Raising her chin, she asked, “You are questioning everyone, I understand?”
“Yes, even my brother. Showing no partiality, you see.”
“Very thorough.”
He decided an indirect approach might be more fruitful. “I gather you are a keen observer of human nature, my lady. What can you tell me about Mr. Oliver and your fellow guests?”
“Flattering my mind, ey? At my age, I’ll take what I can get. A rum bunch the lot of them, Mr. Oliver included. I had not planned to stay on so long, but I found the company diverting.”
“How so?”
She chuckled. “Where do I begin? First, having the esteemed,some might say eccentric, author staying here ensconced in his room with a henchman at his door, who even stood guard while he dined, added a certain excitement. Then there was the titillating appearance of the beautiful Miss Newport and the romantic tension with your brother, and the hints of some unhappy history with Mr. Oliver. Add to that spicy stew the rumors about an abbess’s ghost? Why, it was all deliciously Gothic, don’t you think? And now a murderer among the guests? I was right to stay on.”
Her conclusion intrigued him. “I know you listened to the inquest. You didn’t believe the constable’s theory of a desperate would-be thief?”
She shook her head. “You wouldn’t be questioning the guests if you thought Oliver was killed by some hapless stranger. I am sure you have better things to do with your time, like admire my pretty young companion. Or meet with more wealthy investors in hopes of seeing your canal plans come to fruition.”
“True.”Thunder and turf.He had called her a keen observer, but perhaps a bit too keen for comfort. He was glad Mr. Brixton had stepped out.
He shifted and asked, “Were you acquainted with Mr. Oliver—before coming here, I mean?”
“No. Never met him, except through his books.” She watched him closely. “Have you read them? If you read the latest, I imagine you did not much enjoy it.”
He decided to let that pass without comment and said instead, “Tell me about yourself, my lady.”
Her grey-blue eyes glimmered. “What would you like to know?”
“To begin with, where are you from, if I may ask? You mentioned your husband being from Manchester, but nothing aboutyourself.” In reality, simple curiosity drove him more than any conviction that her history might be relevant.
“Oh, I have lived in several places, and I travel a great deal.”
“And your given name is Marguerite?”
“That’s right.”
“And your husband’s name?”
“Donald. He died over a year ago. I miss him, yet I am grateful we had so many happy years together. Since his death, I have lived primarily in hotels and inns. I love them. No clutter. Everything fresh and clean. No reminders of the past...”
“I can understand that. Have you any children?”
“Impertinent question! Sadly, we remained childless, despite our best efforts. Donald did have a son with his first wife, who died young trying to bear him a second. His son and I don’t get on.”
“And how did you and your husband meet?”
“Goodness! Has my romantic history some bearing on the author’s death?”
“Doubtful. It is just ... you seem familiar to me, my lady. I am trying to work out why.”
“As I said, I have traveled extensively and lived in many places.”
“Yet, I have only ever lived here.”
“Come. Surely you went away to university and spent seasons in London as most young bucks do.”
“True. I have spent several weeks in Town. And my brother spends most of his time there now.”
“There, you see? Perhaps our paths crossed then.”
