it could have inspired any of them, as well as a number of others. The very idea brought a sick feeling to my stomach.
Pushing the disquieting thought away, I focused again on the countess’s face. “I have a few more questions for you.”
“Oh? I thought you’d settled on my husband’s valet being the most viable suspect?”
I struggled against the urge to scowl. “He is certainly a person we’re interested in speaking to. But I thought you weren’t sure the body was Helmswick?”
“I-I’m not,” she stammered, color rising to her cheeks. “But if it is . . .”
She couldn’t seem to finish that sentence, and I chose to ignore it. “How great a drinker was Helmswick?” I asked, choosing my simplest question first.
But this only served to bewilder her. “How great a drinker?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I suppose I don’t know what you mean.” Her brow crinkled in confusion. “No greater than average, I should say.”
“Then he didn’t drink more at home than he did in public, say, at a dinner or soiree?” I’d already heard from Gage that he wasn’t known to be a Borachio.
“No.”
Now it was my turn to be puzzled, for the victim’s body had shown liver damage. Of course, heavy drinking wasn’t the only cause of such symptoms, simply one of the most common. Perhaps his had been caused by a different condition.
“Does that mean something?” she prodded, when I didn’t follow up with another question.
“Just confirming something,” I deflected, before switching tactics. “Can you think back on the days, and weeks, and even months leading up to your husband’s departure on December seventh? Can you recall anything odd or unexpected? Anything that seemed uncharacteristic of him?”
I knew this was a broad and almost misleading question, but I wanted to hear what she might say. Would she share with me whatever she’d uncovered that she intended to use for her blackmail? Would she remember another incident? Or would she claim to know nothing at all? Each possibility was telling in and of itself.
Two deep furrows appeared between her eyes as she gave the question serious consideration. Or at least wanted me to think she was doing so. “I don’t think so.” Her back straightened. “No, wait. There was one thing. He attended the funeral of a local woman. I remember it because he wasn’t due back to Haddington for another week, and I . . .” She faltered, her voice breaking with strain. “I wasn’t ready for his return.”
I was curious what that meant, and whether her not being ready for his return had anything to do with Marsdale.
“Who was this local woman?”
“I don’t recollect her name. But I thought it strange that he should return early for her funeral.”
“You didn’t ask him about it?”
“I did, but he brushed my question aside. He seemed annoyed I’d even asked.” She shrugged. “I assumed she was someone who’d worked on the estate when he was a child. Perhaps a nursemaid, or a housekeeper. Someone he was embarrassed to be seen showing any affection toward.”
How sad if that were the case. But it was not the countess’s only theory.
Her lips twisted into a moue of sardonic displeasure. “That, or she was his mistress.”
That was the first thought that had crossed my mind, but I wasn’t about to say so. Whoever she was, she’d obviously been important to Helmswick in some way. As such, it was something to have Gage write to Anderley about and instruct him to look into.
I studied her even features, curious if she would say more, but she gazed back at me solemnly, and I knew not another word would pass her lips unless I pressed her. “I know about you and Marsdale.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
It’s silly really that the two of you would think we wouldn’t learn of it.” I tilted my head, glaring at her in exasperation. “It only makes you look guilty.”
“Don’t you mean ‘more guilty’?” Lady Helmswick’s eyes flashed in challenge. She huffed, turning aside. “Of course we knew you would find out. And we knew exactly what you would think when you did. If the body you found in the crypt is my husband, then Marsdale and I must be suspected of putting him there.”
“Would we be very good investigators if we did not question whether you could be the culprits?” I countered. “You do both have strong motives to have killed him.”
Although then stashing his body in the crypt made less sense. But perhaps they’d intended to move him, to take his body far from here