Nobody's Sweetheart Now by Maggie Robinson

Author:Maggie Robinson [Robinson, Maggie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781464210730
Publisher: Poisoned Pen Press, Inc.
Published: 2018-08-02T19:41:47+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

Sunday

Addie had woken up dry-mouthed, her head pounding. Nevertheless, she and Beckett had caught their train with time to spare, thanks to the maid’s never-fail hangover cures—raw egg with Worcestershire sauce and a cold shower.

Addie was mortified. The details of last night’s dinner with Inspector Hunter were hazy in the extreme. Beckett believed she’d consumed two bottles of Alsatian wine on her own, but Addie suspected she’d had some help from Rupert, who had also washed the dishes and even put them away.

Unless Mr. Hunter had. All Addie knew is that he’d fixed her coffee—amazing that Rupert had not gotten in the way to sabotage that. When she’d spilt half of it on the new white sofa, he’d picked her up and carried her into her bedroom. Beckett had discovered her asleep on top of the covers, fully dressed, her glasses on the nightstand, and her shoes returned to their box in the closet.

The thought of Devenand Hunter fiddling with her stockinged feet made Addie feel squirmy inside. What must the man think? That she was clumsy, always spilling or dropping things. That she was barmy, arguing aloud with herself. That she was a drunk—she, who never over-imbibed. Addie would have to write him a thank-you note and try to explain.

She couldn’t tell him what she was beginning to realize might be the truth—that she was haunted by her late and unlamented husband. Or not. Losing one’s mind was a serious thing. One might make jokes, but she could very well wind up in Compton Chase’s attics like Mrs. Rochester, only hopefully with less fire.

Back in a black dress, Addie had refused the sherry that Forbes had proffered and reviewed her discussion points. Mr. Rivers tended to drone on and on, so it would be up to her to keep him on task. The tea trolley was loaded with his favorites. If he could stop chewing long enough, she might get some answers to her questions.

“The Reverend Rivers, my lady.”

Addie looked up from her notebook with a forced smile. “Good afternoon! How nice to see you. I’m so sorry I missed the church service today—I was on my way back from Town.” She felt guilty fibbing already. Mr. Rivers tended to be condescending and superior, even when he was christening a baby, and was giving her That Look now.

“I paid you a visit earlier in the week to see how you were handling such a double tragedy, but they said you’d gone off to London.” His tone implied that she’d been drinking champagne out of her slipper every night and generally raising hell in the wicked city.

“Yes. I had some electric fans sent for the servants’ quarters and the kitchens. It’s been devilishly hot, don’t you agree?” Addie asked sweetly. “Shall I pour you tea, or would you like something stronger?”

That Look returned. “You should know by now I never indulge in alcohol. The Americans have the right idea of it.”

“How silly of me. You are quite correct to abstain.

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