“He was born a Sherard. But as a detective he goes by Byron Constantine.”
Theresia’s eyes widened. “Bertie said he was a detective, but I didn’t know he meant Detective Constantine!”
Mira smiled. “You’ve heard of him, then?”
“Oh yes. My father works with Ambassador White. We heard all about the debacle back in October. Did you know about it?”
“I was the one who found Mr. Sutherland.”
Theresia gasped, eyes sparkling. “No wonder you weren’t shocked by the body. I had wondered. Do you know, we would have been at Sutherland’s party that night, but we had another engagement. To think we might have met sooner.”
“What small circles we run in,” Mira laughed.
Theresia turned her attention back to the bouquet. “So did he choose these? Detective Constantine, I mean.”
“No. He stayed in the carriage with his mother and sister. I had to have the owner of the flower shop help me. The pink ones are sowbread, they signify a parting of ways. The white is hellebore, representing hope in adversity. The purple is monkshood and is a protection from evil. And—”
“I know the daffodils. Something to do with spring and new beginnings.” She slumped down on one of the hay bales. “To be honest, Miss Blayse—”
“You can call me Mira, if you like.”
“Well then, Mira, I’ll tell you a secret.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I never really liked Silas Treadway.”
Mira sat beside her. “I know. Maureen told me.”
“You’ve been thorough in your questioning then.”
“Not really. I just remember her mentioning offhand at the party that you never like any of your suitors.”
Theresia tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “That isn’t exactly true.”
They sat in silence for a few moments.
“I didn’t like him, but I wouldn’t have wanted him dead,” Theresia said at last. “He was self-aggrandizing one moment and disappearing off to who knows where the next. Perfectly charismatic and quite the gentleman, but it all felt like a false front. Like the real Silas Treadway was buried beneath everything else. Have you ever met someone like that before?”
Mira swallowed, thinking of her godfather. “I wish I hadn’t, but yes.”
“I don’t even know where he came from. Usually one is introduced by a mutual acquaintance. I’ve known Bertie Corbet since before he wore breeches. But Silas just showed up in Bath one day, and for whatever reason, my father saw him fit to be a potential match. I suppose that was novel, in a way. And so is the fact that he was a burglar.”
“If he was the burglar,” Mira said, “and wasn’t framed by the actual thief.”
Theresia’s mouth dropped open. “I hadn’t considered that...”
Mira hesitated. Maybe she shouldn’t have mentioned Byron’s theory. But, then again, the conversation was turning in a quite useful direction for the investigation, if she could only ask the right questions. Though, with Theresia knowing their true purpose and identity, she would need to be careful not to push too far.
“Would you mind if I asked a few questions?”
“I expected as much with you courting a detective. Or is that a ruse too and you’re his assistant or something?”
“I was his secretary at first.”
Theresia turned on the hay bale so she was facing her. “I’m sure that’s quite the story.”
“Another time, perhaps,” Mira said. “First, the questions.”
Theresia sat back. “I know the first one. When did I last see Silas Treadway alive? Just before the party. He was in the upstairs hall, just coming out of his room. We talked for a moment and then I came down. I didn’t see him again until we found him.” She grimaced. “He usually followed after me like a dog at parties and those sorts of things, so I can’t imagine what he was up to. Other than talking to you and Maureen, of course. You said that at the inquest, didn’t you?”
Mira nodded. “He mentioned he was in the war in Sudan but was sent home because of an injury. Do you know what injury it was?”
