“I’m so sorry I couldn’t come. My parents were in such a flurry of packing and preparing to leave for France that I couldn’t get away. I will not ask such a banal question as how you are feeling. I will only say how very sorry I am and offer any help I can.” She turned Agatha, keeping her arm about Agatha’s waist. “Let us go into the salon. You could use a bracing cup of tea.” Juliette hugged her dear friend to her side and led her toward the drawing room.

Before they got there, Juliette remembered Daniel and the reason for their visit. “Agatha, Mr. Swann is here too. He needs to ask some questions about your father—if you are feeling up to it.”

Agatha stiffened, glancing over her shoulder. “Of course. I know it is necessary, but I cannot imagine that I know anything that will assist him. And there are callers coming soon. Can this not wait until another day?”

Daniel stepped forward. “My apologies, Miss Montgomery, but the matter cannot be put off. Delay could mean allowing the person who killed your father to escape justice.”

Her shoulders drooped, and she groped for her handkerchief. “Very well.”

He followed them into the drawing room, where the staff had pulled the drapes and lit several candelabras and lamps. Juliette led Agatha to the settee and indicated that Daniel should take the chair adjacent. The footman waited for their cloaks, and as Juliette handed hers over, she noted the long table prepared with food and drink for the coming guests.

“I’ll pour you some tea, Agatha,” Juliette said. “I assume you would prefer coffee, Mr. Swann?”

His eyes met hers, part surprise, part gratitude. “If you will, thank you.”

A flicker of satisfaction burned beneath her stays at remembering his preference for the bitter brew.

Daniel had his notebook on his knee, his pencil in hand. “I do apologize if these questions distress you, Miss Montgomery, but I must ask them. Can you think of anyone who would want to harm your father? Had he mentioned any trouble at the mill or in his personal life?”

Agatha shook her head, touching her handkerchief to her nose. “No. But he would not have told me in any case. He felt business was too much for a woman’s so-called weaker mind, and he would not have wished to burden me.” She blinked, looking to Juliette as she accepted the cup of tea with milk and sugar but then placed it on the table next to her.

“Did he ever speak of unrest among his workers, particularly at the mill?”

“Do you think one of his own employees killed him?” Agatha paled. “Alonzo said it must be the work of anarchists. You should speak to that odious Mr. Finch, who was so outspoken at the Thorndike luncheon.”