More like a fallen angel.
‘Well, thank you so much for your help. If you wouldn’t mind sending in Mrs Coggins, I believe she is the last person we need to speak with today.’ Clio tried to keep her tone kind, but really. Did the girl need to bat her eyes at Grey like some twitterpated fool?
Clio gave him a sidelong glance as Miss Sanders left the room.
‘What?’ He kept his eyes on the door.
‘How fortuitous that you need a maid. Now. The timing is remarkable.’
‘I don’t. But she needs a steady income and training if she wishes to make any kind of future for herself. My housekeeper excels at teaching new staff how to master their work, and—’ He stopped abruptly as if realising he revealed too much. ‘I don’t need to explain myself to you. Or anyone.’
She snorted. ‘Dear goddess, no. One might think you cared what others think, and that couldn’t be farther from the truth.’
‘Caring about other people’s opinions is a waste of time.’
Annoyingly, she happened to agree with him, so she remained silent.
Grey stood from his seat, tugged down his coat, and strode to the end of the room. Tension corded his muscles as he turned to face her. ‘For someone who seems convinced the housekeeper is a prime suspect, you were quick to admonish Miss Sanders for insulting the woman. What was it she called her? A witch?’
Her shoulders hitched, and she straightened her spine. He was trying to provoke her. She wouldn’t allow it. ‘Name-calling benefits no one. My desire for people to be treated respectfully, regardless of their guilt or innocence, has nothing to do with my suspicions regarding Mrs Coggins.’
He walked back and took his chair. ‘Hmm. Interesting.’ As he mirrored her last words to the butler, Clio realised something.
‘I don’t like you, Grey.’
‘Finally. Something upon which we agree.’
Grey didn’t like her either. Fine. Grand.
Or does he agree with me because he also doesn’t like himself?
A fascinating idea she had no time to ponder as the door opened, and Mrs Coggins entered.
8
Grey could say with utmost confidence that Miss Clio Blair knew how to do one thing extraordinarily well: get under someone’s skin. This time, he was just glad it wasn’t his.
They had been questioning the housekeeper for twenty minutes, asking her to walk them through the final hours of Viscount Beachley’s life.
The viscount had been taking afternoon tea with his wife. Mrs Coggins served them both in the front sitting room, then left to oversee the cleaning of the silverware. It was a weekly task that Viscount Beachley preferred she manage to ensure no theft occurred.
‘One can’t be too trusting. Anyone is capable of deceit if the stakes are high enough.’
‘Even you, Mrs Coggins?’ Clio’s gaze was steady on the housekeeper.
Miss Blair was formidable. Even without her raven.
Mrs Coggins’ cheeks grew red. ‘That’s not what I meant.’
‘What did you mean?’
The housekeeper folded and unfolded her hands. ‘The viscountknew I would never betray him. I’ve known him since he was a boy. I worked for his father before Viscount Beachley inherited the title. He trusted me because he knew my loyalty to him and to his family was unwavering.’
‘And was his loyalty to you equally constant?’
The housekeeper sniffed. ‘He could have turned me out, started new with a fresh household staff when he married. The viscountess wanted him to do just that, but he wouldn’t hear a word of it. He appreciated my knowledge and expertise. He was a good man. He didn’t deserve what happened to him.’ Her eyes filled with tears.
‘What about your feelings toward the viscountess? Are they as sanguine?’ Clio began tapping her finger in a steady rhythm on the table.
