were dusted faintly with freckles, cinnamon on cream. “And you’re the police, I hear. Come all the way from the great city of London.”
“I’m Inspector Marsh. This is Mr. Beaumont. Please, Miss O’Brien, be seated.”
She plopped down into the same seat Mrs. Blandings had used. She stretched out her long legs and she crossed them at the ankles and slapped her hands into her lap, like a little girl playing at being a grown-up. She smiled at me and then at Marsh.
Marsh and I sat down. “Miss O’Brien,” he said, “I intend to be straightforward with you.”
“Sure,” she said, and she sat back and opened her eyes in mock innocence, “and haven’t the police always been straightforward?”
“You’ve had some experience of the police, have you, Miss O’Brien?”
“Haven’t all the Irish? Experience of the Garda and the English.” She smiled. “But that’s over now, isn't it? Home Rule has come-finally, but better late than never.”
“Yes,” said Marsh, “to be sure. Miss O’Brien, we know about your late-night visits to the room of the late Earl. We know that these have been going on for some time.”
She smiled again. “Briggs. He’ll be the little bird that sang. Nasty pommy poof.”
“So you don’t deny it.”
She shrugged. “And what would be the point?”
“No point whatever.”
“There you are, then. And now you’ll be runnin’ off to her ladyship with the story. And young Darleen is sacked again. Well, fair enough. It’s back to Ireland for me anyway. We kicked out the ruddy English, and once we kick out the ruddy priests we’ll have a paradise on our hands.”
“Miss O’Brien, so long as you cooperate, I see no need to apprise Lady Purleigh, or anyone else, of your relationship with the Earl.”
“Cooperate, is it?” She grinned and put her elbow on the table. “And just what sort of cooperation was it you had in mind?”
“Merely the answers to a few questions.”
“Well, get on with them then. Always a treat to answer questions from the police.” She looked at me, looked back at Marsh, jerked her head toward me. “He doesn’t have much to say for himself, this one, does he?”
“Mr. Beaumont is acting as an observer.”
“And he’s a demon at that, isn’t he.” She smiled at me.
Marsh asked his questions. Yes, she’d visited the Earl once or twice a week over the past four months. She couldn’t get away more often than that. Yes, she visited only at night. Yes, she’d waited until Carson, the Earl’s valet, was asleep, so she could creep past his room. Yes, she’d heard from other servants that the Earl had often argued with his son, Lord Purleigh, but she and the Earl had never spoken about his son. “Or much of anything else,” she smiled. And, no, she didn’t believe that the Earl had committed suicide.
“How, then, did he die?” Marsh asked her.
“An accident, wasn’t it? They say the door was locked when the gun went off.”
“How do you suppose he obtained the pistol?”
“One of the servants?”
“You seem to be doing an admirable job of containing your grief at the Earl’s death, Miss O’Brien.”
She glared at him for a moment. Then she said, “Listen to me, Mr. Inspector Marsh from London. I liked the poor sweet man. That toad Briggs, he’s told you about the money, I don’t doubt. And you’ll not hear me denyin’ the old man slipped me the odd crown or two, now and again. And why shouldn’t he? He wanted me to buy some lovely new dresses for myself, didn’t he, and nice handmade shoes, and silk stockings, so I could come to him looking like a lady. And who was I to tell him no? The good Lord knows he could afford it. But I liked him. He was dear with me, and he was as grateful for my bein’ with him as a wee young boy. Well, he’s dead now, and I’m sorry. I hope he’s happy as a lark wherever he is, that’s the God’s honest truth, but if you’re waitin’ for me to start wailin’ and weepin’ for your sake, then you’re in for quite a wait, Mr. Inspector.”
Marsh smiled. “But then you’ve already done your grieving, haven’t you? In the Earl’s bedroom. Last night.”
She stared at him. She turned and stared at me.
“You were seen, Miss O’Brien,” said Marsh.
“But who-” She lifted her chin. “Well, what of it? No crime, is it?”
“No. Tell me. Had the Earl ever given you cause to believe that he was recovering from his paralysis?”
“But, Inspector sir, it was only his legs that didn’t work proper. The rest of him worked perfectly fine.”
“But he was still unable to use his legs.”
She grinned. “He didn’t need them, did he.”
Marsh sat back and nodded. “Thank you, Miss O'Brien. I may speak with you again later.”
She shrugged as if she didn’t really care, one way or the other.
After she left, somehow the kitchen seemed even larger.
I turned to Marsh, who was staring down at the floor. I said, “You weren’t sure she was the woman in the Earl’s room.”
He looked up. “Hmmm? No, not until she admitted it. I took a bit of a chance there.”
“You were right.”
He smiled. “It does happen.”
“She didn’t seem to know about the passageway. Or about the Earl being able to walk.”
“No. If in fact he was.” He slipped his hand into his pocket, pulled out his watch, frowned at it. He looked at me. “Enough of the serving class for now, I think. Back to the gentry.”
A servant told us that most of the guests were in the drawing room. Sir David was there, and Cecily and Dr. Auerbach and Lady Purleigh. Everyone was gathered in the far comer of the enormous room.
They all looked up at us when we approached, but only Lady Purleigh spoke. “Inspector Marsh. And Mr. Beaumont. Did you need something?”
“I apologize for disturbing you once again, Lady Purleigh,” said Marsh.
“Not at all. Please, do sit down. Mr. Beaumont, please.”
The two of us sat on the same small sofa. “As I told you earlier,” Marsh said, “it’s rather important that I ascertain where everyone was located when these unpleasant events took place yesterday. All of you were here in the drawing room, I understand, when the Earl died. It remains for me to determine where everyone was when the rifle shot was fired.”
“Yes,” she said. “I understand. Did you wish to speak to any one of us in private?”
“Thank you, but that shouldn’t be necessary. I have only a few questions.” He looked at Cecily. “Miss Fitzwilliam?”
Cecily looked at him, her face composed and empty. “Yes?”
“Could you tell me where you were yesterday, at approximately one o’clock in the afternoon?”
“I was visiting with Mrs. Coburn in the village. She is an old friend of the family’s.” Cecily had found her drawl and she sounded like someone who planned to be more careful with it from now on.
“At what time, Miss Fitzwilliam,” said Marsh, “did you arrive there, and at what time did you leave?”
“I arrived at about eleven, I believe. I left at about two. Shortly after two o’clock. Yes. When Ripley came to fetch me, Mrs. Coburn told me it had just gone two.”
“Who is Ripley?” asked Marsh.
“One of the servants. Mrs. Coburn sent her nephew to the chemist’s to ring my mother. To tell her I was ready to return.” Marsh turned to the mother. “And you dispatched Ripley, Lady Purleigh?”
“Yes,” she said. “The time was a little before two. It takes perhaps fifteen minutes to reach Mrs. Coburn’s by auto, perhaps a bit more.”
Marsh nodded, turned back to Cecily. “And you were with Mrs. Coburn the entire time?”
“Yes.”
“Was anyone else present?”
“No.”
