“And you can be sure of this how?”
She hesitated, and her brother patted her shoulder. Gray felt like he’d missed something but had no idea what.
“I can’t be sure. It is just my observation. They were intent on taking the money from the box under the counter where Mr. Nicholson kept it. I doubt they would have appeared so calm when I entered if they had seen that body, as I had. It was not something I am likely to forget.”
She was remarkably composed considering what she’d seen, as she had been the night he’d heard her scream help.
Nicholson had been murdered, his face contorted in horror, and while Gray had seen such scenes before, you never got used to it. Especially not a gently bred lady.
“And you closed Mr. Nicholson’s eyes?”
“I did. He was my friend,” she said simply. She then snapped her fingers. “Snippy. One boy was called that.”
“You’re sure.”
“Yes, I am.” Her tone suggested she was insulted Gray doubted her.
“You did not seem overly upset at seeing the dead body of your friend, if you don’t mind me saying so, Miss Nightingale.” Gray was good at interrogating people. He was usually called in if they had a particularly difficult person who would not tell them what they needed.
“What are you suggesting, Detective Fletcher?” her brother demanded.
“Just because I was raised in society does not mean I fall about the place at the first sign of blood or murder,” Ellen Nightingale said. “I gave up simpering and having fits of vapors many years ago.”
“Most men would not cope with seeing what you did,” Gray said.
“That’s because most men are weak.”
Her brother rolled his eyes at that.
“Have you seen a body before, Miss Nightingale?”
He’d thought she’d shake her head, but instead to his surprise, she nodded.
“My father shot himself, as you know, Detective Fletcher. It was me who found him.”
Christ. He’d seen people who’d been shot in the head. That she’d found her father after he’d done that to himself must have left a stain on her memory.
“I’m sorry for your loss. It was not my intention to insult or upset you,” Gray said, wishing he’d been aware of that piece of information. Clearly it was not common knowledge, as no one he’d spoken to about this family had mentioned her being the one to find the late Lord Seddon.
“Thank you,” she said in an icy tone, which he guessed was something she’d learned to do to disguise the hurt. Gray understood building walls. He’d erected a few himself over the years.
“If that is all, Detective Fletcher, I’ll ask you to leave before you upset my sister further,” Lord Seddon said.
Had he not still been watching, he wouldn’t have noticed the moment Ellen Nightingale’s eyes dulled and her gaze became fixed. Her brother, however, was instantly aware that something was off with his sister. He put a hand on her shoulder again and squeezed. It was several seconds before Miss Nightingale blinked, and when her eyes returned to his, they were focused and alert once more.
“Are you all right, Miss Nightingale?”
She nodded. “Why would I not be?”
“You appeared to go into a trance of some sort,” Gray said.
She forced out a laugh. “I certainly did not.”
“You did.” Gray studied her.
“I have no idea what you are accusing my sister of again, Detective Fletcher, but I assure you I will not tolerate it,” Leopold Nightingale said, sounding every inch the viscount he was. “Firstly, you wanted to know why Ellen was not more upset than she appeared over seeing George Nicholson’s body. Now you are accusing her of lying about a trance of all the absurd things.”
Gray was sure the man was trying to divert his attention, but he kept his eyes on Ellen Nightingale. She did not look away or flinch. Her expression remained cool, but she was paler now. Almost white. He remembered seeing someone else look exactly as she just had throughout his childhood.
