Forty-FiveShe was shivering so badly that her teeth were chattering, and it was a hot summer’s day. She perched on the front edge of a chair, facing the iron-faced bat she’d been told was Mrs Roach and fought to keep control.
The shock of finding Hiram dead, and then immediately afterward having Edmund entrap her, was taking a goodly time to digest. She’d barely said a word since she made the demand for Sir John to be called. She recognized that even though the accusation was ridiculous, her situation could be perilous. And she certainly would not be telling anyone the incendiary incriminations Hiram had made against the Senator. Tell them any of that and it would confirm their suspicion she was a madwoman.
Mrs Roach sat glowering on the other side of the desk in a stuffy sweltering room
