“I’ll take these down to the kitchen to dry,” she said, gathering Mira’s clothes in her arms. “Will you be all right for a little while?”
Mira nodded.
“I ought to check on Maureen again too.” Liza headed for the door. “Is there anything else you need?”
Mira opened her mouth to say no, but a question popped out instead. “What happened to Mr. Harris?”
Liza stilled. “There was an attempted burglary back in August. He was shot and... well, from what I understand, Maureen is the one who found him.”
“Oh.” Mira pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “I didn’t know.”
“There wasn’t much publicity about it, thank goodness. But that means she didn’t have as much support as she ought to have had.”
“Did they ever catch the burglar?”
“I don’t know. We wrote one another after she moved here to live with her aunt, Mrs. Callan, but she never mentioned it. And then her aunt passed away in January.”
“Was it natural?”
Liza frowned. “As far as I know. Heart attack, from what I remember. She was always in bad health. That was why she didn’t want to leave Bath when she became Maureen’s guardian. She thought the waters were keeping her alive.”
“Poor Maureen,” Mira said. “No wonder she is so upset.”
“I’d better get back to her,” Liza said.
“One more thing,” Mira said. “Will you ask if I can borrow another dress from the Risewells? I’m sure when the police come they won’t want to wait to question me and who knows how long it will take for my things to dry.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” The door clicked behind Liza as she left.
All that remained was quiet. Too much quiet. It made the silence in Mira’s mind all the louder. She tried to string thoughts together, but they dissipated like smoke. Like Verona’s breath in the cold air. Now that there wasn’t anything to do, no rush, no explanation, she felt—
Numb.
She looked at her hands, feeling oddly detached from her body. Perhaps she should have been more concerned about it, but the concerns she had were distant and fuzzy. There was a wall in her mind between where she was and where all her emotions were crashing together like waves. The heat from the fire was almost too much, but she didn’t care to move.
She sat there, unaware of the passage of time, when another knock came at the door.
“Come in,” she said, her voice sounding strange to her ears.
To her surprise, Mary Sherard entered, arms laden with fabric.
“Here are your clothes. Or your undergarments at least. The dress is Miss Risewell’s.”
“Thank you,” Mira said, voice shaking, though she didn’t know why.
Mary set the clothing on the bed. “They say it was an accident, so there’s no need for you, or my brother, to cause a scene. That is, not more than you already have.”
Mira pulled the blanket tighter around her, a burst of indignation breaking through the numbness. “A man was found dead. What would you have had me do?”
Mary fell silent, slowly tracing the bed frame with her finger, stopping her hand on the brass knob at the end. It seemed to Mira that the action wasn’t hesitation or a lack of response, but rather an intimidation tactic. She hated that it was working.
“I take it you have some affection for my brother, do you not?”
“I do.”
“Then you should know better than to pull him into another case.” She looked Mira up and down, the corner of her lip lifting in disgust. “You ought to have left the whole thing alone. So what if a corpse falls into your path? You have no business meddling in such things. Leave it to the police.” Mary turnedtoward the door.
Mira fisted her hands in the blanket, trying to keep her temper at bay. “Miss Sherard?”
