Sparks. Fire. Heat. She is a living flame. Would my fingers burn if I touched her?
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair and forced his focus back to the housekeeper.
‘She was being so pleasant to Lord Beachley. They rarely took tea together, but she asked him to join her. She wanted to speak with him about Miss Anna. That child was the only thing they had in common. Lady Beachley mentioned reading about a new treatment in one of the medical journals she started ordering when Miss Anna fell ill. She was always coming to him with hair-brained treatments to cure her. Lord Beachley wouldn’t allow it. He wouldn’t let poor Miss Anna suffer, and rightly so.’
Clio pressed her lips together, and Thomas jumped into the small window of silence. ‘You told the police that you served them tea, then went to polish the silver.’ He wouldn’t let Clio commandeer this entire interview.
The housekeeper nodded. ‘Yes. That was the last time I sawLord Beachley alive.’ Her chin quivered, and she covered her mouth with her hand.
Clio’s finger began tapping again.
Mrs Coggins’ mouth hardened, and her eyes flicked to Clio’s hand before she returned her gaze to Thomas as she resumed her tearful story.
Well played. She got her to break. Mrs Coggins isn’t nearly as upset as she wants us to believe.
He had to give Clio credit. She knew how to turn the screws on a witness. Which was incredibly unfortunate, as credit was the last thing he wanted to give the woman.
‘Daisy found her. She’s worked in this house for over five years. Daisy is a good maid. Reliable. Respectful. Nothing like who is left now.’
Thomas could only assume she was talking about poor Miss Sanders. His soon-to-be-hired maid. The girl was right; Mrs Coggins did hate her.
‘Poor Daisy had to go home to be with her family after she spoke with the constable. The shock was too much for her.’ Mrs Coggins shook her head. ‘In the space of a moment, everything’s changed. It was never meant to be like this.’ Her voice caught, and for a brief glimmer, Thomas saw real grief in the woman’s eyes.
Clio stopped tapping. ‘Like what?’
Looking up from where she had been staring at a spot on the table, Mrs Coggins shook her head, realising she’d mis-stepped again but not knowing how. ‘What?’
‘You said it was never meant to be like this. What was it meant to be like?’
Mrs Coggins blinked rapidly, sniffed as she swept her knuckle beneath each eye to erase non-existent tears, then cleared her throat. ‘I just mean, no man deserves to die at the hands of his own wife. We live in a civilised society. This kind of injusticecannot stand. I hope you find her and make her pay for what she did.’
Clio’s fingers tapped again. ‘Unless someone has already made her pay.’
Mrs Coggins met her gaze, her features hardening into a mask. ‘I wouldn’t blame whoever they were if they did. An eye for an eye, Miss Blair. God himself demands no less.’
‘I find His demands to be rather contradictory.’
Sucking in her breath, Mrs Coggins covered her throat with a shaky hand. ‘That’s blasphemy!’
‘Only if I believe in your god. And I don’t.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Coggins.’ Thomas stood, walked around the table, and helped the housekeeper stand on shaky legs. He escorted her to the door. Clio had thoroughly scandalised the woman. One thing was certain: they would discover nothing more from Viscount Beachley’s staff today.
‘We don’t have any more questions for you. Thank you for your time and candour.’
‘I have one more question.’ Clio’s voice was calm, but Thomas could feel the anger vibrating from her in waves behind him. He turned from the door to face her. Mrs Coggins mirrored his movements. His gaze flicked to Clio’s hands, but no sparks flew from her fingers, though the air shimmered in a heat wave. She was still tapping the table. He wondered how much longer the wood could stand up to the assault without cracking down the centre.
Mrs Coggins cleared her throat. ‘Ask it then so I can get back to my work.’
‘According to your god, what sin is worse? Blasphemy, lying, or murder?’
Lifting her chin, Mrs Coggins straightened her shoulders. She had a streak of grey hair starting at her temple and disappearing into a severe bun. ‘All sin separates us fromourGod.’
‘So, in your estimation, all sins are equal?’
‘Sin is sin.’ Mrs Coggins thrust out her chin.
Clio’s finger stilled. ‘Then, a liar is no better than a blasphemer. Or a murderer. Hmm. Interesting.’
