Page 68 of Murder in Moonlight

Not Miriam, then,Constance thought.It was Richards after all.

“We found these things in the old wing of the house that is shut off,” Solomon told Harris. “Where Mrs. Goldrich encountered Richards this morning.”

“You took these things, didn’t you?” Constance said quietly to the butler, while Harris fingered the items, frowning direly.

“No!” Richards said desperately. “I’ve never seen them before in my—”

“Richards.” Constance cut him off with one quiet word. “Your one chance now is to tell the truth. All of it.”

“And be hanged?” he whispered.

“You’ll be hanged if you don’t,” Harris growled. “That is a fact.”

Without moving a muscle, Richards seemed to slump.

“Did you take these things?” Flynn asked him.

Richards nodded dully.

“Why?” Harris demanded.

“To sow discord among the Winsoms and the Boltons,” Richards said.

“So you did blame them for your brother’s fall?” Harris said.

“Theywereto blame for my brother’s fall. At the very best, they let it happen when he had worked for them all his adult life. Turned their backs, without a word to him or even to me. My brother was not a thief—he was as honest as the day is long.”

“And that made you angry,” Flynn said.

Constance knew they had had this discussion before, probably many times. Richards nodded wearily. Perhaps admitting it for the first time.

“Very angry. After he died, I wanted—Ineededto punish them. So I made it my business to pick up bits and pieces from both families.”

“With the aim of discrediting them,” Flynn said.

Again, Richards nodded. “And to show them how easy it was to lay a trail, false or otherwise, for other people to see. Mr. Winsom thought his son had stolen coins from him and lied. That was the true cause of their quarrel. Mr. Winsom was angry and disappointed, Mr. Randolph hurt and offended. They barely spoke, and that hurt Mrs. Winsom.”

“But you took the coins,” Harris guessed.

Richards nodded. “I didn’t steal them,” he added quickly. “I put them back in the petty cash for paying tradesmen.”

A frown tugged Solomon’s brow and vanished again. He was right. There was something oddly honest in the butler’s insistence on his own honor.

“And Mrs. Bolton’s earring,” Constance said. “Did you take that too? Along with these perfume bottles?”

“I spilt perfume on the sheets of one of the spare beds, his cologne on the pillow. And I dropped the earring between the sheets.”

“To make Mrs. Winsom believe the worst of her husband?” Harris said with distaste.

“Oh, that wasn’t his worst,” Richards said savagely. “He wasneverfaithful to her. But I had no objection to ruining the outward happiness of his marriage, and I knew she’d never go into the old wing and discover him that way.”

“Was that not unnecessarily unkind to Mrs. Winsom?” Solomon asked.

Constance blinked. He was full of surprises, was Solomon Grey.

“Unnecessarily? She stood by, did nothing when my brother was accused, even though she’d known him since her marriage.”

“Did Mr. and Mrs. Winsom not know you were Framley’s brother?” Solomon asked.