Page 50 of Murder in Moonlight
“Was Mr. Bolton in bed already?”
“He was in our room.”
Constance gazed at her until she looked up and met her eyes. “Did he know?”
There was a moment’s pause, and then Alice nodded.
Well, that explains the look of hatred Solomon saw on Bolton’s face. And when did he becomeSolomonto me…?“You should tell the inspector. If he asked you, he already knows.”
“And I have already lied.”
“People lie to the police all the time for all sorts of reasons. I’m sure he will understand your reluctance to admit adultery.”
A spasm of outrage crossed Alice’s face. The softness of misery had vanished from her eyes, leaving them defensive and hard. “And in any case, you will already have told the rest of the household, so I have no choice. Why did I even speak to you?”
“Because you needed a friend,” Constance said mildly. “A confidante who can keep secrets.”
Alice searched her eyes. “Can you?”
“Yes, but not from the police.”
A moment longer, Alice stared, then nodded once before she turned back to the house. It might have been gratitude.
Chapter Eleven
“I’m not convincedshe did it,” Constance said, when she was finally alone with Grey.
They had just finished tea with everyone else, during which Grey had told the company in tones of disappointment that the police did not believe that any of the servants—including Owen the boot boy—knew who took the murder weapon from the kitchen. Though Constance had surreptitiously observed the expressions around the table, she saw nothing out of the ordinary. If the killer sat among them, he probably knew perfectly well that no one had seen him—or her—steal the knife.
Now they were taking a walk, since Miriam was using their previous meeting place to write her letters.
“Not convinced that she did it,” Grey repeated. “That is not quite a ringing endorsement of her innocence.”
“No,” Constance allowed. “You see, she has the strength and all that emotion churning below the surface. She was hurt enough and angry enough, possibly even tipped over the edge of sanity… And yet she did notfeelguilty. Of adultery, yes—of the greater crime, no.”
He regarded her quizzically. “Do you always know when your own girls are guilty of something?”
“Yes.”
“Because they confess?”
“Usually, they do. They are not afraid of me, you see. But that’s not how I know.”
“You know because theyfeelguilty?”
“You are laughing at me,” she said without heat. “But they do. Sometimes, you just have to ask the right questions to bring it to the surface.”
“Perhaps you did not ask Mrs. Bolton the right question.”
“Perhaps,” she agreed with reluctance. As they emerged onto a well-trodden path, she caught sight of Inspector Harris and Sergeant Flynn striding ahead. “Aha!”
Without thought, she grasped Grey’s arm and sped after them. He, after a startled resistance, just lengthened his stride and kept up easily with her trot. No doubt hearing the charge, both policemen turned and then paused for them to catch up.
“Something to tell us?” Harris asked.
“Something to tellus?” Constance countered.
“No,” Harris said bluntly.
