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“HEAVENS.” VERONICA widened her eyes as Cora stepped into the corridor. “What on earth were you doing with Edmund’s mother?”
“I thought she might be able to give a clearer picture on the late duke and who may have murdered him.”
“Hmph.” Veronica frowned. “Simply because your father is Catholic does not mean you should feel compelled to imitate a martyr. One would think looking at all those gruesome crosses with blood practically dripping off that poor man’s wounds would suffice.”
“She’s your mother-in-law,” Cora said. “I’m hardly burning myself at the stake like Joan of Arc.”
“It couldn’t have been a pleasant experience, though.”
“No,” Cora agreed. “You know, she quite reminds me of you.”
“Impossible.”
“Pretty and very determined.”
Veronica gave her a tight smile and paced the corridor. Energy seemed to rush through her. Finally, she halted. “I must apologize. This is not the quiet countryside holiday I imagined for us.”
“Well, it is quiet.”
“Come to my room. Edmund doesn’t like me smoking in the corridor.”
Cora followed her into a large bedroom. Dark wooden paneling lined the walls, and Oriental carpets covered the floor.
“It’s rather grand, isn’t it?” Veronica asked.
Cora nodded, still taking in the damask curtains that seemed to have been made with gold thread, and the elaborate mirrors with frames that appeared gold-plated.
Veronica took out a thin cigarette and placed it onto her cigarette holder. “Goodness. I don’t know whether to be eager for the police to arrive or not.”
Her hand wobbled, and Cora narrowed her eyes. Nervousness had never been one of Veronica’s traits. Not when she had such an abundance of self-confidence.
“They’re going to think I did it,” Veronica said.
“Nonsense.”
“You heard them at breakfast. Even Rhys thinks so, and I always got along well with him.” Tension didn’t ease from Veronica’s features, and her jaw seemed to stiffen in a manner one might associate more with the eponymous character from Tchaikovsky’s most famous ballet than with Hollywood actresses.
“I’ve never known you to worry about things,” Cora said.
“This isn’t a small thing.”
“You have no motive.”
Veronica gave her a strained smile. “That’s not true. I would have hated for any of my horrid past to come out. Just the thought of it now being released makes me nearly swoon.”
“You didn’t know he was looking for reasons to annul the marriage.”
“You’re too sweet, Cora. But I did know. I did worry about it. I didn’t kill him, but I could have. I was there in that hallway. Maybe people will believe I entered his room—nobody ever locks them, lest they decide to call for a servant—and unhooked that chandelier and killed him.”
“And exited from the balcony? That’s nonsense.”
“I could have exited from the dowager duchess’s room. I heard her laughing and cavorting with that Italian fellow. I knew she was in that room.”
Oh.
“If you heard, other people did,” Cora speculated.
“Perhaps Lady Audrey murdered him. Perhaps the duke insulted her painting.”
“Perhaps,” Cora said, though they both knew that Lady Audrey and the duke had seemed to get on well, and that Lady Audrey stood to make no financial gain from the man’s death.
“It’s hopeless,” Veronica said. “The village would be happy to have me be the chief suspect. They’d hardly want to imagine that someone they knew had done it. And who wants to have one’s relative arrested? Something like that would cast a shadow over future birthdays and holiday gatherings. One moment one is reminiscing about someone, and the next moment one’s remembering that the person in question spent his last moments on earth dangling from a noose.” She sighed. “The servants were all eating when the murder took place. None of them left the kitchen then. Somebody can attest to it for all of them. Not that any of them would have left. The cook’s food is delicious, especially around the holidays, and leftovers are not a concept that I imagine the servants are aware of.”
“We don’t get leftovers either.”
“No, not with these formal dinners.” Veronica giggled. “We could always sneak into the larder if we get too hungry. I just wish the tabloids hadn’t delighted so much in smearing my reputation. The wedding was supposed to make me more respectable, and instead the journalists delighted in contrasting me in the most negative way to my so very proper husband.”
Cora didn’t mention that Veronica’s past was rather more scandalous than even the most determined journalists had discovered. “Police officers don’t read tabloids.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure,” Veronica said. “And they definitely watch movies. Honey, they’ve probably seen me be arrested half a dozen times by tough coppers or gumshoes on the silver screen.”
“At least Constable Kirby is unaware of your repertoire.”
Veronica’s lips twitched.
For a moment, all seemed well, and Veronica settled against the window seat. “I think I should have gone outside with Edmund and you. This house is giving me the creeps.” She peered through the window. “Honey, is that that funny Italian? Why is he carrying such a huge knapsack?”
“What do you mean?” Cora followed Veronica’s glance.
And swallowed hard.
Signor Palombi was skiing away from the manor house.
He’s fleeing.