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“Mr. Broadman cuts quite a magnificent figure, too,” her sister said. “I don’t believe he killed Mr. Rigg-Lyon, no matter what anyone says. He just looks too honest and good, not at all like a murderer.”
I couldn’t resist and had to ask. “What does a murderer look like, Mary?”
She wrinkled her nose as she lifted the teacup. “Ugly, with a mean look about him. He probably has scars.”
“Do you know what Mr. Broadman’s like, aside fromlookinghonest and good?”
“I hear he’s charming,” said Cora.
“I hear he’s witty and agreeable,” added Mrs. Digby. “My sister-in-law’s cousin says he makes the most delightful dinner guest.”
Some of the other women had heard similar stories, but none knew him personally.
“Two peas in a pod, they were.” Aunt Lilian dabbed at the corners of her mouth again. “So handsome and highly regarded by everyone. So remarkably similar. It was no wonder they argued.”
Her disjointed comments had us all frowning at her.
“There simply isn’t room enough for two men like that,” she clarified. “I do hope Mr. Broadman isn’t guilty of the murder. It would be such a shame to lose him, too.” Her gaze darted to mine, as if it were up to me to ensure he was innocent. Even though I’d not told her or my uncle that I was investigating, she must have realized I’d take on the case.
“What about Mr. Hardwick?” At their blank looks, I added, “The vice-captain of the Polo and Gun Club team. He was a good friend of Mr. Rigg-Lyon’s, I believe. They were both going to retire from the game yesterday, but Mr. Rigg-Lyon changed his mind.”
None could tell me anything about him, although the older women remembered his parents. They hadn’t seen them in years.
“Mr. Broadman and Mr. Hardwick are bachelors, you see,” Aunt Lilian explained. “If they had wives, they’d move in the same circles as us, but as bachelors, we don’t associate with them. You should ask Floyd.”
Cora gasped. “Are you interested in Mr. Hardwick, Cleo?”
“Or Mr. Broadman?” her sister asked with a twinkle in her eyes. “I could see you two getting along.”
Flossy eyed the remaining raspberry tart on the tiered plate stand in the middle of the table. “Cleo has another gentleman in mind.”
The two Druitt-Poore sisters leaned closer. “Do tell.”
I spent the rest of the afternoon fending off questions about Mr. Miller.
Our little group dispersed when my aunt was ready to retire to her suite for a rest. The energizing effects of her tonic wore off after an hour these days, at which point fatigue and headaches plagued her. Sometimes she could push through it, but at other times, she either took another dose of tonic or secluded herself in her rooms with the curtains closed.
As we waited for the lift, no one saw Floyd come up behind us. “Boo,” he said softly.
Aunt Lilian rounded on him and with more vitality than she’d had for the past hour, berated him. “Do you always have to be so unfeeling! You know my nerves are frayed, and yet you do something so stupid as to sneak up on me!”
“Sorry, Mother, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He went to take her elbow, but she shook him off.
“Don’t,” she snarled.
He blinked at me then Flossy, searching for an ally, but neither of us was prepared to intervene on his behalf. We’d both borne the brunt of her ire recently, for similarly innocuous reasons. It was unsettling to be the object of her anger, given she was usually so kind, and neither of us wanted it turned on us again.
We rode the lift up to the fourth floor in silence and escorted Aunt Lilian to her rooms. Once she was settled on the sofa with a damp cloth placed on her forehead, we tiptoed out.
The moment the door closed behind us, I turned to Floyd. “Tell me everything you know about Rufus Broadman and Mr. Hardwick.”
His lips tilted in amusement. “And I thought it was Miller who interested you.”
“Do be serious, Floyd. A man has been murdered.”
“I am being serious!”
I entered my suite and beckoned him inside. Flossy made her excuses and retired to her rooms to lie down before getting ready for an evening out.
