Read Midnight at Marble Arch for Free Online

me in the housekeeper’s room. They’re a bit shaken up, so I thought it best to question everyone there. Cup of tea. Familiar surroundings.”
    Narraway saw the wisdom of it. “Good idea. Yes, I’d like to come,” he accepted. “Thank you.”
    He gave Quixwood’s shoulder a squeeze then followed Knox—past the crime scene, which was now occupied solely by a woman on her hands and knees with a bucket of water and a brush in her hand, scrubbing to clear the streaks of blood off the parquet floor where Catherine Quixwood had lain.
    There were no other visible signs of disturbance. Presumably whatever had been knocked down or broken was already attended to. Narraway was grateful. At least when Quixwood himself emerged there would be no violent reminders of what had happened here.
    In the housekeeper’s room, a very homey and surprisingly spacious parlor, they found the housekeeper, Mrs. Millbridge. She was a plump, middle-aged woman in a black stuff dress, her hair obviously hastily repinned. With her was a young maid, red-eyed and dabbing a wet handkerchief to her nose. On a small table there was a tray of tea with several clean cups, a jug of milk, and a bowl of sugar. Knox looked at it longingly, but it seemed he did not think it suitable to indulge himself.
    Narraway felt the same need and exercised the same discipline. To do less would seem a little childish; also it would put a distance between them and mark him as something of an amateur.
    The maid was the one who had last seen Catherine Quixwood alive. Knox spoke to her in soothing tones, but there was nothing she could add beyond being quite certain of the time. The long-cased clock in the hallway had just chimed, and it was always right, so Mr. Luckett assured her.
    Knox thanked her and let her go. Then he asked a footman to fetch Luckett himself from wherever he might be.
    “Trying to keep the staff calm, sir,” the servant told him. “And seethat everything’s tidied up and all the windows and doors are fast. I expect they are, but the women’ll rest better if they know he’s checked, personal like.”
    Knox nodded his head. “Then ask him to come as soon as he’s done. In the meantime I’ll speak with Mrs. Millbridge here.”
    “Yes, sir; thank you, sir,” the footman said gratefully, and went out, closing the door behind him.
    Knox turned to the motherly woman. “Mrs. Quixwood stayed at home alone this evening. Why was that, do you know? And please give me the truth, ma’am. Being polite and discreet may not actually be the best loyalty you can give right now. I’m not going to tell other people anything I don’t have to. I have a wife and three daughters myself. I love them dearly, but I know they can have their funny ways—like all of us.” He shook his head. “Daughters, especially. I think I know them, then I swear they do some strange thing as has me completely lost.”
    Mrs. Millbridge smiled very slightly, perhaps as much as she dared in the circumstances.
    “Mrs. Quixwood wasn’t all that fond of parties,” she said quietly. “She liked music and the theater well enough. Loved some of the more serious plays, or the witty ones, like Mr. Wilde’s used to be.” She blinked, aware that since Oscar Wilde’s disgrace perhaps one shouldn’t admit to enjoying his work.
    Knox was momentarily at a loss.
    “So do I,” Narraway put in quickly. “His wit stays in the mind to be enjoyed over and over again.”
    Mrs. Millbridge shot him a glance of gratitude, then turned her attention back to Knox.
    “Did Mr. Quixwood often go to parties by himself?” he asked.
    “I suppose, yes.” She looked anxious again, afraid that she might unintentionally have said the wrong thing.
    Knox smiled at her encouragingly, the lines of weariness on his face momentarily disappearing. “So anyone watching the house, maybe with a mind to burgling it, might have noticed that she would be alone, after the servants had retired for the night?”
    She