“Then why are you here?”
Maintaining his composed demeanor, he said, “I am here to deliver a book to Lady Amy that she requested to borrow.”
“What book?”
Amy groaned when Wethington held the book out. Marsh took the tome, glanced at the cover, and looked at Amy, then passed it to Carson. “Interesting reading for a young lady. Have a need to discover why some murders go unsolved, do you?”
“Of course not. It is merely a hobby.” Good heavens, if the man demanded to search her room, he would find a stack of books, newspapers, and other notes on murder that she used for reference for her novels.
“Unsolved murder is your hobby?” Marsh’s eyebrows rose almost to his hairline.
William nudged her. “Might I suggest you don’t answer any more questions until your father can be present?”
Detective Carson stood and approached St. Vincent’s body. He looked around, and studying the floor, waddled, more than walked, from the body to the French doors. Once he had them opened, he returned to the table and picked up an oil lamp, then made his way back to the doors and walked through to the patio, studying the ground. Detective Marsh stood and wandered the room, examining books, the contents of the desk, and even sniffing the ink in the inkwell.
William took Amy’s empty glass and returned to the sideboard, refilling both her glass and his.
“Your Mr. St. Vincent was stabbed in the garden.” Carson returned to the room and placed the oil lamp back on the table.
“The garden?” She remembered now that the doors to the garden had been open when she’d entered the room. “Whatever was he doing in the garden?”
She hadn’t realized she’d said the words out loud until Carson glared at her.
“You tell me. It looks like he was stabbed in the garden, then made his way back through the doors and collapsed here.” He pointed to the body. “There is a trail of blood.” Carson walked to her and went down on one knee. She batted his hand away as he touched her foot. “Sir, you forget yourself.”
He looked up at her, a grin on his face. “The bottom of your shoe is wet.”
“Of course it is. When I entered the library, Mr. St. Vincent was not here, but the doors were open. I went down the steps and called him, but he did not answer.”
“He wouldn’t. He was dead,” the detective said unnecessarily as he stood and brushed his hands.
“I know that now,” she huffed. “Are you always this obtuse?”
He scratched his head. “Not sure what that means, but probably.”
So far the man had proven to be anything but obtuse. For the second time in less than an hour she reminded herself that Detective Carson could make her life difficult if he so chose.
“My good man, might I request that you have Mr. St. Vincent’s body removed and allow Lady Amy to retire for the night? I am sure she will be more than happy to answer your questions in the morning.” William had seemed to grow agitated as the questioning continued.
“I am sorry, my lord, but this isn’t a high-class ball where you can come and go as you please. This is murder. And we have to investigate. Since she”—Marsh pointed to Amy—“admitted chucking the man, and he’s dead in her house, and you are sitting nice and cozy alongside her, she is our main suspect.”
Their main suspect? Amy had to fight the desire to either scream or slide to the floor once again in a faint. She fought the black dots that appeared in front of her eyes.
William stood and placed his hand on her shoulder. “If your only motive for this murder is Lady Amy breaking her betrothal, with no consideration of the sort of person she is, and disregarding all the other reasons why the man could have ended up dead in her library—”
“Yes. That is our case.” Marsh snapped the notebook shut. “We are expecting the coroner any moment to remove the body, and then we will notify the man’s family. Right now I want this room locked until he arrives. Once he leaves, the door to this room will be kept locked as well as the garden doors, with no one—and I mean no one—allowed to enter until we do a complete examination of the murder scene.
“I will leave instructions with your man at the door to do that.” He pointed his notebook at her. “Right now, due to your station, we are not taking you to jail tonight. But you are to remain in Bath, no running off to London to any of your la-di-da events until we give you permission to leave. We will return in the morning, along with other members of the department, to examine this room carefully while Carson and I have a conversation with your father, who I suggest you summon from London. We will also need to speak with every member of your staff.”
Still shaken at their blasé comment that she was a suspect, she licked her dry lips and attempted to slow down her heartbeat. The two men nodded briefly and stood at the entrance to the room until she and William left with them.
Once the front door closed, she led unfortunate William, who had been caught up in this mess, to the drawing room. She took a deep breath and sat on the settee. “I will have that brandy now.” She nodded to the sideboard in the drawing room, where several bottles of liquor sat. If the mess didn’t end quickly, she might soon be storing spirits in her bedchamber.
He crossed the room and poured a splash into a tumbler.
“A little bit more, please.”
After adding another finger, he returned to the settee and handed it to her. She took a healthy swallow.