“Well done. Is this your first position?”
“No, sir. Not if you count mucking out the neighbor’s pigsty and collecting his eggs. Did that since I were breeched. But I like this more. Pays better and I smell better too.”
Brixton guffawed at that, and the boy grinned, showing a missing front tooth.
“And did you meet Mr. Oliver during his stay?”
“No, sir. Anton carried up his baggage and Mary his meals. I did clean his boots once, but that was as close as I got.”
Disappointment balled in Frederick’s chest. Nothing to learn from this lad either. About to dismiss him, he saw the boy sitting forward, eager to help. So he asked one more question, though he set aside his pen, expecting nothing useful.
“Did you notice anything out of the ordinary over the last few days? Anyone where they shouldn’t be? Any unusual comings and goings?”
Billy’s eyes lit. “Now you mention it, I did see one thing that surprised me, sir, but I ought not speak out of turn.”
“Go on.”
“Mrs. Somerton don’t like us to gossip about the guests.”
“In this instance, she will understand if you speak freely.”
The lad considered, then smiled. “If she gets cross, I’ll tell her you twisted my arm, shall I?”
“If you wish.” Frederick grinned back, but his smile soon faded.
“I saw a man letting himself into one of the guest rooms. A lady’s room.”
The coy countenance of Selina Newport flitted through Frederick’s mind. Had Thomas paid her a clandestine visit? He wouldn’t put it past him.
“When was this?”
“The night before last. Around ten.”
Brixton clarified, “The night before Mr. Oliver’s body was discovered?”
The boy nodded.
“The man is a guest here, I’m assuming?”
“No, sir. At least, I had not seen him here before. I suppose he might have registered when I was busy elsewhere. But I’ve not seen him in the hall or dining room neither.”
Probably not his brother, then. At least Frederick hoped not. “What did this man look like?”
The lad shrugged. “Ordinary. Dark hair, gentlemen’s clothes, although wrinkled. In need of a shave.”
Not terribly specific, though at least dark hair excluded Thomas. The flash of relief that it had not been his brother quickly transformed into something else. Dread.
“And which room did the man enter?” Brixton asked.
“Number thirteen.” The lad lowered his voice. “Miss Lane’s room.”
The words struck hard. The thought of Miss Lane alone with a man in her hotel room sent bile coursing into his stomach.
“Are you sure?” Frederick asked. “Was it not perhaps the room of another woman, say, Miss Newport?”
“No, sir. She’s in twelve.”
Lady Fitzhoward’s words from the day before revolved through his brain.“Don’t ask questions for which you don’t really want to know the answers.”
