———
Thomas reluctantly agreed to ask Miss Newport to speak to Frederick before starting their match.
Finding the library and writing room unoccupied, Frederick sat down, idly fiddling with one of the chess pieces on the table. Mr. Brixton had yet to join him.
A few minutes later, Miss Newport appeared in the doorway.
Frederick rose. “Thank you for coming. Please sit down, if you would.” He indicated the chair facing his.
Her tight lips expressed displeasure. “Very well.” She gracefully sat, spreading her skirts around her.
He smiled in hopes of reassuring her. “As magistrate, I am conducting preliminary interviews with the guests, and will report anything relevant to the coroner.”
Her eyes glittered with ... what? Irritation? Fear? It was difficult to tell.
“Will I be called to give testimony at the inquest?”
“Not unless you have information that bears on this matter.”
She clasped slim fingers together but said nothing.
Frederick asked, “So, what can you tell me about Ambrose Oliver?”
“Why should I be able to tell you anything?”
“I gather the two of you were some acquainted.”
“Oh?” One arched eyebrow rose high. “And who told you that? Your sweetheart, I suppose?”
Frederick reared his head back. Sweetheart? He had no sweetheart. The only woman he was fond of was Rebecca Lane, but why would Miss Newport assumeshehad said something?
“Who do you mean by that?”
She lifted one shapely shoulder. “Miss Lane. Her chambermaid received a message from Mr. Oliver requesting I come to his room. Miss Lane passed along the message to me. Of course, I did not go.”
He absorbed that. Then noticing he was bouncing an agitated knee, he crossed one leg over the other.
Attempting a casual smile, he asked, “And why do you call her my ‘sweetheart’?”
She studied him with interest. Was he red about the collar again?Drat.
“I observed the two of you during our game of lawn bowls,” she replied. “And the night before last, I heard Mr. Oliver pounding on Miss Lane’s door, trying to wheedle his way inside. My room is the next one down, past the night stair. At first, I thought perhaps he mistook the rooms and was looking for me. Thankfully not. Then I heard you coming to her aid.”
“Ah. I see.” Frederick relaxed a little. He said, “When Oliver saw you in the dining room, I thought his expression revealed recognition, or at least ... interest.”
A coy grin lifted her rouged lips. “You think it notable that a man should look at me with interest? You injure me, truly.”
“It was more than that. My brother—only when I asked in my official capacity—confided that you had been ... acquainted with the man, and unhappily so.”
“Did he?” Her coy grin faded. “How ... indiscreet of him.”
“Again, he did not offer the information until I pulled it from him. I will add that he speaks of you highly, with both respect and regard.”
“Now, that is more like it,” she quipped, but her smug words did not hide her unease.
“He did not go into any detail, if that helps.”
She smoothed her glove. “Because he does not know any details.”
