“Hell,” Gray whispered.
As luck would have it, only Olivia and her mother were there. Both were still pale and exhausted and clearly grieving.
“Mrs. Nicholson, Miss Nicholson. I’m sorry to intrude, but I have more questions,” Gray said. “This is Mr. Bigglesbottom, another of my assistants,” he said, pointing to Ramsey. His cousin did not even flinch at the alias. Instead, he bowed soberly before the women.
“Please accept my deepest sympathies for your loss,” he said.
Both women found a small smile.
“Detective Fletcher, do you have news?”
“We are closing in, Mrs. Nicholson, but as yet, no arrest has been made,” Gray said.
“Mrs. Nicholson,” Ramsey said before Gray could speak again. “I wonder if you would tell me about that exquisite painting you have in your front entrance?”
“Oh well, of course.” Mrs. Nicholson looked almost excited at the prospect of showing off her artwork. “It’s my husband’s pride and joy.”
“I am looking at purchasing a painting, as I have recently moved into new premises,” Ramsey said as he ushered the older woman out the door. “Clearly, you and Mr. Nicholson have excellent taste.”
Gray would remember to thank his cousin later.
“Miss Nicholson, I will get straight to the point, as I have no wish for your mother to hear what we discuss.”
“I don’t understand,” Olivia Nicholson said in a tremulous voice.
“I went to the theatre a week ago, and I saw you with a man. You were hidden down a narrow lane. I had been searching for someone else and found you.”
What little color there was left in her face drained away.
“I am not here to judge you or cause you trouble, Miss Nicholson, but I am investigating your brother’s murder, and I must follow every lead I get.”
“Surely you do not think that I… I would never harm my brother, and neither would Benjamin,” she said in a terrified voice.
“Benjamin? Is he the man you were with?”
She nodded, tears falling down her cheeks. Gray pulled out the clean handkerchief he always carried and handed it to her.
“I have it from a reliable source that you and your brother have recently argued, Miss Nicholson,” he said gently. “Can you tell me why?”
“Pl-please understand I did not want this to happen.”
He nodded, and she began her story.
“We met by chance, Benjamin and I, but it did not take long before we both fell in love.” She pressed her face into the handkerchief as she shuddered out a breath.
Gray felt sorry for the woman, but he had to know if she or this Benjamin were in any way responsible for George Nicholson’s death. Ellen had visions about the argument between the siblings and the naked tattooed man.
“My parents will not approve because Benjamin has no work, but he tries and finds what he can. He is the very best of men but has no family—”
“I am not here to judge him or you,” Gray said again. “Will you tell me why your brother gave you a large sum of money not long before his death, Miss Nicholson?”
She pressed a hand to her mouth briefly, and Gray noticed it was trembling. Damn Ellen for making him feel. He had the urge to pat her shoulder or squeeze her fingers. Thankfully, she inhaled deeply and composed herself, so he did neither.
“I could always talk to my brother, but when I told him about Benjamin, we had a terrible argument, and I left in tears. Two days later, a note came telling me he wanted to speak with me at the bookshop. I called, and he said he wanted to meet Benjamin.”
She was now torturing his handkerchief with her fingers.
“I took him to the bookshop. He and George spent two hours conversing. Afterward, he gave me the money and told me he would employ Benjamin in the bookshop, but he needed new clothes and a place to l-live.” She sobbed, and it was a heartbreaking sound.
