“Not at all.” Isaac King spread his hands. “My lady and I reside in Naples these days, but I returned to visit my daughter, who has recently given me another grandson.”
“And you originally left England to avoid prosecution, I gather.”
“What an ugly rumor! Tsk tsk. You must never have been to Napoli or you would know a man needs no other persuasion to sojourn there than the pleasure of his lady love.”
The man was charming and well-spoken, Frederick would give him that. He certainly did not fit the image of a dangerous moneylender.
Brixton spoke up, “Can you account for your whereabouts between midnight and nine the morning of Mr. Oliver’s death?”
King nodded. “I was down in the bar until midnight or so, then returned to my room for the remainder of the night. My manservant can vouch for me.”
Brixton nodded. “Thank you. I shall confirm with him.”
Frederick made a note, thought, then added, “You can understand that it stretches credulity that you just happened to be staying in this out-of-the-way hotel when a man in your debt was killed here. I saw him react when he noticed you in the dining room. He was not happy to see you.”
Again, the expressive hands lifted. “Is any man happy to see someone to whom he owes money?” Mr. King shook his head, then sighed. “Very well, perhaps I came here to remind him that I had not forgotten his debt, even though a sea separated us.”
“How did you know he would be staying here?”
“Ah!” The man’s eyes glimmered. “Now thatisinteresting.I received an anonymous letter notifying me of his plans. No idea who sent it. Perhaps someone who wanted me here as scapegoat. In any case, I did not harm Mr. Oliver, and now I am without recourse. I suppose I could appeal to his publisher, but I gather no new book will be forthcoming. So I have lost by the man’s death.” He pressed a hand to his breast. “I tell you upon my honor, which I realize you may doubt, that I had nothing to do with his death. Nothing.”
“Very well. Thank you for your candor, Mr. King.”
“Am I free to go?”
“Please wait until the inquest concludes,” Frederick requested, although he knew that if the man decided to flee to Naples, there was little he or Brixton could do to stop him.
Isaac King rose. “As you wish. The barman here serves an excellent brandy from the Cognac region. Eighteen eleven was an outstanding year.”
After Mr. King left, Brixton went to find his manservant while Frederick sat there for several minutes, pondering. Did he believe the moneylender innocent? Not in everything, but in the case of Ambrose Oliver’s death? Despite himself, Frederick had liked the man and was tempted to believe his version of events. And beyond the circumstance of his presence, they had no real evidence against him. Not that men had not been hung for less.
Should he suggest that Mr. Smith question King during the inquest? Frederick felt oddly reticent to do so. It seemed too easy, too convenient to lay the blame at the feet of a notorious moneylender. There were those who would happily convict a man for that fact alone. Thankfully, this jury was only to decide the cause and manner of death. Convicting any suspects would wait till trial at the county assizes.
Would there be any justice for Ambrose Oliver? Despite the author’s contemptible character, he felt compelled to seek it.
———
While Brixton was talking with Mr. King’s manservant, Frederick questioned the other guests—a middle-aged couple named Mr. and Mrs. Curtis, followed by Mrs. Sizemore and her daughter. All expressed disappointment that they’d not seen more of the famous author during their stay but could shed no light on his death.
Then Frederick questioned Lady Fitzhoward’s maid, Nicole Joly.
“Have a seat, please, mademoiselle.”
The thin, dark-haired woman sat and folded her hands primly in her lap.
“You are employed by Lady Fitzhoward—is that right?”
“Yes.”
“And how much do you know about her ... her history, family, et cetera?”
Miss Joly reared her head back in surprise. “What has this to do with that man’s death? Is that not why you question us?”
“Yes.” Not wishing to cast suspicion on the woman’s employer, Frederick retreated. “I am simply trying to gauge if you have been with her long.”
“Oh. Three years.”
“And what do you do when you are not attending Lady Fitzhoward? I see her often in the library or garden alone, so...”
