Page 20 of Murder in Moonlight
Her voice was too deliberately light, disparaging her own origins as well as Walter’s character.
“Did youwanthim to be your father?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I don’t even know if I liked him. I thought Randolph was quite sweet. I thought I’d quite like him as a brother.”
“Only you don’t.”
“No. But you see why I laughed when you suggested a quite different relationship.”
He inclined his head. “Randolph himself is clearly aware of no connection. How badly does he want to marry you?”
She opened her mouth to deny any serious intent on his part, and then closed it again. “You think he wanted me so badly he would kill his father for refusing to allow it?”
“I don’t suppose he’s the first man to commit murder for you.”
She fluttered her eyelashes. “Why, Mr. Grey, you say the sweetest things.”
“It was not a compliment.”
“I shall still choose to regard it as such.”
“Have you always had that accent?”
“Wot, vis old fing? Bless yer, guv, no. I ’ad to buy the pebbles for me mouf special like.”
His lips twitched.
“Would that accent make you feel better?” she asked politely.
“It was never about the accent. One day, I would like to hear your life story.”
“No, you wouldn’t.” She glanced up at him. “I might like to hear yours, though.”
“Imagine how the long winter nights would fly by.”
“Well, hopefully, we’ll have solved the crime by then and not be in prison awaiting execution. Who do you think did it? Apart from me.”
“At the moment, I suspect everyone has a motive—except the servants. I haven’t considered them at all yet. I do have one clue.” He fished in his pocket and brought out the embroidered handkerchief. “I found this in Winsom’s left hand last night.”
Constance took it. “I don’t recognize it. It’s probably his wi—” She broke off, her gaze on the embroidered initials.A.B.“Alice Bolton…”
She halted and raised her gaze to his. “Then theywerehaving an affair.”
“Perhaps.” He shrugged. “And perhaps not. He could have found it somewhere in the garden.”
“He could. But it’s odd he should have been wandering in the garden, holding on to it. Unless he’d only just come across it, surely he’d have put it in his pocket? No, I think there’s something between them. But does it help us?”
“It might. At the moment, it’s just another mystery. What do you think about the servants, and Mrs. Corben’s missing knife?”
She shook her head. “Servants have little motive to attack the hand that feeds them. The Winsoms are not cruel to their staff. Let’s leave them until later. What of Randolph? He is Walter’s heir and stands to inherit what I gather is a substantial fortune.”
“Much of it tied up in business,” Solomon said, “largely in the bank with Bolton. I doubt Randolph has taken the trouble to understand the workings of that. Still, he will have a much larger allowance to play with—or will do when he is of age.”
She sighed. “Then you discount his love for me as a motive? I am crushed.”
“No, it just adds to the general greed. Then there is the grieving widow.”
“Seriously?”
