Amy patted the perspiration on her upper lip with a napkin. “I don’t know. It was unsigned.”
“Where is the note?”
“I lost it,” she blurted. She’d never been good at lying, so she hoped glancing down at her tea would hide the untruth in her eyes. She’d kept the note and had every intention of keeping it until she decided it would be more beneficial in the police’s hands. Right now she wanted whatever she could get to help her solve this mystery on her own. These two men were so sure of her guilt that she didn’t trust them to uncover the truth.
“Now let us talk about the night he was killed,” Marsh continued.
Her breathing increased, but she stiffened her shoulders, ready to take on the detectives. “Very well.”
“Describe for us exactly what happened from the time you learned he was here to speak with you.”
Lady Amy turned to the barrister, who nodded.
“I was summoned from my bedchamber by our parlormaid, Lacey. I had been expecting Lord Wethington, who was loaning me a book. However, when I mentioned that, my maid informed me Lord Wethington was not my caller, but Mr. St. Vincent. I told her to put him in the library and when his lordship arrived to put him in the drawing room.” She glanced over at William, who gave her an encouraging smile.
“Tell us, step by step, what happened once you left your bedchamber.” Both Mr. Nelson-Graves and Detective Marsh held pencils poised over notepads. She felt as though she stood at the front of a classroom, ready to read her essay to the class while the teacher stood at the ready, prepared to write her comments—and in Amy’s case, mostly criticism.
Once more she recited the events that led to her finding St. Vincent in the library. She was already weary of telling the story, but she knew that over the next few weeks she would have to do so many more times.
Once her narrative was finished, Detective Carson turned his attention to William. “Please tell us what happened when you heard Lady Amy scream.”
“I followed the sound down the corridor with the man at the door on my heels. We entered the room to see her ladyship staring at something on the floor. It was not dark in the room, but a bit dim, so I turned on a few gas lamps on my way to her and looked down.
“Mr. St. Vincent was lying on his back, his eyes open and a knife in his chest.”
The detective reached into a satchel resting next to him and withdrew a large knife. “Is this the knife?”
Amy closed her eyes at the sight of the bloody knife, all the tea she’d consumed ready to make a reappearance.
“I believe so,” William said.
“Wait one minute.” Mr. Nelson-Graves stood and walked to the detective, looking closely at the weapon. “I want Winchester’s cook to look at that knife.”
The detective glowered. “Very well.”
Papa walked to the brocade bell pull by the door and yanked it four times. “I suggest we take a minute to give my daughter a respite while we wait for our cook to arrive.”
Amy took a deep breath and relaxed. Fool, her. Even with her background on writing murder mysteries, she hadn’t thought to ask Cook if the knife belonged to them. But then again, the coroner had taken it, along with the body, and she had not been in any frame of mind to think of that while they waited for the police to arrive.
“You summoned me, milord?” Cook entered the drawing room, glancing at the somber-looking group and immediately tensed.
“Yes. The detectives from the Bath police wish to ask you a question.” Papa spoke in a calming tone, which appeared to put Cook a bit more at ease.
Detective Carson held up the knife. “Do you recognize this knife?”
Cook stepped back, her eyes wide as she looked from Papa to the detective and shook her head. “No. I have never seen that knife before. It is not one of ours.”
“You are certain?” Carson looked annoyed.
“Yes, sir. Not one of ours.”
After a quick curtsy, Cook left the room, mumbling to herself, and the questioning continued for what Amy felt was hours. They went over and over the same information until she wanted to scream. They had her retrace her steps for them. Then had William do the same. From her own research, she knew it was a way for the police to trip up a suspect. Ask the same question to see if the answers were different in any way.
Finally the two detectives stood. “We are finished for today.”
Amy was embarrassed to realize her underarms were wet and she probably smelled. All she wanted to do was take a nice long bath, followed by lunch and a nap.
“Detective Marsh,” Mr. Nelson-Graves said. “I assume there is no reason for my client to remain under suspicion. She has answered all of your questions.”