Murder in the Moonlight by Rose Pascoe

Author:Rose Pascoe
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: historical murder mystery series, Victorian mystery novels, historical mystery crime romance, woman sleuth doctor historical mystery, New Zealand historical mystery, Victorian detective mysteries, medical mystery women’s health
Publisher: Flax Bay Books
Published: 2023-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

The Housekeeper

The three policemen exchanged glances at Richard’s stuttering admission. None of them looked the least surprised that Richard was worried about the possible involvement of little Agnes in her father’s death. A child who could set fire to curtains for the sake of curiosity would certainly be capable of experimenting with her father’s heart tonic.

Nevertheless, Charlie wondered if putting the blame on a child wasn’t a convenient diversion. Richard must surely have considered the possibility that his beloved Lawson had taken matters into her own hands. Lawson had every opportunity to take the poison and tamper with the tonic, as she had access to all areas of the house and workroom. If her willingness to listen at doors was an indication of her character, then Lawson might well be the person who steamed open the will. Thus, she might be the only person who knew the will had changed back in Richard’s favour.

Wallace dismissed Richard Ormsby from the interview, with orders to take a stiff brandy and get some rest. The twin burdens of grief and shock dragged down Richard’s shoulders as he shuffled out of the drawing room.

Wallace waited until Richard had closed the door. “Pyke, you seem to have a rapport with the little girl. See if you can find out if she added the poison to the tonic.”

Charlie tracked Agnes down in the nursery, with the nanny standing guard over her. The little girl denied putting anything in her father’s tonic, even in the noble interests of scientific experimentation. Bengali hadn’t either. Charlie returned to the drawing room.

“I’m almost certain Agnes didn’t tamper with her father’s tonic,” Charlie told Wallace.

“Children will tell whopping fibs to save themselves from punishment,” Kelly reminded him.

“True,” Charlie conceded, “but they rarely have the skill to lie convincingly at that age.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Kelly said. “My nephew will swear he hasn’t been in the larder, while licking a thick smear of sticky red jam off his lips. The very thought of it makes me hungry.”

They were interrupted by a discreet knock on the door. The woman who opened the door could be none other than the housekeeper, with her air of quiet command, crisp white cuffs and chatelaine of keys. Charlie rushed to hold the door open, eager to facilitate the entry of the accompanying trolley, which held the promise of a full Devonshire tea.

“That’s a most welcome sight. I’m parched.” Wallace consulted his list. “Mrs Simpson, I presume? Might we have a word, since you are here?”

“Of course, Inspector.” As Mrs Simpson gave her version of events on the day of the soirée, she handed out plates, napkins and scones with a combination of silver tongs and smooth efficiency, borne of years of service. Her evidence failed to advance their investigation, as the housekeeper’s entire day had revolved around menus, decorations, flowers, arranging tables, ensuring the silver was spotless, and the thousand other details that make a successful supper party appear effortless.

Since Doctor Ormsby’s death, Mrs Simpson had been equally busy, seeing to mourning rituals and assisting with funeral arrangements.

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