Richard entered—and Burns nearly ran into him.
“In a rush?” Richard said.
“N-no, my lord.” Burns backed away from him. “I was just, er, looking for my partner, Miss Ashe. We have to practice our act—oof.”
The juggler had stumbled into Kent, who’d been waiting silently behind him. As most of the male guests were still out shooting, the three of them were the only ones in the room, the scent of cigar smoke and leather heavy in the air. Darting a nervous glance between his captors, Burns retreated to the billiards table occupying the center of the chamber.
Richard and Kent followed, facing Burns across the green baize.
“We’d like to talk to you, sir.” Kent’s tone was even. “Regarding Monique de Brouet’s death.”
“I don’t know anything about that,” Burns said quickly.
“Not too torn up over your colleague’s death?” Richard inquired.
The performer flushed beneath his tan. “Course I am. Terrible business. I only meant to say that it came as a shock—a complete surprise.”
“How would you characterize your relationship with the deceased?” Kent said.
“It was purely professional.” Grabbing an ivory ball, he rolled it around on the table, his movements nimble. “As you know, Monique and I were colleagues at Astley’s.”
“From what we understand, you wanted to be more than mere colleagues,” Richard said.
“Now that’s a bleeding lie.” Burns’ eyes blazed. “I had no personal interest in Monique. My preference is for gently-bred ladies, not strumpets.”
“What I meant was that you wanted to be Monique’s partner—in an acrobatics act.”
The fire left the juggler; he looked ill at ease again. “Nothing came of that. It was just an idea. A way for the both of us to benefit from combining audiences.”
“But the benefit would have been mostly yours,” Kent said, “as Monique had the greater fame.”
“Either way, I asked, she refused. End of story.”
Richard quirked a brow. “You harbored no animosity after she turned you down?”
“Look, business is business. Monique was looking after her own interests, and I don’t blame her for that.” Burns gripped the edge of the table. “I understand how difficult it is to fight one’s way to the top—to have ambitions that exceed one’s grasp. I might have envied Monique de Brouet, but I also respected her.”
“So you had nothing to do with her frayed tightrope?” Kent said.
Burns’ laugh surprised Richard. “Let me guess. That maid of hers mentioned it?”
Kent gave a terse nod.
“The old mort’s got a screw loose. Thought the world was out to get her and her mistress.” The juggler crossed his arms. “Ropes fray; it was naught but an accident. I was definitely not involved.”
“One last question.” Kent pinned the man with a stare. “Do you know of anyone who wanted Monique dead?”
Burns swallowed. A tremor entered his voice. “No, I do not.”
They let the juggler go.
“What do you think?” Kent said.
Richard shook his head. “For an innocent man, Burns seems to have a case of the nerves. But I can’t say for certain that I think he did it.”
“Agreed. He stays on the list.” Kent sighed. “Hopefully we’ll have better luck with Garrity in the morning.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
