“Out, damned spot! Out, I say!” he muttered.
; She stopped her hopping about and glared at him. “This is no time for comedy, Lord Wethington.” She took a deep breath to calm herself.
“Shall I send for someone to bring you a cloth?”
“No. If you will close the French doors, since the night air is quite chilly, I shall go wash.”
As she left the room, William added, “Your face, too.”
Still not too steady on her feet, Amy made her way to the kitchen, surprising Cook, who jumped as she entered. The room had been cleaned for the night, a lone lamp burning next to the bread for the morning, rising on the table with a cloth draped over the mounds.
“Oh, milady. My apologies.” Cook’s hand shook as she poured boiling water into a china teapot. Her portly body was covered in a pink flowered dressing gown, her hair hidden beneath a ruffled white cotton mop cap.
“No need to apologize. I merely need the sink.”
The older woman placed her hand over her heart. “Is it true there is a dead man in the library, milady?”
Amy dipped her fingers into the soap tin and smeared it over her bloody hands. “Yes, I’m afraid that’s quite true. But do not concern yourself. I am sure he will be removed before breakfast.”
“He is your fiancé?” She whispered the words.
Amy sighed and nodded once. “My ex-fiancé.”
She scrubbed her hands until they felt raw. Out, damned spot, indeed. Now that she was away from the library and more herself, she did find a bit of humor in Lady Macbeth’s famous line. Very little humor, though, since a man was dead after all.
Her smile dimmed when her thoughts returned to the matter at hand. St. Vincent lying dead on her library floor. With a knife stuck in his chest. Had she ever considered that her decision to end her betrothal might not have been the correct one, the lack of sorrow she felt at seeing his lifeless form would have convinced her.
Not that she wished the man ill! And certainly not dead right under her feet. She shook her hands and then grabbed a cloth to dry them. Remembering the words William had tossed at her as she left the library, she dipped the cloth into the water once again and wiped her face.
“I will send in tea, milady. I find that always settles the nerves.” Cook hustled around the kitchen, setting up a tray.
“Wait until the police leave.” She was not going to entertain the Bath police department as if this were an afternoon social call. The sound of the door knocker reverberated through the house as Amy made her way from the kitchen back to the library. Two men entered.
So, this was it. The police had arrived and the questions would begin. Hopefully their first order of business would be to remove Mr. St. Vincent from the library.
“Bath police.” The bigger of the two nodded to Stevens.
“This way, sirs.” The butler turned and stopped when he saw her. “The police have arrived, my lady.”
“Thank you, Stevens.” She waved to the library door. “This room.”
Taking a deep breath, she passed through the doorway, and they followed her. William stood near the French doors, a glass of brandy in his hand. She headed in his direction. “I would like a glass of something myself.”
“Brandy or sherry?”
She leaned in close so the men who were examining the dead body couldn’t hear. “I will have a small sherry now, but once they leave, I will require a very large brandy.”
He poured a sherry and handed it to her, a slight smile of encouragement on his face.
The larger of the two detectives flipped the sheet back over St. Vincent’s face. “May we sit, please.” He took out a notebook and pencil.
They all sat in a circle around a small table, the two men dwarfing the chairs they’d chosen. “First of all, allow me to introduce ourselves. I am Detective Edwin Marsh, and this is Detective Ralph Carson.”
She and William nodded in their direction.
The two men stared at her, forcing her to use all her control to not fidget in her seat. She might have a dead body in the library with a knife sticking out of it, but she’d done nothing wrong. She knew from her writing that detectives often used the tactic of silent intimidation to bully a suspect into a confession.