Quicksilver - Amanda Quick [16]
“I believe I am expected.” He gave her his card.
“Yes, sir. Miss Dean said you would be calling today, sir. She will see you.” Mrs. Crofton stepped back and held out a hand for his hat and gloves. “I’ll show you into her study.”
When she closed the door, a heavy gloom descended on the front hall. It took him a moment to realize that there was no mirror on the wall over the console as was commonplace in many homes, to add the illusion of light and space.
He followed Mrs. Crofton down a narrow corridor and into a snug, book-lined study. The window at the far end overlooked a small, attractive garden. There was a mirror in this room, he noted. It looked new.
Virginia was seated behind a compact rolltop desk. She looked up, pen in hand. For a heartbeat, he just looked at her, fascinated by the way the morning light burnished her red-and-gold hair.
“Mr. Sweetwater to see you, ma’am,” Mrs. Crofton announced.
“Thank you, Mrs. Crofton,” Virginia said. She put aside the pen. “Please sit down, Mr. Sweetwater.”
Mrs. Crofton hesitated in the doorway. “Will you be wanting tea, ma’am?”
Virginia looked suddenly uncertain. Having faced the same weighty question earlier that day, Owen smiled to himself. Offering tea was a silent way of inviting a guest to linger longer than might otherwise be necessary. Virginia’s decision would provide him with a clue to how she viewed their association.
“Yes, please,” Virginia said with an air of sudden decision. “Thank you, Mrs. Crofton.”
He had his answer, Owen thought. Virginia was still wary of him, but she had accepted the fact that she could no longer avoid him. Serving tea did not mean that she would cooperate fully, but it was a silent acknowledgment that they were bound together, if only temporarily, by the events of the night.
Mrs. Crofton closed the door. Owen sat down in a chair facing the desk and the window.
“I must admit I’m curious to know how you explained your late return home last night to your housekeeper,” he said.
“I simply said that I had been detained at the client’s house longer than expected.” Virginia indicated the copy of the Flying Intelligencer on top of the desk. “There is nothing on Hollister’s death in the morning papers, so Mrs. Crofton has no reason to ask any questions.”
“Do not be too sure of that. In my experience, housekeepers always know more than anyone realizes. The reason there is no gossip yet is because, as of midnight last night, no one except us and the killer was aware that Hollister was dead. For all we know the body is still down there in that chamber, waiting to be discovered. When it does appear in the papers, the death will no doubt be attributed to natural causes.”
“Yes, of course. The family will make certain of it. They will not want the scandal of a murder investigation, especially if the killer was the wife, as we suspect.”
“No.”
Virginia clasped her hands on the blotter. “Given that no high-ranking family wants to become involved with the police, I cannot understand why someone tried to arrange matters so that I would be found at the scene of the murder with a knife in my hand.”
“I’m almost certain that was not part of the original plan. I think it is far more likely that something went very wrong with a carefully set scheme last night.”
“Do you think it was a coincidence that Lady Hollister commissioned a reading last night?”
“When it comes to murder, there are no coincidences. But in this situation there are other possibilities.”
“Such as?”
“Perhaps you were the intended victim all along.”
Virginia stilled. “Me?”
“If you had been found at the scene, you would have been arrested and very likely hung for murder.”
“Good grief.”
“Do you have any enemies or rivals, Miss Dean?”
She drew a breath. “No outright enemies that I know of, but there is always a great deal of competition among practitioners. So yes, I have some rivals, but I cannot think of any