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Chapter Two
According to hiscard, Mr. Sebastian Cartaret was the name of her dead gentleman, and the direction beneath was a city office, not a home address.
She barely had time to register that before a loud knock on the front door caused her to shove the card under the nearest book on her desk and march out to deal with whichever police constable Jake had dragged to the scene.
Two constables and a familiar man in a grey coat and bowler hat stood on her doorstep.
“Lady Grizelda,” Inspector Harris said briskly. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Probably because Jake told you it was my house.” She held the door wide. “Come in.”
The inspector made a sign to his men to wait outside and walked into the house, taking off his hat.
“I did not expect someone of your rank quite so soon,” she said, leading him into the drawing room.
“I happened to be with the constable when your lad came flying into us.” The inspector’s gaze flickered around the room, which probably looked eccentric to him, filled as it was with bookcases, and a large, business-like desk, as well as comfortable chairs and a sofa. Pencil drawings, including many of her, were scattered among the wall decorations. “Where is Mr. Tizsa?”
“Edinburgh,” Griz replied, and was immediately deluged with fresh longing for his presence.
Inspector Harris blinked, finally surprised. “What is he doing there?”
“Attending lectures. He means to sit his medical examinations in the spring.”
Harris held her gaze. “So, he went up there over Christmas?” Not by tone or even a flicker of a brow did he betray disbelief, and yet she knew it was there.
“He was meant to be home yesterday. They have snowstorms up in Scotland. You seem surprised, Inspector.”
“I am. I had not imagined you the type of lady to be entertaining gentlemen in her husband’s absence.”
Griz flushed with more indignation than embarrassment. “I am not in the habit of entertaining dead gentlemen at any time! I found him there when I went out this morning.”
“And who is he?”
Mr. Sebastian Cartaret.But to say so betrayed either that she knew him, which she didn’t, or that she had taken evidence from the scene, which she undoubtedly had. But if he didn’t know the man’s name now, he soon would. There were plenty of cards. “I have no idea. I believe your resources are greater than mine.”
“Then what was he doing at your house?”
“Sadly, I could not ask him.”
One eyebrow rose. “You are very defensive, my lady.”
She held his gaze. “Do you blame me? You seem to be implying some improper connection between the dead man and me.”
“Is there one?”
“Of course, there is not! He clearly spent all last nightoutsidethe house, would you not agree?”
“Then you do not know him, have never seen him before?”
“Never.”
“And you have no idea what he was doing here?”
“None. I suppose he could be a friend of Dragan’s, but if so, I have never met him. He seems well to do, so if he had no home nearby, he would have had no difficulty staying at a hotel. Or his club, if he had one. Do you know how he died? I saw no sign of injury.”
“There seems to be none. At least nothing obvious. It’s possible his heart simply gave out, or there is some hidden damage still to be found.”
Like poison? A poisoned flask of brandy taken away by his killer? Possible, although there was no evidence of such, and either way, why at her house?
