Chapter 8
Grey could say with utmost confidence that Miss Clio Blair knew how to do one thing extraordinarily well: get under someone’s skin. This time, he was just glad it wasn’t his.
They had been questioning the housekeeper for twenty minutes, asking her to walk them through the final hours of Viscount Beachley’s life.
The viscount had been taking afternoon tea with his wife. Mrs Coggins served them both in the front sitting room, then left to oversee the cleaning of the silverware. It was a weekly task that Viscount Beachley preferred she manage to ensure no theft occurred.
‘One can’t be too trusting. Anyone is capable of deceit if the stakes are high enough.’
‘Even you, Mrs Coggins?’ Clio’s gaze was steady on the housekeeper.
Miss Blair was formidable. Even without her raven.
Mrs Coggins’ cheeks grew red. ‘That’s not what I meant.’
‘What did you mean?’
The housekeeper folded and unfolded her hands. ‘The viscount knew I would never betray him. I’ve known him since he was a boy. I worked for his father before Viscount Beachley inherited the title. He trusted me because he knew my loyalty to him and to his family was unwavering.’
‘And was his loyalty to you equally constant?’
The housekeeper sniffed. ‘He could have turned me out, started new with a fresh household staff when he married. The viscountess wanted him to do just that, but he wouldn’t hear a word of it.
He appreciated my knowledge and expertise.
He was a good man. He didn’t deserve what happened to him. ’ Her eyes filled with tears.
‘What about your feelings toward the viscountess? Are they as sanguine?’ Clio began tapping her finger in a steady rhythm on the table.
Mrs Coggins shrugged. ‘We got on well enough.’
Tap. Tap. Tap.
‘But you just said she wanted you to be replaced by someone new. Perhaps a housekeeper who wasn’t quite so loyal to Viscount Beachley, but deferred to her instead? Surely, that would create some bad feelings between you.’
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Shrugging, Mrs Coggins shifted in her chair.
‘She was young. Didn’t always know what the viscount might want or how to run a household befitting of his status.
She needed help, but the prideful woman would never ask a lowly servant like myself.
She had a rather high opinion of herself for someone who married above her station. ’
Tap. Tap. Tap.
‘Do you think the viscount was better than his wife?’
The housekeeper’s eyes darted to Clio’s fingers as she fiddled with an apron frill.
‘More esteemed within society, certainly. And his family. His sister is a duchess, you know. She was kind to Lady Beachley, but it was clear Her Grace was disappointed by her brother’s choice.’
‘Did you agree with Her Grace?’
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Clio leaned back in her chair, her finger never missing a beat.
The woman snorted. ‘I wouldn’t dare disagree with a duchess.’
The tapping stopped.
Clio’s smile sent a shiver down Grey’s spine. ‘So, you didn’t like Viscountess Beachley.’
Realising her misstep, Mrs Coggins’ face grew red, her eyes popping wide as she looked from Clio to Thomas and back again. ‘I didn’t say that. I had no issues with the viscountess. We worked well together.’
The tapping started again.
‘Except that she had a rather high opinion of herself. Wouldn’t ask for your help. Wanted to replace you with someone new…’
Slamming her hand on the table, Mrs Coggins’ voice shook. ‘I held no ill will towards the woman. But I do now.’
‘Why is that?’ Clio kept her voice steady and calm.
‘Because she killed her husband!’ The housekeeper became shrill. ‘Make no mistake of that. The nasty witch couldn’t wait to be rid of him.’
Clio’s body stiffened again. It was the second time she reacted to the insult from two different members of Viscount Beachley’s staff. Her tapping paused for a moment as her gaze flicked to Grey.
Yes. I noticed. I notice everything about you, Clio Blair.
Turning back to the housekeeper, Clio sat straighter in her chair, her lips pressing into a determined line.
Thomas leaned forward, speaking before Clio could. Her scowl brought him immense joy. ‘Did you see something? Hear something to make you believe she might be responsible for his death?’
The housekeeper bit her lip, her brown eyes narrowed.
‘It was no secret among the staff the viscountess wasn’t fond of her husband.
We are trained to understand the needs and desires of our employers.
Lady Beachley’s desire was clear: to avoid her husband whenever possible.
When they were together, the rows they got into were so loud, you could hear them from the attic to the cellar. But that afternoon was different.’
‘How—’
‘How—’
They spoke together, then stopped. Clio’s glare could have singed his eyelashes. He actually felt heat wash over his face like opening a furnace door. It was enough to stall him and let her ask the question.
‘How was it different?’ Clio returned her focus to Mrs Coggins. The temperature immediately cooled.
