Who Killed The Earl Of Moran?

A fter placing the last of her neatly folded dresses into the suitcase lying open on her bed, Mary Alder straightened and glanced once more around the room that had been hers for less than a year.

It was of a decent size and functional, and being in the attics, it was reasonably warm, but now, denuded of all that had made it comfortable and welcoming to her, the space seemed cold and impersonal.

Although presently curtained against the night, the small dormer window gave an uninspiring view over the roofs of neighboring houses, but if one squinted to the left, across the busy street, the trees in Hyde Park offered the promise of pleasanter vistas.

Ten years ago, three weeks after she’d been informed of her husband’s death at sea, she’d accepted the position of companion to the Dowager Countess of Moran and had considered herself blessed.