The Deathsniffer’s Assistant (The Faraday Files Book 1) (7 page)

“I’m sorry,” Olivia cut in. “I understand the sentiment, really I do! Cross my fluttering heart! But you have to agree to let me involve myself as deeply as I personally see fit. I’m not just going to go around being nosy, obviously. There’s a method to all the madness! Murderers can be hiding in the most peculiar of places, and drama breeds them like nothing else. I’m sure you can find someone who wouldn’t pry. But, well. They wouldn’t find your killer. I will.”

Duchess val Daren took another quiet moment. While she did, Olivia turned and met his eyes, gesturing with her chin towards the shelves at the other side of the room. Chris understood. He climbed up from his chair quietly, walking over, opening the drawer, searching all the files stacked with paper for the contracts in question. Olivia couldn’t organize to save her life, he groaned to himself as he pawed through it all. He should have spent his idle week putting the place together correctly.

“I suppose I can see your point, Miss Faraday,” the Duchess concluded, sounding half disgusted, half resigned. Chris flipped through a collection of rental renewal contracts and baffled at the idea of Olivia having a landlord. “But if I believe your interest has tipped towards the ‘nosy,’ as you say, that
will
be cause for a complaint. My family’s affairs are not on display.”

“That goes without saying,” Olivia said. “And, hmm, just one more thing, Duchess, before we make things official. You may find I won’t always bow over to kiss your hand and scrape around your feet. It’s just my way, sorry. I think it’s better to warn you in advance. I know you’re used to that, but, well.”

How could she be so…

The Duchess gave another sigh. She was beginning to sound irritated, and Chris did not blame her. “If that is your
way
, Miss Faraday, then I can accept it for the short time we’re working together. Please keep in mind, however, any direct disrespect will―”

“―only be used when I think it benefits our business relationship and the discovery of the Duke’s killer!” Olivia cut in. “I
do
know how to do my job.”

And there it was.
Contractual Business Agreement
. He carefully pulled it from the file, being sure not to bend it.

“…yes, I suppose.” A cluck of the tongue. “Very well. I will sign your contract.”

“Excellent!” As Chris turned around, he saw Olivia clap her hands together before her, eager as a child served up a bowl of iced cream. “Then lead the way to the corpse, Duchess.”

reat winged carriages were available only to the most privileged and wealthy. It was a status symbol to even rent one, and Duchess val Daren’s own private version was grander than any flying taxi Chris had ever seen. When he looked out the window, he could see the majestic, feathered goose wings beating slowly, then gliding, beating and gliding. They were soaring in and out and up and down and around corners and were barely jostled in the confines of the car. Whenever Chris managed to pull his attention away from the scenery and focus, they would slip past a tower or turn a corner in a wide arc, and his eyes would slide away and back to the wonders gliding past.

He didn’t, however, look directly down.

“…nothing,” the Duchess was saying dismissively as Chris tried to turn his attention back to his job. “Our family is in excellent standing, you should know. We’re invited to every Old Blood affair, our finances are impeccable, our friends are many. We have no enemies.”

“Not even the jealous? It seems to me that with you being so grand and excellent, you’d have all sorts of people wanting to add a little misery to your happy life. It’s the nature of people.”

The Duchess sniffed and judiciously studied her fingertips. “Of course, that’s always a possibility when one lives as well as my husband and I, but I sincerely doubt it’s the case. Certainly we have our share of envious admirers, but none so delusional as to honestly risk
murder
. Killers tend to get caught, after all, and when they do, it’s something of a social suicide.”

Olivia tilted her head and leaned back in her chair. She looked like a cat stretching. “Your answer doesn’t make sense. You claim someone killed him and then turn around and tell me nobody had any desire to kill him? You can’t have it both ways.”

“It was a murder,” the Duchess said firmly, with stone-hard certainty. “It…” And she faltered slightly, turning to look out her own window. Chris used the excuse to follow her gaze, his heart swelling with wonder as a bird swooped right by them. And then the Duchess sighed, shaking her head and straightening her chin. “It isn’t a death he could have made for himself.”

“Then someone killed him,” Olivia reiterated.

“Yes,” the Duchess agreed, “but I can’t possibly imagine who.”

Olivia shrugged, visibly letting it flutter away.
duchess has no suspects olivia seems to allow that
, Chris transcribed. “Then how was it done?” Olivia asked.

“Excuse me?” the Duchess asked.

“You’re so certain he couldn’t have killed himself. I find that intriguing! Along with how you still haven’t told me how he died or what you saw when you went to his study, I’m fairly sure it’s worth hearing!”

The Duchess smoothed folds in her skirts and reached up to straighten her black hat. “I’d really rather not say,” she said finally, prim as a well-sewn button.

Olivia snorted, loudly and obscenely. Chris wanted to put his face in his hands.

Clearly, the Duchess agreed with him. Her features went very tight and her jaw bulged. “Is there a
problem
, Miss Faraday?” she challenged.

