“It’s routine,” she repeated, feeling a bit malicious that she didn’t switch to English. Graves’s French was good enough to be serviceable, although the accent was straight off-the-boat American, but that wasn’t the reason. She wanted to keep him off guard. “We need to know where everyone was yesterday afternoon. I’m only confirming what you told Monsieur Carnet last night. I like to hear things for myself.”
He had just mumbled something about not spending his day staring at his watch, when from all corners of the library clocks drummed nine. “I can see how it would be difficult to track time here,” Agnes said, privately wondering how the family stood the constant reminder that the hours were passing. “Try guessing,” she said. “You were in the library until…”
“I might have left,” he said. “I like to pace. I went to the next room to walk a bit. Came back in and then left.”
“This was before or after tea was served?”
He paused briefly. “Both, I suppose.”
“You were out of the library more than in?”
“Yeah, just in the next rooms, like I said.”
“It’s surprising that you left.” She took a deliberate look around. “Most people would find this space large enough to accommodate the need to stretch their legs.”
He stared at her glumly. “Ice and wind were hitting the windows and driving me nuts. I needed to get out.”
She made a note in her book. “You knew Mademoiselle Cowell before arriving?”
He frowned, his handsome face suddenly that of a sullen child. “I suppose not. No.” Agnes cast him a quick look but didn’t interrupt. “I met Felicity Cowell when she came here. She worked in the library for a few days. Afterward she mostly stayed in her workroom.”
“Which is reached by the small stair in the next corridor?”
“That’s one way, but she used the other stair mostly. The one from the outside, near the portcullis. I never went up there. She liked to be left alone.”
“Did you leave her alone?”
“You think I harassed her?”
“No, I meant more of a friendly visit. Perhaps you got to know her, some personal details that would help us in our investigation. Right now we’re having trouble contacting her family or place of employment. Networks are down and we’re not a priority call according to those making the decisions.” She paused. “You felt someone was harassing her?”
“No, I meant that you … never mind. Yeah, I tried to talk to Felicity but she wasn’t interested. Why would I kill her?”
“You’ve already said why—she wasn’t interested in you. Of course, we may be wrong about that. The victim isn’t necessarily perfect. Maybe she was preying on you or knew something she shouldn’t have.”
“That’s rich. She was what—stalking me—and I couldn’t put an end to it without using a knife? You do know she’d only been here a few days? Hardly long enough for an annoyance to develop to the point of murder.”
“Two weeks. You’ve been here only a month longer. And I don’t think time alone moves people to kill.”
“Good god, I think I may need an attorney.” He tapped the table with his fingertips. “Forget I said that. Go on.” He crossed his arms. “She just looked like—well, she looked like someone I would know and she wasn’t. I don’t know what her game was and you’re right, she told me to get lost.”
“You mean she looked familiar?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t know Felicity Cowell before she was introduced to me here.”
“You arrived six weeks ago. Your first trip to Europe?”
“Yes.”
“Unusual, isn’t it, that a graduate student would be given such a prestigious fellowship if they hadn’t traveled before?”
“I’ve traveled alright. Asia, South America, lots of places, and this would let me continue that research in Europe. Made sense to my advisors.”
Agnes didn’t think it mattered why he was here. “You know that she was killed in an evening dress?” It was impossible to keep details secret in such close quarters. “Do you have any idea why she would have been dressed so extravagantly in the middle of the day?”
He shrugged. “She liked pretty things. Don’t most women?”
Agnes wondered if he had hit upon a truth. Could Felicity Cowell simply have been playing dress-up in the world’s best closet? Not very professional but a secret passion fulfilled? The secret passion of a woman who loved antique things? Not unrealistic. She frowned. That didn’t explain why Felicity left the room wearing a historic dress worth a fortune, or why she wandered out into a killing cold with a borrowed coat and boots.
“Is that all?” Graves asked and Agnes nodded. He left the library like he was being released from prison.