Page 58 of Murder in Moonlight
Why did she choose to waste such talents managing a brothel? Because she liked to defy the convention that madams were raddled old hags? Or because it was all she knew?
He did not want to think about that. And yet it plagued him as he walked briskly though the woods after breakfast. He meant to think about the mystery, not Constance, whom he had avoided after breakfast, even knowing she lurked nearby with the clear desire to speak to him. He did not want the distraction of her nearness right now.
Of course, she might have done it, he reminded himself. He had assumed she was looking for her father because family meant something to her, or because she meant to bleed him of a little coin. But what if she were seeking revenge on him? Perhaps for abandoning her mother, or some worse crime against her? He had never asked because it seemed intrusive. And because he couldn’t believe her anyway.
But youarebelieving her.You are trusting her.
He had never frequented whores—at least not after one wild night in Port Royal when he was sixteen—but he had heard that the best of them could make you imagine you were different from their other clients, interesting and special to them.
Something clawed at his insides. She had nothing to gain from him, nor he from her. He had known purely mercenary people—still did—but she was not one of them. Life might have hardened her, but there was an odd vulnerability to her, a caring. Did that extend to a terrible vengeance?
Somewhere to his right, a twig cracked, as though stepped on by a heavy weight. The sudden sound dragged him out of his reverie. A few paces on, he heard something very similar and paused, listening. Apart from the fluttering of birds above, more distant singing, and the odd buzz of passing insects, the woods were silent.
He walked on, aware with every sense that someone or something was keeping pace with him, walking parallel to his course, maintaining the same distance between them. It could have been a dog, or a deer, maybe, but he suspected it was human.
It would not be the first time a human had objected to his presence. His very skin prickled with memory. Hiding among the tall sugar canes from a baying mob…
He walked with his hands loose by his sides, listening, watching, poised. For a time, his fellow walker shadowed him. But when he turned and headed back toward the house, he heard nothing more.
Imagination?Maybe.
In any case, why had it bothered him so much? He was living in the same house as a cold-blooded murderer.
He did not need to seek Constance out, for he saw her as soon as he entered the front door. Warm and bright as sunshine, she was placing a letter in the posting basket on the large hall table.
“It will be tomorrow now before it’s posted,” he said, “unless you take it to the village.”
Her lip curved into a smile as soon as he started to speak, even though she didn’t turn to face him at once. “I know. I have nothing urgent, just keeping in touch with home.”
She didn’t even say it to rile him. She really did regard her establishment as home.
“Then it wasn’t you walking in the woods just now?” he asked.
At that, she faced him fully. “No, I haven’t been out yet today.” She indicated the letter. “I was busy. Why do you ask?”
“I had the curious fancy that someone was following me.”
“And why would you imagine that someone was me?” she wondered, amused.
“Because you seemed to want to speak to me after breakfast.”
“Actually, I do! Would you care to sit in the garden?”
Avoiding the swing area, they found a curved wrought iron bench by the ornamental pond. It was far enough away from the house for them not to be overheard, and between them, they could see anyone approaching from any direction.
“I wondered suddenly where Alice and Walter trysted,” she said at once. “And I found what must be the place in the old wing. Unlike the larger room next to it, which is totally bare, this one has a made-up bed on the floor and a dressing table to make oneself alluring beforehand and tidy afterward. Also… I ran into someone there.”
“Who?” he demanded, suddenly afraid of more than rotting floors.
“Richards.”
He blinked. “Richards? What the devil was he doing there?”
“That’s what I don’t know. He said he looked over the wing every week to make sure there was nothing wrong. If that’s true,then he definitely knew about the trysting room before, and he certainly knows now. But the thing is…he was different.”
“In what way?”
“In a bully kind of a way. He didn’t even pretend respect. He just wanted me out of there. Probably before I saw the trysting room. He wouldn’t have known I’d seen it already. But this opens all sorts of different possibilities. We never even considered Richards or any of the servants before.”
