Page 22 of Murder at the Debutante Ballby

“But you suspect he knew?”

She hesitated before saying, “I think he had an inkling and was after confirmation.”

“What did Lady Bunbury say when she joined you?”

Her brows arched. “You do have an observant source, Miss Fox. Lady Bunbury joined us for conversation as befitting a hostess. We exchanged nothing of interest.”

“But?” I prompted.

“But I think she was worried that I would say something about the painting to Mr. McDonald. It would be devastating for her if I told the biggest gossip in the room that the painting was a copy.”

“What do you mean ‘the biggest gossip?’” Harry asked.

“Precisely that. Mr. McDonald had a reputation. I don’t know how he learns things, but he always seems to know about scandalous goings-on.”

Perhaps he was killed to stop him spreading gossip. The Bunburys’ financial situation, for example.

“I’m glad the police have arrested the killer.” Lady Treloar folded her arms and hugged herself. “I feel safer knowing he’s not gaining entry to people’s homes through his work for Searcys.”

“You believe he did it?” Harry asked.

“Well, yes. Don’t you?”

“Why do you think that?”

“You mean aside from the fact he was arrested for the crime? For one thing, he knew Mr. McDonald. I saw them acknowledge one another as the footman passed him. They didn’t exchange words, but they exchanged knowing looks. Indeed, it was an angry glare on the footman’s part.”

So theydidknow one another. Since Reggie Smith’s neighbor, Mr. Underwood, had alluded to Mr. Smith having a relationship with his male patron, perhaps the patron and lover was Ambrose McDonald.

“Did Mr. McDonald have a paramour?” I asked.

“It’s likely, and probably more than one. It’s even possible his lover was a man. I’ve heard rumors…”

I feigned surprise, but I was not at all shocked. The only emotion I felt was triumph. We’d connected the victim to Reggie Smith. We still needed more, however.

“Was Mr. McDonald a painter?” I asked.

“He dabbled, so he told me. In my line of work, one never knows if they tell me that so I will ask to see their work or if they genuinely mean they’re a hobbyist. It’s possible in Mr. McDonald’s case that he was trying to make a living from it. He didn’t work, as far as I am aware, so I don’t know where his money came from. Perhaps he inherited it.”

“Did he have a studio at home?” I asked.

“I don’t know. As I said, I didn’t know him particularly well.”

It would be easy enough to find out from D.I. Hobart.

We thanked her and Harry asked her to contact him if she thought of anything else.

Outside, I couldn’t wait to discuss what we’d learned, and I blurted out the thing topmost on my mind. “I think Ambrose McDonald and Reggie Smith were lovers. I’ll wager he has a studio where Reggie Smith painted each day until they had a falling out. He quite possibly painted the Bunbury fakes there. Or Ambrose McDonald did.”

Harry wasn’t so sure. “You believe everything Lady Treloar said?”

“Don’t you?”

He shrugged. “She could be trying to throw shade over Reggie Smith to deflect us from looking too closely at her connection with Ambrose McDonald. Perhapsshewas his latest lover.”

He had a point. It wasn’t like me to take every claim at face value. But this time, her words had a ring of truth. The more I thought about it, the more I was sure Mr. Smith and Mr. McDonald were lovers.

“I can’t see her stealing the paintings,” I said. “For one thing, she was in Biarritz when the Grandjean was stolen from the Quornes, and for another, why would she be the one coercing Reggie Smith into taking the Bunburys’ painting when she could tell they were copies? I don’t doubt that she’s an art expert. She would know a fake from a real one.”