Sparks. Fire. Heat. She is a living flame. Would my fingers burn if I touched her?
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair and forced his focus back to the housekeeper.
‘She was being so pleasant to Lord Beachley. They rarely took tea together, but she asked him to join her. She wanted to speak with him about Miss Anna. That child was the only thing they had in common. Lady Beachley mentioned reading about a new treatment in one of the medical journals she started ordering when Miss Anna fell ill. She was always coming to him with hair-brained treatments to cure her. Lord Beachley wouldn’t allow it.
He wouldn’t let poor Miss Anna suffer, and rightly so. ’
Clio pressed her lips together, and Thomas jumped into the small window of silence. ‘You told the police that you served them tea, then went to polish the silver.’ He wouldn’t let Clio commandeer this entire interview.
The housekeeper nodded. ‘Yes. That was the last time I saw Lord Beachley alive.’ Her chin quivered, and she covered her mouth with her hand.
Clio’s finger began tapping again.
Mrs Coggins’ mouth hardened, and her eyes flicked to Clio’s hand before she returned her gaze to Thomas as she resumed her tearful story.
Well played. She got her to break. Mrs Coggins isn’t nearly as upset as she wants us to believe.
He had to give Clio credit. She knew how to turn the screws on a witness. Which was incredibly unfortunate, as credit was the last thing he wanted to give the woman.
‘Daisy found her. She’s worked in this house for over five years. Daisy is a good maid. Reliable. Respectful. Nothing like who is left now.’
Thomas could only assume she was talking about poor Miss Sanders. His soon-to-be-hired maid. The girl was right; Mrs Coggins did hate her.
‘Poor Daisy had to go home to be with her family after she spoke with the constable. The shock was too much for her.’ Mrs Coggins shook her head.
‘In the space of a moment, everything’s changed.
It was never meant to be like this.’ Her voice caught, and for a brief glimmer, Thomas saw real grief in the woman’s eyes.
Clio stopped tapping. ‘Like what?’
Looking up from where she had been staring at a spot on the table, Mrs Coggins shook her head, realising she’d mis-stepped again but not knowing how. ‘What?’
‘You said it was never meant to be like this. What was it meant to be like?’
Mrs Coggins blinked rapidly, sniffed as she swept her knuckle beneath each eye to erase non-existent tears, then cleared her throat.
‘I just mean, no man deserves to die at the hands of his own wife. We live in a civilised society. This kind of injustice cannot stand. I hope you find her and make her pay for what she did.’
Clio’s fingers tapped again. ‘Unless someone has already made her pay.’
Mrs Coggins met her gaze, her features hardening into a mask. ‘I wouldn’t blame whoever they were if they did. An eye for an eye, Miss Blair. God himself demands no less.’
‘I find His demands to be rather contradictory.’
Sucking in her breath, Mrs Coggins covered her throat with a shaky hand. ‘That’s blasphemy!’
‘Only if I believe in your god. And I don’t.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Coggins.’ Thomas stood, walked around the table, and helped the housekeeper stand on shaky legs. He escorted her to the door. Clio had thoroughly scandalised the woman. One thing was certain: they would discover nothing more from Viscount Beachley’s staff today.
‘We don’t have any more questions for you. Thank you for your time and candour.’
‘I have one more question.’ Clio’s voice was calm, but Thomas could feel the anger vibrating from her in waves behind him.
He turned from the door to face her. Mrs Coggins mirrored his movements.
His gaze flicked to Clio’s hands, but no sparks flew from her fingers, though the air shimmered in a heat wave.
She was still tapping the table. He wondered how much longer the wood could stand up to the assault without cracking down the centre.
Mrs Coggins cleared her throat. ‘Ask it then so I can get back to my work.’
‘According to your god, what sin is worse? Blasphemy, lying, or murder?’
Lifting her chin, Mrs Coggins straightened her shoulders. She had a streak of grey hair starting at her temple and disappearing into a severe bun. ‘All sin separates us from our God.’
‘So, in your estimation, all sins are equal?’
‘Sin is sin.’ Mrs Coggins thrust out her chin.
Clio’s finger stilled. ‘Then, a liar is no better than a blasphemer. Or a murderer. Hmm. Interesting.’
The housekeeper’s cheeks reddened. She turned and nearly slammed her shoulder into Thomas as she opened the door, stalked through, and shut it loudly behind her.
‘Well done, Miss Blair.’ Thomas walked slowly back to the table, staying on the opposite side. ‘You’ve completely disarmed her. She’ll tell us all her secrets now.’ He let sarcasm sharpen each syllable.