Page 47 of The Counterfeit Scoundrel
“You set the tone during our last parting.”
“So I did.” Straightening, he walked to the window and gazed out. “Do you normally work with the draperies drawn aside?”
“I do, yes.”
He shook his head. “I’d be distracted, unable to get any work done, watching these people constantly walking by.”
She’d had clients who had been a bit slow about revealing why they’d come to her. Mr. Parker came to mind. He’d been embarrassed to share the reason for his visit, the circumstances surrounding his need of her, what exactly he required she discover. But surely Bishop wasn’t here to retain her services. “I find it soothing to see people carrying on about their day,and to know that what I do might ensure that someone is able to continue engaging in what they enjoy.” She made a deliberate effort to soften her tone with her next words. “What brings you to my door?”
He twisted around but retained his position by the window, the sunlight filtering in creating a halo around him, an aberration because he was certainly no angel. “I don’t know if you saw in theTimesthat Bertram Mallard was found dead late Thursday night.”
She’d used the few days with her aunt to insulate herself from the world. Had avoided reading the newspapers. In want of an escape from all troubles, she’d buried herself in books. “Mallard? Mrs. Mallard’s husband? Your Mrs. Mallard?”
“I wouldn’t call hermine, but yes, the husband of that Mrs. Mallard.”
“Fortunate for her, then, I suppose, as she’ll no longer require your services or have to go through the embarrassment of a divorce.”
“Unfortunate for me, however. They think I killed him.”
Bishop should have known that the formidable woman standing before him wouldn’t gasp or swoon or even grow pale. Her delicate brow did furrow as though she was striving to make sense of his words or perhaps puzzle out how they’d come to be. He wished she wasn’t exactly as he remembered, but, apparently, he’d spent so much time studying her that his mind had painted an accurate image of her. He must have recalled it a thousand times since he’d taken her to her aunt’s residence.
When he’d first spied her outside this building, he’dcursed her for looking so remarkably lovely in green. A small hat was perched at a jaunty angle on her head. The woman in no way resembled a servant. How in God’s name had he ever, for even a single second, believed she was one? Then he’d cursed himself thoroughly for being so damned relieved to see her.
“Why would you come to that conclusion?”
“An Inspector James Swindler of Scotland Yard called upon me Saturday morning and put me through a phalanx of questions.”
“Swindler. I know him. He’s good—he’s very good. He’ll ferret out the culprit. Perhaps it was Mrs. Mallard. After her husband struck her, she had reason enough.”
“But not the strength. She’s a tiny birdlike creature. Swindler said Mallard was struck from behind, one blow that caved in his skull.”
“Someone incredibly strong then, like you.”
“Unfortunately, yes. He was aware of the incident at the Cerberus.”
She closed her eyes briefly as though to better view the entire situation. “Of course. Your disgust with Mallard was on full display, and there were witnesses galore. What questions did Swindler ask?”
“He wanted to know my whereabouts Thursday night.”
“What did you tell him?”
“The truth. I was at a brothel.”
She took a deep breath, nodded, narrowed her eyes as if in thought. “I wonder why he didn’t come to me to verify your story.”
“I imagine because I didn’t inform him you were there. That’s what I came to tell you. I didn’t divulgeyour name, nor will I. Not under any circumstances. Therefore, you need not concern yourself with the matter.”
“Why the deuce did you not tell him we were together?”
“Because it wouldn’t do your reputation any favors. In addition, I couldn’t explain your presence without also revealing that of the Parkers. The very last thing they need right now while their relationship is so fragile and they are in the process of reconciling is to be associated with a man who is being suspected of murdering a bloke or to be put through the gauntlet with suspicions.”
With a scoff, she shook her head. “He’ll find all that out when he speaks with that woman Jewel.”
“He’s not going to speak with her because I didn’t tell him which brothel. She doesn’t need the headache either, or people interfering with her good works.”
She seemed at a loss for words, but he could see all the various wheels in her head turning. He’d always found her easy to read. “Look, I didn’t do it, and if this inspector fellow is as good as you say, he’ll figure out who did without me providing any particulars about my life or that night.”
“You’re blatantly holding back information. I’m surprised he didn’t arrest you.”
