes, probably it did. I don’t know how much was true emotion, and how much was vengeance. It doesn’t really matter.”
“So why am I at Greenforth?” he asked.
She blinked, then smiled. “I liked you. I wanted someone at this party who was genuinely interesting and attractive, unknown to any of the others. I wanted to show you off. You were my coup. A distraction, if you like, from the rampant adultery of the rest of us.”
“Someone to entertain the children?” he said sardonically.
“Perhaps. But then I found the earring in the spare bedroom, and I knew he was making love to her under our own roof. I don’t know why that should seem the ultimate betrayal. After all, he had made free with our parlor maids in the past. I would not risk the bank by flaunting my affair with Thomas in front of him. But I had no objection to flirting with you under his nose. It felt dangerous and exciting, and it took him by surprise.”
“It took me by surprise, too. Was I also to take the blame for your husband’s murder?”
Her eyes widened in shock. “Of course not! Walter’s murder was not part of the plan.”
“I beg to differ. The knife was taken from the kitchen one night and used the next. You and I both know who by.”
Tears sprang to her eyes and began to course down her cheeks. She didn’t seem to notice.
“He did it for me,” she whispered.
Abruptly, Solomon had had enough of the lies and deceit of this house, the excuses for every bad behavior and every crime.
“Rubbish,” he said flatly. “He did it because Walter found out he’d been doctoring the books and stealing from the bank to keep Alice in jewels.” The blank shock in her face was genuine, but he pressed his advantage ruthlessly. “You knew Bolton had murdered your husband, your children’s father, and you remained silent. Did you know he had freed the dog? Is that why you took me to the woods this afternoon?”
“No!” she gasped in outrage. Then she wriggled in her chair like a schoolgirl caught out in some misdemeanor. “Well, he told me we needed to scare you off because you and Mrs. Goldrich were poking your noses in everywhere and might lead the police to him. I was to take you to the center of the wood, the place the children used to play, but I didn’t know what he had intended, and I certainly didn’t know then he had freed Monster! The dog terrifies me.”
“But the dog didn’t find us by accident. And Bolton was with Randolph, not guiding Monster to us.”
“Thomas couldn’t guide the dog if his life depended on it,” she said. “But he’d been talking to Randolph. He knew where the dog went when it bolted, and he knew about the cave.” She licked her dry lips, and her voice dropped further. “He told me after you came home. He hid a sheep’s carcass in that cave. So he knew Monster would lurk there and guard it from us.”
“He wasn’t very careful of you, was he?”
She shook her head, closing her eyes.
“Is that why you’re confessing?”
She nodded. “Partly. I don’t want anyone else to die.”
Partly.
His breath caught. “Deborah, did he send you here?”
Her eyes flew open, stark and fearful. She was in a nightmare she didn’t seem able to wake herself from.
Constance.
He sprang to his feet, just as a soft knock sounded at the door and Owen the boot boy slunk in. His eyes were huge, his face white and scared and determined.
“Sir, she ain’t come down,” he blurted, totally ignoring his mistress. “And what’s more, there’s smoke in the house. I can smell it.”
*
Constance struggled intoconsciousness with a weird crackling in her ears and pain in her head. When she managed to open her eyes, everything was fuzzy like fog, with lights flickering wildly. It reminded her of the night she had first seen Solomon, when police lanterns pierced the misty darkness. But the face above her was not his.
