Page 40 of Disturbing the Dead
The problem with peaceful and tidy, sweet and mild, pleasant and ordered? It’s boring as hell. So middle-class Victorian men don’t come home after work. They go to their pubs and their sports clubs and enjoy themselves before they must return home, sit on a spindly chair, and read the paper while their wife does needlepoint and the children are kept out of sight and out of mind.
Isla is not the “angel of the household” here. No one wants her to be. But she’s still the lady of the house, and things run a little differently in her presence. Without her, we can have breakfast in the library, and Mrs. Wallace will only roll her eyes with affectionate exasperation.
Well, it’s affectionate for the guys. I just get exasperation—with a generous dose of suspicion. Winning over Alice was like conquering the bunny hill. Mrs. Wallace is my Everest.
I’m on my second cup of coffee, the best defense against yawning and having Gray suggest I take a nap. Yes, coffee is a thing in Victorian Scotland, much to my surprise. I won’t say it’s good coffee, but it exists. I long to experiment with the brewing methods and with foaming milk to make myself something resembling a proper cappuccino. To do that, though, I need access to the kitchen. To get that access, I need to convince Mrs. Wallace that I’m not evil Catriona, who may have spent the last six months ingratiating herself with the bosses only to poison them.
For now, I drink what’s available and enjoy the underrated pleasure of fresh warm bread dripping with butter. I’ll add jam soon. I’ll also avail myself of the ham and eggs. But for now, it’s coffee and carbs.
We’re deep into conversation on the case when a tap comes at the closed door.
I’m closest, so I open it. Lorna half curtsies in the opening. “I was told not to open closed doors when Doctor Gray is investigating a case.”
I nod and smile. “That is correct. Thank you.”
“There is a guest for the master. A Lord Muir. Shall I show him into the drawing room?”
“Please. I’ll bring the coffee tray.”
“Thank you, miss,” she says, and scurries off.
We’re still walking down the hall, coffee cups in hand, when Lord Muir comes barreling toward us, Lorna at his heels, squeaking, “The drawing room is in there, sir,” as she points.
Muir’s face is red with exertion as his cane clicks along at top speed.
“You!” he says, homing in on McCreadie. “You are the criminal officer in charge of Alastair’s murder, are you not?”
“I am, sir.” McCreadie moves his coffee to his left hand and extends his right. “My sincere condolences on the loss—”
The man ignores McCreadie’s outstretched hand. “I am so glad to see the murder of a baronet has not put you off your breakfast, Detective. One might think you would be a bit busy—catching a crazed killer—but apparently that is not a priority.”
McCreadie’s voice is mild. “I have been on the scene all night, Lord Muir. I am here to discuss the case with Dr. Gray and await the police surgeon’s report. While I do that, I am eating, so I will be fully prepared to continue the investigation.”
“You can eat all you like once you have the killer in custody, and I am astounded that you haven’t arrested her already.”
“Her?” I say.
“That…” He flutters his hand. “Girl.”
“You will need to be more specific,” McCreadie says. “If you are accusing one of the maids—”
“No, that King girl.”
Neither McCreadie nor Gray answers. They are racking their brains. So am I, and it hits me first.
“The young woman protesting outside the party last night?” I say.
“Of course.” Muir wheels on McCreadie. “Tell me you have her in custody.”
“I know she was upset about the unwrapping demonstration,” McCreadie says. “She was stopping people as they came in.”
“Upset about the demonstration?” Muir snorts. “She does not give a fig for the demonstration. It was an excuse to embarrass Alastair. Or that is what I thought at first. But now I realize it was a ruse to divert attention in case she was spotted at the scene of the murder. Also, being outside allowed her to hear the commotion caused by her foul deed.”
“I believe I am missing something,” McCreadie says. “You thought Miss King wanted to embarrass Sir Alastair because…?”
“Because of what he did. To her and the others. And what he was continuing to do.”
“What he did…?”
