So I wasn’t the only one who thought the magistrate a simpleton. “Quite right,” I said. “Besides, the more eyes looking into this tragedy, the better.”
Richford swiped his palm across his bristly jaw. “My thoughts exactly.”
“Sir John Stauncey has already appointed another officer to this case, but if I tell him you’ve requested me, I’m certain there won’t be an issue with my replacing him.” Rollins rubbed his jaw. “I would like to interview you in priv—”
“It can’t have been easy, the same day you lost your wife to read in the paper that dreadful opinion piece by Lord Anglia.” I leaned forward. I excelled at making it difficult to dismiss me. I wouldn’t let today be an exception.
“Detestable man.” A red flush stained the viscount’s cheeks. “The lies. The insinuations. I have half a mind to sue him andThe Timesfor publishing such tripe.”
“What piece?” Rollins asked.
“A strong-willed woman can ruffle feathers.”Of insecure birds, I thought sourly. “It is of no account if a husband accepts some advice from his wife.”
Richford stood and started pacing. “Just so. Susan might have told me her opinion on some legislation, but that doesn’t mean she made my decisions for me. And she certainly didn’t—” His cheeks flushed darker.
“Didn’t what?” Rollins looked between me and the viscount. “What did the opinion piece say?”
“I hate to broach such an unpleasant thought,” I began, “but was your relationship with Lord Anglia acrimonious enough that he’d wish harm on your wife?”
Richford lurched to a stop and blinked. “No. He couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Just because we voted differently?” His chest rose and fell like bellows. “He couldn’t.”
Not a resounding negation of the idea. I kept my voice even. “Perhaps not. But can you think of anyone else who would want to harm Lady Richford?”
A snort came from the doorway. “That list would be long and varied.” A man in his early twenties stood at the entrance to the room, his features similar enough to Lord Richford’s to confirm he was the viscount’s son.
“Edgar….” Lord Richford’s voice was weary, as though he and his son had butted heads over Lady Richford many a time.
Mr. Rollins unfolded from his chair and gave a respectful nod. “Sir. I am—”
“I know who you are.” The young man strolled to a wingchair by the window and sprawled onto it, one leg dangling over the armrest. “And I know who this one is, too.” He nodded at me. “You look exactly as I remember from childhood.”
As it had been near fifteen years since I’d last seen Mr. Edgar Bannister, it should have been a compliment.
His tone indicated that it wasn’t.
“And I remember you, as well.” I tapped the end of my walking stick into the Aubusson carpet. “If I remember correctly, there was some incident at the Whitney’s house party involving a large bowl of cherries and a handmade blow dart.”
Bannister shrugged. “I was eight.”
His youth didn’t excuse the loss of one of my favorite day gowns, though his ingenuity was to be admired. “This list of your mother’s enemies, anyone in particular we should be concerned about?”
“There is no list,” Lord Richford said sharply. “My wife was beloved by all.”
The silence after that sentiment became awkward.
Mr. Rollins, instead of wedging himself back into his chair, stepped behind it and gripped the backrest. “Sometimes animosities aren’t rational,” he said carefully. “Lady Richford might have made enemies through no fault of her own. It is best, however, if I gather a full picture of all her relationships.”
Richford picked at one of his nails. “She had friends. Many of them. That’s why she wanted to join that club.” He nodded at me. “I know it was bordering on scandalous, but my darling was always so impetuous. When she wanted something, she dove right in.” His smile was faint, reminiscent. “We met when she was but seventeen. I was willing to wait a couple of years to marry, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She’d made up her mind, and had her father announce the banns in just three months’ time. Edgar came a year later.”
Edgar Bannister rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “They don’t want your life history, father.”
“No.” Richford stared down at his clenched hands. “We were so happy. I don’t know what to do.”
“Any particular friend your wife might have confided in?” Mr. Rollins asked. “Anyone she was worried about?”
“You should talk to that Abbott woman.” Bannister flicked at a bit of dust on his jacket. “She came over here incessantly. Still does.”
“Abbott?” I tilted my head. “Miss Lydia Abbott?”
