Page 47 of Murder in Moonlight

She went immediately in search of Miriam and found her writing letters in the morning room.

“I’m surprised you can face writing to anyone,” Ellen greeted her. “What on earth can you find to say that anyone will want to read?”

“Nothing,” Miriam said flatly. “I am writing to inform family and friends of Papa’s death. Mama is in no state to do it.”

Ellen flew at once to her sister and rested her head in her lap. “Oh God, Miri, I’m sorry. I want to hurt someone, something. This is unbearable.”

Miriam touched her hair. “I know. It helps to be busy.”

“Can I write some of them for you?”

“Do you want to?”

With a sound that was half laugh, half sob, Ellen shook her head. “No, not really. I’ve just been interviewed by the police.”

“They spoke to me earlier. What did they ask you?”

“Where I was that night, and a lot of questions about Mama and Papa and the state of their marriage. I told him they were happy.”

“So did I.”

Ellen lifted her head. “Were they?”

Miriam hesitated. “Mostly. More than most.”

Ellen swallowed. “When was Papa banished to the dressing room?”

“A few weeks ago.”

“Why?” Ellen asked, baffled. “Did he snore?”

Miriam smiled unhappily. “No. She was just angry with him.”

“Why? What had he done?”

Miriam shrugged. “He flirted, I suppose.”

“Flirted,” Ellen repeated. Miriam blushed. “You know, you’ve turned awfully mealy-mouthed since you married Peter. Who was his affair with?”

Miriam hesitated, but she must have known she could not keep it to herself now. “Mrs. Bolton.”

*

At that moment,Harris was facing Alice Bolton across the small desk in the study. Flynn, having left the servants to their duties for now, resumed his notetaking by the window.

“How is Mrs. Winsom?” Harris asked, causing the lady to blink at him in surprise.

“Devastated,” she replied. “Utterly devastated. Yet coping better than I imagined she would. She will recover more quickly without policemen in the house, if you will forgive me for saying so.”

Harris raised his eyebrows. “She does not want to know who killed her husband?”

Mrs. Bolton frowned. “Well, of course, but it won’t bring him back, will it?”

“Sadly not. And how are you coping with the grief, ma’am?”

For an instant, her gaze was piercing, though Harris knew she wouldn’t learn much from his expression. “I? My husband and I have been close friends of the Winsoms for twenty years.We are naturally shocked and terribly saddened. But we are hardly chief mourners.”

“How close?” Harris asked pleasantly.