Page 68 of Murder at Hambledon Hall
Any pretense of civility vanished. “Get out. You give me a headache.”
I left, feeling like I’d just been in the ring with a champion pugilist. Even so, I’d managed a solid blow or two of my own. If I had to guess, I’d say she had no idea what the family’s financial situation was, and she loathed being in the dark.
Mrs. Browning’s mention of my aunt reminded me that I’d promised Floyd I’d check on her. I knocked on the door to her suite. When there was no answer, I tried the handle. It was unlocked.
I opened the door a fraction. “Aunt Lilian? It’s me, Cleo. May I come in?”
Silence.
I entered and closed the door behind me. I felt my way along the dark corridor to the sitting room. Finding the light switch by feel, I turned it on.
“Turn it off!” cried Aunt Lilian from the sofa as she flung her arm over her eyes.
I quickly turned the light off again. “Sorry, I didn’t see you. I called out, but there was no answer.”
“What do you want, Cleopatra?”
“I’m just checking to see if you’re all right.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” she snapped.
“I know you feel unwell if you haven’t taken your tonic for a while.”
She didn’t respond.
I turned to go, but stopped. Sometimes the right thing to do was the most difficult thing. I steeled myself and plunged in. “It will be hard weaning yourself off the tonic at first, but youwillfeel better in the long run. If you want to try, I will be here to help you.”
“How can you help, Cleopatra? You don’t know anything about what I’m going through.”
“I’m sorry,” I said again. “I’ll leave you be.”
“You’re just like your mother,” she said, her tone icy. “She poked her nose into my business and treated me like a child, too.”
I blinked back tears as I left her suite and returned to my own. I didn’t blame her for lashing out. It was the addiction talking, not my sweet aunt. Knowing that didn’t make me feel any better, however. Indeed, it only made me feel worse. I wanted my loving Aunt Lilian back, but unless she wanted that, too, I couldn’t help her.
Sleep was elusive.My theories chased around the evidence in my head, only to be diverted by my concern for Aunt Lilian, and ways I could have handled the situation better. Despite snatching only a few hours, I got up at five and sat at the desk. Writing down my thoughts often cleared my head, allowing space for sleep to take over.
Not this time. I heard a soft shush of sound. Wrapping my dressing gown tightly around me, I stooped to pick up the piece of paper someone had slipped under the door. It was from Floyd, who once again had written me a note after returning home from a late night out with Mr. Browning.
I quickly opened the door, only to have to catch Floyd as he toppled against me.
“Sorry, Cleo,” he slurred. “I was leaning on your door for…I don’t really know why.”
I wrinkled my nose. “You stink of alcohol and cheap women.”
“One woman, and certainly not cheap.” His lips curved with a sleepy smile. “She was worth it.”
“Ugh. You’re disgusting.”
“And you’re…” He rubbed his chin as he tried to think of a suitable insult. “Annoying.”
“So everyone is telling me lately.” I waved the paper in his face. “What did you want to tell me? I can’t read your drunk writing.”
“I’m not drunk.”
I straightened his crooked tie. “I don’t need to be a detective to see the evidence to the contrary.”
“This isn’t my drunken state. This is my tired state.” He took the note from me. He squinted at the writing then turned the paper around, then around again. “The gist of it is that Browning is a turd. He tried to borrow money from me after he lost at cards. When I refused, he picked my pocket. Someone saw and alerted me. Can you believe it, Cleo!” He pointed his finger at me, stopping a mere inch from my nose. “No need to remind me I used to be just as bad, but I assure you, I never stole from anyone to fund my gambling habit. Also, unlike Browning, I admitted I had a problem, and I made attempts to stop.”
