“Bah.Non.Why should I? I am not even sure I ever met him.”
“Very well. Thank you, monsieur.”
Next, Mr. Moseley came in, looking as smart as an officer in his regimentals. Frederick bit back a smile to see his father’s former valet in his role as head porter or commissionaire of the Swanford Abbey Hotel. His fine livery, gold braid, and jaunty hat gave the mild-mannered man a proud bearing and seemed to lengthen his spine and broaden his once-thin shoulders.
“Good day, Mr. Moseley. I am glad to see you looking so hale. The livery suits you. I hope the position here does as well?”
“It does indeed, sir. I enjoy it. Out in the fresh air, welcoming guests and assisting them. Yes, I find it suits me very well. It seems the role I was born for.”
“Good, good.”
Mr. Moseley added, “And now and again, I see former acquaintances like you and your brother. And now Miss Lane too! Almost like old times.”
As much as he was enjoying chatting with the older man, Frederick was aware of the ticking clock and pushed ahead with his questions.
Moseley listened, then shook his head. “No, sir. I did not seeanyone enter the hotel who looked remotely suspicious. Not while I was on duty. And I am out there all day in all weather.”
“And what are your hours?”
“Nine till eight.”
“Goodness. That is a long shift. Don’t you grow weary?”
“Not a bit of it. I move around, help with bags, open doors, and stop to have a bite to eat now and again. The time goes by quickly.” Moseley sighed, then sent him a sad, sidelong glance. “I do miss your father, though. He was a good man.”
“Thank you. So do I.” Frederick paused, then asked, “Did you meet Mr. Oliver when he arrived?”
“I opened the door for him. That was all. I considered telling him I’d read his books, but I’d seen him rebuff someone else, so I thought the better of it.”
“Whom did he rebuff?”
Moseley worried his lip before replying. “Robb Tarvin. I doubt there’s anything in it, but I heard the two talking when Robb delivered the man here in his fly.”
“What about?”
“I didn’t hear all Robb said, but I could see the author didn’t like it. He alighted rather abruptly, and what a scowl! I heard Robb ask Mr. Oliver to wait. He said something like, ‘There’s another error in chapter three.’
“But the big man held up his hand and said sharply, ‘I have heard more than enough.’”
Moseley tsked and shook his head. “Poor Robb. Not a bad fellow, but always was something of a know-all. Doesn’t realize folks don’t like hearing their every mistake enumerated.”
“Did Robb say anything else to Mr. Oliver?”
“Not to his face. But the author did not tip him, so Robb grumbled to me about it and called him a skinflint. I am sure he meant no real harm.”
“I see. Well. Thank you, Mr. Moseley. I appreciate your time.”
He excused the commissionaire and summoned the flyman. Robb Tarvin came in, removing his flat cap as he entered, and sat in the offered chair.
“I have just a few questions. I understand you delivered Mr. Oliver to the hotel?”
“That’s right. He requested a ride when he wrote to secure a room. Mr. Mayhew sent me to Worcester to meet the Birmingham stage.”
“And what did the two of you talk about on the way here?”
Robb shrugged. “This and that. Told him I’d read his books.”
“That all?”
