A knock came at the library door. Mira moved to answer it and to her surprise, “Fitzwilliam” Montague stood on the threshold.
“I know it isn’t my place, miss,” he said, glancing behind himself. “But may I come in?”
She nodded, stepping aside so he could enter. She closed thedoor behind him and he removed his cap.
“I know you may not have recognized me,” he said, twisting his poor cap near to death. “But my good conscience knows that you’ll find out soon enough who I am and what I’ve left.”
“Charles Montague, yes?” Byron said, sitting back at his leisure.
“Oh, yes, sir. I’m sorry to say it, but it’s me,” Monty said, words all a jumble. “Course you recognized me. Yer a detective, a right knowing one, and I should have come to you as soon as I noticed you.”
“It was Miss Blayse who remembered you, not I.”
“Is that right? Well, you fooled me last night. You’re a regular actress, begging your pardon, miss.”
Mira smiled, moving back to her seat by the fire. “Won’t you sit down?”
“No, I’d rather stand. If the missus or master was to enter, they wouldn’t take kindly to a footman sitting in good company.”
“What did you want to talk about?” Mira said.
“It’s about the thefts. I knew there’d been all these burglaries about, but it didn’t have nothing to do with me so I didn’t pay them much attention. But when I saw you come in with all the other swells, I couldn’t help but squirm. I thought you were here to investigate, but maybe, I thought, maybe you wouldn’t give me no notice. But then the tittle-tattle below stairs is that there’s been a corpse found, that Mr. Treadway is dead. And then I thought to myself that you’d be questioning the staff, and soon enough you’d come to me, so I’d better get it over with and come to you first.”
“A reasonable thought,” Byron said, pulling out his journal and flipping through it. “I take it you are innocent?”
“Yes, sir. I didn’t do it. Not the thefts, not the murder, nothing. I never liked being on the dub lay. And I ask you, whywould I foul my own nest by filching my mistress’s baubles or doing in a guest?”
“Didn’t you escape from the prison in Reading?” Mira said.
Monty’s face took on a reddish hue. “Oh, well, I did do that. No use in gamming you, seeing as I stand before you now.” He turned to Byron. “And I know you must do your duty, sir, and send me back there again. But I swear, on my grandmother’s grave even, that I’m done with the criminal life. I’ve come here to make a fresh start. I’m even getting used to this footman’s toggery.” Monty brushed his sleeves and looked sheepish.
Byron stopped on a particular page, scanning it. After a moment he snapped the journal shut and sat forward, steepling his fingers. He looked up at Monty, his scrutinizing stare on full display. Monty took a step back, obviously not used to that kind of intensity.
“You’d best get back to work,” Byron said. “We wouldn’t want the butler to worry about where you wandered off to.”
Monty gaped like a fish. “You mean, you aren’t going to turn me in, sir?”
“Not at the moment, no. If you really aren’t involved, there isn’t a reason to turn the police suspicion onto you. And if you are involved, well,” Byron smiled. “We’ll find out, won’t we?”
Monty paled considerably. “I didn’t do it. None of it. Really I didn’t, sir.”
“Off you go, then. Might we come talk to you later? I may have some questions about the staff.”
“Oh, of course. Anything you need. Just let me know.”
“Thank you, er... what name are you going by?”
“Fitzwilliam, sir.”
“Very good, Fitzwilliam.”
Monty gave a nod to each of them and moved to leave the room. But just as he reached the door, Byron called out again, “Actually, I think I do have a quick favor.”
Monty slowly turned back towards them. “Yes, sir?”
“We need to see Mr. Treadway’s room. Do you think you could arrange that for us? Discreetly?”
“I’m sure I could manage, sir.”
