Her eyelashes fluttered again and I realized it was a tic, but whether it was a nervous one or not, I couldn’t tell. “I believe so, but I didn’t see her. She spoke to my husband in private. I don’t know what they discussed.”
“Was that the first time they’d seen one another since their relationship ended?”
“As far as I am aware, yes.”
“What did you think of her coming here that day?”
She gave me a wry look. “What doyouthink, Miss Fox?”
“I think you hated her.”
“Ah. So youareaccusing me of her murder. If you think I did it out of jealousy then you’re wrong. Their affair ended years ago. Why would I kill her now?”
“Because they were going to resume it.”
She barked a laugh. “Were they? I doubt it. From what I can glean, Miss Westwood was getting more out of Lord Rumford than she did from my husband.”
“You’re well informed about her life.”
Lady Wrexham stiffened. “Is there anything else, Miss Fox?”
“Where were you on the afternoon of Monday the fifteenth?”
“The day she died?” She frowned in thought. “I was shopping at Harrod’s. I’m afraid no one can vouch for me, however. I didn’t purchase anything and I caught a cab there and back as my husband had the carriage. If you’re a very good investigator you could probably track down the driver.”
I thanked her and rose.
She reached for the bellpull beside the armchair but hesitated. “Despite what you may think, I don’t blameMiss Westwood for her liaison with my husband. I sincerely hope you find her killer.”
She tugged on the tasseled cord and the door opened immediately. The butler glared at me until I exited, and I felt his glare all the way down the stairs and out the front door. It slammed behind me.
I hurried home, mulling over what I’d learned. It amounted to very little. My two suspects had proved evasive, which in itself was suspicious. But perhaps most suspicious of all was that Lady Wrexham had not once looked surprised when I said Pearl was murdered when the police ruled it was suicide.
I wentin search of Harmony after eating lunch alone in my suite and found her on the third floor, cleaning one of the rooms. I slipped past her cart, parked near the door, and entered. “There you are.”
She spun around with a gasp which quickly turned into a look of relief when she realized it was me. She might have been facing away from me, but I’d seen her tuck something into the large pocket on the front of her apron. “You scared me.”
“Did you think I was Mrs. Short?”
She scowled and resumed dusting the desk. “How did it go with the Wrexhams?”
“As well as can be expected.”
“That bad?”
I sidled up to her and peered into her apron pocket. I smiled. “What’s the book about?”
Her scowl deepened. “You shouldn’t snoop.”
“I can’t help it now. It seems to have become something of a habit.”
She pulled out the book and handed it to me. It was a gothic novel with a creased spine and well-thumbed pages. “I bought it from a used bookseller at the Leather Lane Market.”
I read the description. “It looks interesting. Can I borrow it when you’re finished?”
She plucked it out of my hand and returned it to her pocket. “You won’t like it.”
“Why not?”
