He expected the French woman to scoff, but instead her expression brightened. “C’est vrai?Ah! I like to hear that. For I did see such a one. That night, I look out the window and I see a figure dressed in black with the white, em, how do you say...” She circled her face with a finger.
“Wimple.”
“C’est ça.Wimple. I thought I drank too much wine. I turn to look,mais non, the carafe is still quite full. I look out again, but she has disappeared. Who else saw it?”
“Perhaps I should not say, as the young lady in question has experienced some ridicule over it.”
“Not from me. Not when I saw it too!”
“Very well, it was Miss Lane.”
“Miss Lane?” Her dark eyebrows rose. “This surprises me. So practical and serious.” She wrinkled her nose.
“You two don’t get on?”
“Oh yes, now. I admit I was jealous at first. Before she came, I was companion to my lady as well as maid. I even dined with her when she felt lonely. Then Miss Lane came, so young, so pretty, so well-spoken. Ah well. She is kind to me, so I overcome my bad feelings.”
“I am glad to hear it.”
“And now we have this in common!” Miss Joly leaned back in her chair, shaking her head with apparent wonder.
When she said nothing further, he thanked the woman for her time.
After seeing her out, Fredrick sat heavily back down, exhausted. Talking to people did that to him on the best of days, and this had not been the best of days.
17
The next morning, as Frederick went downstairs to breakfast, he steeled himself to report to the coroner, wishing he had more to tell him.
Mr. Smith, standing in the hall at the reception desk, looked up at his approach. “Ah, Sir Frederick. I was just leaving you a note. We shall have the autopsy results tomorrow, according to Mr. Brown. So we shall reconvene then.”
The coroner asked nothing about Frederick’s interviews with the guests, and Frederick was relieved for the reprieve.
“Thank you for telling me.”
“Well, I’m off.” Smith pulled on his gloves. “There’s been a death in Rushwick. Sounds like an accident, so I expect to be back before the day is out. Tomorrow morning at the latest.”
Frederick nodded. “Godspeed.”
Walking through the passage, he saw Jack George leaving the coffee room and raised a hand. “Mr. George, just the man I was hoping to talk to. May I ask you a few more questions?”
“Very well. Though I’ve already told the coroner what I know.” The man gestured to a table just inside the coffee room door and the two sat down.
Frederick said, “First of all, just a point of curiosity. I have heard you referred to as both Mr. George and Sergeant George. Which is it?”
The man lifted his chin in acknowledgment. “Mr. George will do. I was a trooper in the army but didn’t advance to officer. Still, some call me Sergeant as a term of respect, and I don’t correct them.”
Frederick nodded his understanding and asked, “You told the coroner that you ‘hada shooting gallery.’ Do you no longer?”
The lines around the man’s eyes and mouth tightened. “That’s right. Numbers were down. Could no longer justify the rent on the place.”
“I am sorry to hear it.”
“Not as sorry as I was.”
“You mentioned Mr. Oliver came to your training gallery for only a few months.”
He nodded. “Right. Not long enough to gain much strength or skill. Never saw a fellow sweat so much—had to stop and catch his breath every other minute.”
