Free Garden of Lies by Amanda Quick Page A

said very deliberately. “You did say you are convinced that if Anne Clifton was the victim of foul play, there must be a connection to the household, correct?”
    â€œThat is my theory, yes.” She brightened. “What do you know of the Fulbrook family?”
    â€œVery little. But my mother was acquainted with Lord Fulbrook’s father. He moved in the same circles as my father.”
    â€œI understand.” Enthusiasm ignited Ursula’s senses. “We could ask Lilly for her observations on the deceased Lord Fulbrook. She may well know something about the son and the family in general.”
    â€œShe will demand an explanation for our curiosity,” Slater warned.
    â€œYes, of course. But I feel quite certain that we can trust Lilly. Do you think she will be willing to assist us?”
    â€œThis is Lilly Lafontaine we are talking about. She will be thrilled to get the part.”
    â€œThe part?”
    â€œPardon me,” Slater said. “I meant that she will be thrilled to be involved in a murder investigation. It will appeal to her sense of drama. But when this is over you had better be prepared to see aspects of the venture appear in one of her plays.”
    Ursula winced. “I suspect you are correct. Well, I suppose so long as she disguises the identities of those involved it will be all right.”
    â€œAfter all,” Slater said, “who would believe a tale about a secretary and an archaeologist attempting to solve a murder?”
    â€œIndeed.”
    â€œThat reminds me.”
    â€œOf what?”
    â€œLilly invited us to dine with her tomorrow evening. It will give you the perfect opportunity to question her about the Fulbrook family.”
    â€œHow kind of her.” Ursula smiled, her spirits lifting rapidly. “You’re right, it would be very useful to obtain some information from her. I confess that at the moment I have no idea where I am going with this investigation.”
    â€œWhere
we
are going with this investigation.”
    She ignored the correction. “Thank you, Mr. Roxton. I appreciate your assistance in this matter.”
    â€œI think that, under the circumstances, you really should call me Slater.”
    She felt the heat rise in her cheeks. She hoped the veil concealed her blush.
    â€œYes, of course,” she said briskly. “Thank you . . . Slater.”
    There was a short pause. Belatedly it dawned on her that he was waiting for her to say something.
    â€œPlease call me Ursula,” she added.
    â€œThank you, Ursula.” He inclined his head. “I shall call for you at seven-thirty tomorrow evening. Is that agreeable?”
    She thought about that for a few uncertain seconds. When one considered the matter closely it was obvious that being alone in the carriage with Slater at night would be no different from being alone with him now, during the day. But for some reason the prospect unnerved her a little. She reminded herself that theirs was a partnership.
    She smiled, satisfied with her logic. “I will be waiting.”
    It was, she thought, a great pity that every gown in her wardrobe with the exception of her house dresses was black.

TEN

    S hortly before midnight Slater sat in the shadows of a hansom and watched the front door of the exclusive gentlemen’s club. The cab’s lights were turned down low so as not to draw attention. In the fog the streetlamps that marked the steps that led up to the front door of the club were no more than luminous spheres of ghostly energy.
    He could have gone up the steps and been admitted to the club. He was a member, thanks to his father’s status and power, but he had not exercised his privileges since his return to London. It was Brice Torrence’s favorite retreat. It seemed best that he and Torrence did not find themselves in the same room. Brice evidently felt the same way. Whether by luck or by design, in the two months since Slater had