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“We’ll know more after the post-mortem examination,” Inspector Harris stated.
“Perhaps he was taken ill in the street,” Griz speculated, “and came here for help, then collapsed before he could even knock on the door.”
“Perhaps,” the inspector said doubtfully. “Only why would he come up this lane, which leads only to your house? Why not knock on the nearest door in Half Moon Street?”
“It does not make sense,” she agreed.
“Unless he was coming here specifically.”
“I did not invite him,” she said firmly.
“Hmm. Forgive me, but he seems a bit well to do for one of Tizsa’s friends.”
Griz sighed. “That’s what I thought,” she agreed. “But one never knows about Dragan’s friends. One of the Hungarian refugees might know him. Or Dr. Cordell.” Even saying the words seemed to reinforce that he was completely alien in her life or Dragan’s.
And yet, someone had placed a rose in his dead hands only minutes after she had left him. Someone who had been watching her? She shivered. Someone who had killed him in a manner yet undiscovered? Someone, certainly, who knew him. The gesture seemed far too personal for mere pity or respect. And, of course, there was the other petal to be considered, too.
“I beg your pardon?” she said vaguely, realizing Inspector Harris had been talking through her reverie.
“I asked you where you were last night,” he said patiently.
“I was here, of course.”
“All night?”
How strange to be considered a suspect, at last. The first time they had met, she should have been the chief suspect in the murder of her maid, and yet they had arrested Dragan. “Yes,” she replied firmly. “From five o’clock yesterday afternoon.”
“And what about your maid? Or any other servants? Perhaps you would just ring for them?”
“There’s no one else here,” Griz admitted. “Our maid and cook have both gone to their families for Christmas.”
He could not quite prevent the widening of his eyes. “You are herealone?”
“Completely,” she said defiantly.
She realized how odd it looked. She, a duke’s daughter, alone in her house after sending her servants away, and a man who was not her husband sitting familiarly by her front door. Dead.
For the first time, she wondered if even Dragan would believe she did not know the dead man. That really was a horrific contemplation that even the baby seemed to object to, for her stomach tightened. Surely even the tiniest seed of doubt could affect the happiness of their marriage, especially now, for they hadalwaystrusted each other before. At least, after the initial skirmish over the body they had discovered together last spring…
Well, it clearly behooved her to find out who the dead man was and what, if any, reason he had for being where he was. Quickly. Preferably before Dragan came home.
“When will the post-mortem be carried out?” she asked.
“Probably after Christmas now. Unless the doctor has time today, which is unlikely.”
“Will you let me know what he says? I would be obliged. Even a note would do. I wish Dragan were here.”
Perhaps he heard the genuine need in her voice, for his eyes actually softened for the first time since she had opened the door.
“So do I. You should not be alone, my lady. Can you not go to your family?”
“They are all in the country.” She smiled, lest he begin to pity her. “But I have friends I can call on. If you learn anything, I will still be here to receive your message.”
He nodded and turned to go. But he had one more question to fling at her.
“Did you and Tizsa quarrel before he went to Scotland?”
“No,” she said ruefully. “But I wish I had gone with him.”
