City of Darkness and Light(72)

“I’ll do my best,” I said. “It seems to me we have to establish who would want to see Mr. Bryce dead. Either it was an unplanned murder—he surprised a burglar who thought the house was empty—or someone came with the intention of killing Mr. Bryce.”

I felt Sid shudder. “He was a horrible, rude, and prejudiced man,” she said. “But nobody deserves to die in that manner.”

My brain was working rapidly, trying to think how a good detective would tackle this, what Daniel might do in these circumstances, and whether Inspector Henri, whom I had met at the scene, would know how to carry out a thorough investigation. My gaze moved around the elegant room, taking in the heavy swags of drapery, the paintings on the walls, the little cakes on the silver salver. It was the height of cultured living and it seemed so strange to be sitting here and discussing murder. “I think the fact that he was sitting in his chair is important,” I began slowly. “That indicates he probably knew the person who was in the room and was comfortable with him, or her. Perhaps he had been sitting chatting before he was stabbed. If it had been a burglar or someone had surprised him he would have jumped to his feet, turned to confront them, and then fallen to the floor. There would have been some signs of a struggle and the inspector said there weren’t.”

“Unless he did stand up but slumped back into his chair after he was stabbed,” Sid pointed out.

“I don’t know how you two can discuss this so calmly,” Gus said. “Murder is so terrible, and the fact that your life might be in danger, Sid…”

“We’ll get through this somehow,” Sid said. “Not the welcome we planned to give poor Molly, is it? And after what she had just been through in New York, and the awful rough crossing too. We had so many exciting things planned for you, Molly. If only you hadn’t become ill on the ship and had arrived on time none of this would have happened.”

“You can’t say that,” Gus said. “Don’t go blaming poor Molly.”

“Of course I’m not blaming her. I’m just saying the timing would have been different. We wouldn’t have gone to tea with Mary, would we?”

“It’s strange on what small coincidences our fate hangs,” Gus said.

On that profound note Mary Cassatt came back into the room.





Twenty-four



“I thought I’d stay out of it and give you time to explain everything to your guest,” Mary Cassatt said. She came over to us and pulled up one of the curly-backed gilt chairs beside me. “A horrible business, is it not, Mrs. Sullivan?”

“The worst,” I said.

“They tell me that you are a real and proper detective,” Miss Cassatt said, giving me an encouraging smile. “We’re all hoping that you’ll be able to help them.”

“Neither real nor very proper, I’m afraid,” I said. “I gave up my business when I married…”

“See, Sid, what we were talking about earlier today,” Mary Cassatt turned to Sid, wagging a finger at her. “Marriage is the biggest restrictor of women’s freedom and progress and creativity. Look at Berthe Morisot. She was producing the most exciting paintings, then she married Manet’s brother and then what?” She turned back to me. “Sorry, Mrs. Sullivan. As you can see we were discussing this very subject earlier today. Please do continue. Even if you’ve given up your profession, you still possess the skills, don’t you?”

“I don’t really see what I can do,” I said. “I won’t be allowed access to anything they found in that room and the police certainly won’t share with me what line their investigation has been taking, if in fact they are pursuing a line of investigation.”

“Molly thinks he must have known the killer,” Sid said. “He was sitting in his chair and he would have been standing if taken by surprise by an intruder.”

“The inspector said there were no signs of a break-in and no signs of a struggle,” I said, “which probably means that Bryce let in the murderer himself through the front door, given that his housekeeper had gone out. They came back to his studio. Bryce sat while they talked and then was caught completely by surprise and stabbed.”

“There was an open window,” Sid said. “Someone could have entered and left that way as I did with relative ease.”

That was true.

“I’ll go and have a chat with the housekeeper if she’s still there and the police have gone,” I said. “Maybe I can get her to tell me something. And then there are Bryce’s fellow artists.” I turned to Miss Cassatt. “I know that there was a lot of ill feeling between the Impressionists and those coming after them. I’ve met several of the new generation—a young man called Picasso from Spain who seems quite a violent type.”