Free The Prince in the Tower by Lydia M Sheridan Page B

acknowledged this with a slight raise of her brow.  “Certainly they were good friends,” she agreed readily.
    “They were engaged, were they not?”
    She raised her other brow.  “I know of no reason why this should be of concern to you.”
    “It is of concern to me because, my lady,” his voice was overladen with sarcasm, “Adam Weilmunster was murdered.”
    His words failed to produce the effect he obviously sought.  Kate realized at his expression that she had made a tactical blunder.
    “You don’t seem terribly surprised to hear the news.”
    Kate paused.  “Indeed, I am grieved and saddened over such a loss, but as this gentleman,” she indicated the young dragoon, “may have mentioned, I have been attending a sickbed this night.  I ca n only apologize if fatigue causes me to seem unkind.”
    She seated herself on the divan, once more in control of the situation, every inch the grand, kindly-toward-inferiors lady.  “Won’t you sit down, gentlemen?  Shall I ring for tea?  Or perhaps you would prefer something stronger?”  The only thing stronger they had in the house was the medicinal cordial Lady Alice made each summer, but it packed a wallop, and she was half-hoping she might get the major blind drunk.  Nothing he said would be credible after such an event and would solve all their problems quite neatly.
    But to her disappointment, Major Goodwillie appeared to be tea-total while on duty, much to the chagrin of his men, who looked longingly at the decanter, as if a tot of something stronger might be just the ticket after this night’s grim work.  He also refused a seat, and Kate felt at a disadvantage as he towered over her in all his ramrod pudginess.
    He took a notebook out of his breast pocket, licked his thumb, and continued as if he’d never stopped talking.
    “The deceased, one Adam Weilmunster,” he said, as if Mr. Weilmunster was not a person, which got Kate’s hackles up, for as much as she had disliked him, still he was one of their own here in Oaksley, and the major was not.  “Murdered with a single bullet to the head,” he stated baldly, with no respect for the concern he obviously expected her to show.  “He was found on the bank of the river near the bridge leading to Bellevue.  A man answering the description of the Grey Cavalier,” the major paused in disgust, but managed to pull himself together enough to continue.  “Was seen standing over him searching the body.”
    Kate didn’t so much as flick an eyebrow.  No blush of shame touched her cheek.  Not even the tiniest irritation of nerves marred her countenance so far down had she banked the embers of that memory.  It was as if it had happened long ago, to some other woman.
    “It was very kind of you to come all this way at such an ungodly hour to inform us of this tragic event.”  She rose in polite dismissal, but the major wasn't done playing cat and mouse.  He simply stood, as he had in the foyer, looking at her as if he was waiting for her to crack, to break, to let slip an incautious word.  But if he thought she was going to be unnerved by his stare, she who had robbed, danced with her victims, dared them all to know her, he had a long wait, she vowed silently.
    Some of the contempt she felt for him must have shown on her face, because his ruddy complexion darkened, his mouth tightened.  The two silently stared at one another, Kate with a half-smile of amused contempt, the major with an angry glare.  The silence stretched long, the clock on the mantel ticked preternaturally loudly.
    Before the situation became ludicrous and she started laughing, Kate broke the silence.  With great calm, she made as if to herd them to the doorway.  “If that will be all, gentlemen,” she said briskly.  It was a statement rather than a question.  “You will certainly understand that my only consideration at the moment is for my sister.  I would be with her now.”
    She didn’t stop to see if they were