Olivia chose to ignore the question. “Are you just not going to say? I’m going to see when we get there, you know. It’ll be best if I have some context before we start.”

“I’ve had a very trying day, Miss Faraday,” the Duchess ground out. Her chin jutted so far forward that her face looked like a crag. “Please have a moment of sympathy. I’ve lost my husband. My heart is broken.”

“I’m sure―” Chris began against his better judgement, but Olivia silenced him with a sharp glance and turned back to the Duchess.

“But you haven’t cried,” she said. It was an accusation.

“…excuse me?” the Duchess asked, taken aback. Her shock melted into rage in less than an instant and her eyes flashed dangerously. “How do you
dare
to presume whether or not I’ve―”

“Oh, please!” Olivia interrupted, and continued before the Duchess could regain footing in the conversation. “Here’s what I know. Your husband didn’t show up for breakfast. You went to his study, you found him, and then you came to see me. Now, I can tell from what sort of woman you are that you wouldn’t have gone to breakfast without being fully combed and prepared for the day ahead. I also know your sort eats a little later, so you came to see me immediately after you found the body, judging by what time you arrived at my office. Not to mention your own insistence that you hurried to me as soon as you possibly could. It all tells me one simple fact: you haven’t shed a single tear.”

“And why is that?”

“Because your cosmetics are perfectly intact.”

The Duchess raised a hand to her face instinctively, touching one of her flawless cheeks. Then, “I reapplied.”

“Of course you didn’t. You expect me to believe it doesn’t take you half an hour—at
least—
to do your paints? I know your type, Duchess val Daren.”

“Why does it
matter
if I’ve cried or not? I’m a lady. I don’t express that sort of thing. It’s utterly inappropriate.”

“Normally, I’d agree,” Olivia sighed. Her tone was so unbelievably
conversational
. Chris stared down at his page, not sure what to write.
olivia accusing duchess of SOMETHING
. “Tears are so over dramatic. I’ve never met anyone who cries often I’ve liked. Histrionics, so ridiculous. But your husband did die, and you did find his body in some condition so horrible you don’t want to tell your Deathsniffer about it. If anything warrants a few tears…”

“
What
exactly are you accusing me of?” the Duchess demanded waspishly.

“At the moment? Not crying. We’ll revisit the implications of that when I know more.”

The Duchess’s face went very dark. She looked down to where her fingers were plucking at her skirts, her expression stormy. She said nothing; none of them did. And then, finally, “There have been some difficulties, between Viktor and me.”

“Oh, and here it is!” Olivia clapped her hands like Duchess val Daren had just declared they were going to a faire.

“Every marriage has them,” the Duchess continued, jutting her nose up into the air.

“So I’ve come to see,” Olivia agreed amiably, “but I’m not certain a lack of tears at your other half’s
murder
is all just status quo. Now tell me, exactly what sort of
difficulties
have there been? Don’t worry about ruining my opinion of you. There isn’t much to tarnish.”

The Duchess turned away, petulant, to look out the window. Chris remained focused on his page,
seems to sulk
. The only sound was the great swooshing sound of the carriage’s wings pushing through the open air. Then Olivia began tapping her feet.

“Viktor is a devoted patron of the arts,” the Duchess said finally. The petulance was gone from her countenance, and now she seemed distant, quiet. Her eyes were looking out the window, but unfocused, staring at something that didn’t exist. She stroked her collarbone thoughtfully. “
Very
devoted. He wasn’t when we were first married, no, but he had an…awakening, as he grew older, I suppose. At first, it was something I appreciated. Suddenly he had this sensitivity he’d never possessed before. He would find the most talented young persons, those who were just bursting with creativity, and use his means to bring them into the light, immortalize them. I found it all admirable. I thought he’d become the person he’d always been meant to be.” She shook her head. Her eyes refocused. She turned away from the window, stared down into her lap, and smoothed out her skirts. “Well, that was a very long time ago, now,” she said. “I realized, eventually, that things had changed for good. He could never love me half so much as he loved his up and coming sopranos and actresses and poetesses. It became very difficult to compete, so I stopped trying.”

“And came to hate him?”

“I never hated him. I just grew tired of hearing, day after day, about a new painter with the most delicate brush strokes, or a girl with a violin who wasn’t even a hymnshaper. A new one every month. They were his life and I was irrelevant.”

“Was he sleeping with any of them?”

The Duchess’s head snapped up to confront Olivia’s only semi-interested and thoroughly unsympathetic face. “That is
horribly
inappropriate and none of your business,” she accused, a rough edge in her voice. Chris wondered if she had been about to cry after all.

“It’s fully valid.”

The Duchess’s resistance melted and she pressed an elegant hand to her temple. “I don’t think so,” she murmured, shaking her head. “I always had my suspicions, what wife wouldn’t have? He spent all his time with young, talented, pretty women. But no. He loved their minds, and loved loving their minds. I don’t doubt he fell for all of them, but…relations? No, that would have ruined all of the art.”