She jumped to her feet, wincing as she landed on her bad ankle and knocking over her chair as she did. The commissioner gave her an impatient look, and Vivian pressed her lips into a tight line to keep them from trembling.
“I’m glad to hear that you were more than punctual this morning,” he said, pushing the door farther open. “Follow me.”
Vivian wanted to ask where she was going. They hadn’t taken her name or her information at the front desk, nothing that struck her as a normal arrest. What did that mean? She kept her mouth shut, afraid of what would come out if she opened it, but she was shaking as she followed him down the hall.
It ended in a closed door, where the cop Levinsky waited like a guard. “Anything from her?” the commissioner asked, sounding bored.
“No, sir,” Levinsky replied, his eyes darting to Vivian as he opened the door. “Just as you left her.”
The commissioner gestured impatiently, and she followed him into the room, still unsure what was going on. The room was another ugly box, though it had a table set with a steaming coffeepot in one corner and a line of chairs facing the wall opposite the door. That wall was made entirely of glass, a window into a room like the first one Vivian had been in.
On the other side of the window sat Maggie Chambers.
Vivian stumbled back a step, her breath catching. Levinsky, who had followed them in, caught her arm before she tripped.
“Please control yourself,” the commissioner said impatiently. “It’s a transparent mirror. We can see through from this side, but she can’t see us.”
“Who…” Vivian swallowed. “What…” She didn’t know how to finish, or even what she wanted to ask.
“I believe you know Honor Huxley, Huxley Buchanan’s daughter?” the commissioner said dryly. It wasn’t really a question, but Vivian nodded anyway. “It seems the woman in there is her mother, which of course means she was once Mr. Buchanan’s mistress. Miss Huxley has provided us with papers—somewhat damaged, but still informative—proving that her mother took a job as a maid in Mr. Buchanan’s home, with the intention of causing him harm.”
Honor had…
Vivian couldn’t tell if she was still breathing or not. She pulled away from Levinsky, feeling lightheaded, and took a step toward the glass. Honor had turned her mother in.
“It seems she was the one who killed him,” the commissioner continued, still sounding bored. “Do you recognize her from your visit to the Buchanan household that day?”
Vivian stared through the glass. She could see glimpses of the beauty Maggie Chambers must have been when she was young, but poverty and anger and illness had done their work. Sullen lines cut deep channels across her face, and her papery skin hung loosely around her neck and chin. But she still sat with the ramrod-straight poise of a dancer, and she glared at the mirror, as if she knew someone was behind there, watching her, before a familiar hacking cough made her double over, wheezing.
“Miss Kelly?” the commissioner asked impatiently. “You said a maid came to get Mr. Buchanan for a meeting with an individual who, apparently, did not exist. Was she that maid?”
And underneath it all, Vivian could see the shape of Honor’s own face. There were the high cheekbones, the smoothly arched brows, the lips that always smiled like they had a secret. She didn’t speak. How could she take the last part of Honor’s family away from her?
The commissioner sighed, motioning for Levinsky to bring him a cup of coffee. “You might as well know that Miss Chambers—she has been going by Mrs. Huxley for some years, but she was never married—has already confessed to the murder of Mr. Buchanan. It seems she blamed him for the death of her second daughter, which occurred some years ago.”
Vivian turned toward him sharply, not bothering to hide her surprise. If Maggie had already confessed… But what if he was lying to her?
“As we would like to put this matter behind us, your corroborationwill be appreciated. Was Miss Chambers the maid you saw that day, who lured Mr. Buchanan away with this fictitious meeting?”
The commissioner took a sip of his coffee while he waited for her answer. In the moment that his eyes were off her, Vivian flicked a glance toward Levinsky, hovering behind his shoulder. Levinsky nodded, just once, but it was enough. God knew how it had happened, but she trusted him.
The commissioner was telling the truth.
“Yes,” Vivian said, barely able to find her voice. “Miss Chambers was the maid who came to get Mr. Buchanan that day.”
“Excellent. Thank you, Miss Kelly.” The commissioner downed the rest of the coffee in a single gulp and handed the cup back to Levinsky. “I appreciate your help in clearing up this misunderstanding,” he added as he strode from the room.
“Misunderstanding?” Vivian demanded, following him. “Do you have any idea what kind of hell this week has been? Or how it felt when you showed up last night and—”
“No.” The commissioner stopped in front of his office door, waiting for Levinsky to open it for him. “Nor do I care. Just be thankful and get out. I have better things to do with my day than stand around arguing with ungrateful girls.”
He pulled the door firmly shut behind him. Vivian stared after him, then rounded on Levinsky, who was still watching her.
“That’s it?” she demanded. “After all that, it’s just done?”
“That’s it.” He shrugged. “You can leave.”
“But…” Vivian wanted to go, more than anything else in the world. But she didn’t trust any of it. She swallowed, glancing back over her shoulder to the room they had just left. “What will happen to her?”
