Page 98 of Murder in Moonlight
“How are you?” he asked anxiously. “May I join you?”
“Only a little the worse for wear,” she said lightly, “and of course you may. How are you? And your family?”
He grimaced. “In shock, I think. My father was an old goat, of course, always had been, but my mother and Bolton?” He glanced hastily in the direction of the kitchen. “You won’t speak of this, will you?”
“Of course I won’t. And the inspector will try to keep newspaper reports to a minimum.”
“My mother might still be charged,” he said, staring at his hands.
Constance poured him some coffee into the cup provided by the smiling maid. Randolph waited until she had gone.
“She didn’t know what to do after he killed my father,” he said urgently. “She hadn’t even guessed what he intended, though she knew immediately who was responsible. I think that’s why she fell so utterly to pieces. If she denounced Bolton, she would have to say why, and that would ruin us all. It was only after the dog incident that she realized he would kill again to save himself and knew she would have to tell everything. A pity the policemen chose that day to stay away, though I was very glad to see them last night… It’s a devilish mess, isn’t it?”
She knew he didn’t mean the house. “It will be difficult. But it’s not insurmountable, Randolph. Not for you, if you put your mind to it.”
He glanced at her with a hint of the old warmth, but a new ruefulness too. “I don’t suppose you’d care to help me with that? We’re not related, you know.”
She looked up at him quickly, and he took a folded paper from his pocket, pushing it across the table to her. She gazed at it. He had sounded very certain.
She said, “My name is not Goldrich. It’s Silver.”
“I had already guessed. In a way, it makes you even more wonderful.”
“You are very kind to say so, but I was never for you, Randolph.”
“Perhaps. But I’m sorry you’re not my sister.” He touched the paper on the table. “My father did have an illegitimate daughter of around your age. Her mother was a girl in Norwich who died a year after the birth. My father paid her an allowance, which I willcontinue. I believe she has a very nice milliner’s shop, should you ever be in Norwich.”
Would I have made a good milliner? Would Solomon look on me differently then?Beyond the silly surface thoughts, the old, familiar ache came back, because she was still no one. She still had no family to look out for, even if she never saw them or spoke to them. Except her mother, of course, which was more than the milliner in Norwich had.
And she had a friend. Randolph had not needed to come to her with this. He had enough on his mind and his shoulders. And yet he had thought of it and done it.
“Thank you,” she said warmly. “You are becoming a very fine man, Randolph.”
He looked away. “My father was fine, in some ways.”
“He was. But you will be better.”
“I will try to be.”
She smiled, pushing the unread document back to him. “What will you do? Hope the bank will ride out the scandal?”
“I’m not sure yet. I need to think and consult with wiser heads than mine.”
“You could do worse than talk to Mr. Grey.”
“I intend to. I’m going to see him in London next month.”
“Good. I wish you well.”
He smiled back, then rose from the table and said goodbye.
She doubted she would see him again.
She finished what was left of the coffee and went back to her room. Perhaps a walk would be in order. She did not want to return to London until her bruises had faded and her head healed.
Feeling suddenly tired, she sat down on the windowsill and rested her forehead on the glass. Now that she knew, she found she didn’t actually mind that she had not found any family. She had accomplished what she had without them, and any bizarreurge toward respectability was surely nipped in the bud by the very fact she’d had to lie her way into Greenforth. Even if Walter had been her father, she would have achieved nothing by this escapade.
And yet she was glad she came. She had done a good thing in helping to solve the mystery. And Solomon Grey was her friend.
