Lie by Moonlight by Amanda Quick Page B

could obtain a semblance of rest. Here, too, he could contemplate problems and consider possibilities.
    At the moment none seemed quite as pressing or as disturbing as Concordia Glade’s words a moment ago. I thought I heard you out here.
    That was not possible. He knew that he had made no sound. He was equally certain that he had done nothing to disturb the shadows beneath the doors when he made his way down the hall. He knew how to move in the night. He had a talent for it. I thought I heard you out here.
    He let himself drift into the memory of another night. . . .
The boy hovered, shivering, in the deep shadows at the top of the stairs. He listened to the angry, muffled voices emanating from the study. His father was quarreling with the mysterious visitor. He could not make out all the words but there was no mistaking the rising level of rage in both men. It was a dangerous, dark tide that seemed to flood through the house.
    His father’s voice was tight with fury.
    “. . . You murdered her in cold blood, didn’t you? I can’t prove it, but I know you did it. . . .”
    “She wasn’t important.” The stranger spoke in low, angry tones. “Just a chambermaid who learned more than was good for her. Forget her. We’re on the brink of making a fortune. . . .”
    “. . . I won’t be a party to any more of this business. . . .”
    “You can’t just walk away. . . .”
    “That is precisely what I’m going to do.”
    “You surprise me, Colton,” the visitor said. “You’ve been a swindler and a fraud artist all of your life. I believed you to be far more practical.”
    “Fleecing a few wealthy gentlemen who can well afford to lose several thousand pounds is one thing. Murder is another. You knew I’d never go along with that.”
    “Which is, of course, why I did not tell you,” the stranger said. “Had a feeling you’d be difficult.”
    “Did you think I wouldn’t suspect what had happened? She was just an innocent young woman.”
    “Not so innocent.” The stranger’s laugh was mirthless. It ended in a harsh cough. “Rest assured, mine was not the first gentleman’s bed she had warmed.”
    “Get out of here and don’t ever come back. Do you understand?”
    “Yes, Colton, I understand very well. I regret that you feel this way. I shall be sorry to lose you as a partner. But I respect your wishes. Rest assured you will never see me again.”
    A sudden, sharp explosion reverberated through the house.
    The roar of the pistol shocked the boy into immobility for a few seconds. He knew what had happened but he could not bring himself to accept the truth.
    Down below, the door of the study opened abruptly. He stood, frozen, in the shadows at the top of the stairs and watched the stranger move through the light of the gas lamp that burned on the desk behind him.
    In spite of the boy’s horror, some part of him automatically cataloged the details of the killer’s appearance. Blond hair, whiskers, an expensively cut coat.
    The man looked toward the staircase.
    The boy was certain that the stranger was going to climb the stairs and kill him. He knew it as surely as he knew that his father was dead.
    The stranger put one booted foot on the bottom step.
    “I know you’re awake up there, young man. Been a tragic accident, I’m afraid. Your father just took his own life. Come on down here. I’ll take care of you.”
    The boy stopped breathing altogether, trying to make himself one more shadow among many.
    The killer started up the steps. Then he hesitated.
    “Bloody hell, the housekeeper,” he muttered on another hoarse cough.
    The boy watched him turn and go back down the steps. The killer disappeared into the darkened hall. He was going to check Mrs. Dalton’s rooms to see if she was there.
    The boy knew what the killer did not. Mrs. Dalton was not in her rooms because she had been given the night off. His father did not like any of the servants around when he conducted his illicit