He edged closer, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Are you sure about that? Are you sure it isn’t something else? Something more sinister?”
As he said those words, a headache pounded behind my eyes and cold sweat dampened my skin. “Of course I am.” My reply lacked confidence. My memories were confused. There wasn’t a horse. I winced as pain sliced through me.
He smirked and leant back on the chair. “Interesting.”
I cheered up when Rennie entered the room, his face a mask of frustration.
“We found Mr Morrison,” he said.
“Lord, is he all right?” I asked, standing up.
“He’s weak, but alive.” Rennie pinched the bridge of his nose. “We found him in the cargo hold, still wearing his dressing gown. He’s now with the nurse.”
“Good. Now he’ll tell Norton I have nothing to do with this business,” I said, pushing aside my plate.
Rennie shook his head. “Monia, he said you attacked him.”
“What?” The little amount of dinner I’d eaten churned in my stomach. “This is absurd. I’ve never touched him.”
“I believe you, but Norton wants to see you.” Rennie offered me his crooked arm. “Now.”
“I’ll go see Morrison,” Oliver said. “See you later.”
On weak legs, I headed to Norton’s office, holding Rennie’s arm. “Can he arrest me?”
“That’s not going to happen. Ever. I won’t allow it.” He patted my hand.
“But what if he wants to?”
“No.” The certainty in his tone brought some hope to my chest.
“Miss Fitzwilliam.” Norton stood up from his chair when we entered his office. “Please take a seat.”
I did as told and perched on the wooden chair in front of the desk. Rennie stood next to me, towering over the detective.
“Mr Steele must’ve told you we found Mr Morrison.” Norton laced his fingers over the desk.
I didn’t say anything, waiting for a question.
“Mr Morrison said you lured him to the cargo hold with an excuse and then you... er, threw yourself at him and ravished him.” The detective shifted on his chair. His forehead glistened with sweat. “He said you started kissing him and doing other illicit things, trying to seduce him.”
My mouth dropped open. “He must be out of his mind, or perhaps he hit his head somewhere. I did no such thing. I have no romantic interest in him.”
“Besides.” Rennie chewed on his bottom lip. “Miss Fitzwilliam didn’t leave her cabin last night.”
Norton squirmed, as if his chair were on fire. “May I ask you how you know that?”
My reputation was ruined either way. But I’d rather ruin my good name by telling the truth than be arrested for a lie. “Rennie slept in my cabin.” I didn’t care how it sounded. “We’ve been together all the time.”
“I see.” Norton drummed his fingers on the table.
“Detective.” Rennie’s grave tone filled the room. “I wouldn’t put Miss Fitzwilliam’s reputation in jeopardy for no reason. What we told you is the truth. Miss Fitzwilliam didn’t leave her cabin last night.”
“I understand but”—Norton dropped the pencil he was writing with—“why would Mr Morrison lie? Why would he accuse Miss Fitzwilliam without reason? Revenge? He doesn’t know her.”
“Maybe he was confused,” I said. “Maybe he met someone who looked like me, who pretended to be me.” Yes, it sounded far-fetched.
Norton’s chair made a squeaky noise when he reclined in it. “So we have a man who pretended to be Mr Morrison and who danced with you, and now a woman who pretended to be you and attacked the real Mr Morrison. Not to mention that Mrs Francis vanished after claiming to have been attacked by a phantom Scot no one has ever seen. A quite complicated web that involves a lot of people.”
