Джорджетт Хейер - Envious Casca

"Just a minute!" said Stephen. "How the devil did you get on to it?"

"You read the Life of the Empress Elizabeth of Austria instead of grumbling at other people for doing so, and maybe you'll find out," said Hemingway. "Your Uncle Joseph read it - all of it, which is more than he allowed his wife to do. Where is she, sir?"

"In the drawing-room. Miss Clare's with her. Was the Empress murdered, then?"

"I'm not going to spoil the story for you," said the Inspector firmly. "Besides, I haven't time. You'll find it all in the encyclopedia."

"Damn you!" Stephen said, and took him to the drawing-room.

When she saw the Inspector, Maud looked steadily at him, her hands folded in her lap, her face quite expressionless. Mathilda moved instinctively to her side, but when the Inspector told her briefly, but as gently as he could, that her husband was under arrest, she showed no sign of agitation. For a moment she did not speak. Then she said: "I did not see how Joseph could have done it."

Taken aback, Mathilda exclaimed: "You thought he might have?"

"Oh yes!" Maud replied matter-of-factly. "You see, I have lived with Joseph for nearly thirty years. You none of you understood him."

Mathilda looked at her in blank astonishment. "Didn't you - didn't you like him?" she asked.

"I liked him when I married him, naturally," Maud answered. "I have disliked him very much for many years now, however."

"Yet you went on living with him!"

Maud rose, rearranging the scarf she wore round her shoulders. A small, tight smile just widened her little mouth. "I was brought up to believe that one married for better or for worse," she said. "I daresay you thought that because I used to be an actress I didn't care about such things. But I have always believed in doing one's duty. Joseph was not unfaithful to me, you see." She walked across the room to the door. "I shall not come duwn to dinner," she stated. "It would make you all feel uncomfortable, if I did. Is there anything more you wish to say to me, Inspector?"

"No, madam, nothing more," Hemingway said, as astonished as Mathilda.

"Would you like me to come up with you?" asked Mathilda.

"No, thank you, dear. Just tell them to send dinner to my room, please, and don't worry about me. I shall be quiet happy, making plans for the little house I've always wanted to live in." She paused, and glanced up at Stephen, who was holding the door open for her. She smiled again. "By myself!" she said simply, and walked out of the room.