It amused William that Amy was so often late for appointments, church, and other outings but whenever they were doing something that involved snooping, she was always right on time.
He took her arm to escort her down the steps to his waiting carriage. “You look lovely, as always.”
Her outfit was very sedate and professional looking. Her dark-brown wool coat and matching hat were certainly not fancy or eye-catching. The perfect ensemble for stealing files. They settled into the carriage and began the ride to Harding’s office.
Amy turned to him with a smile. “I just helped Aunt Margaret pack and leave for a week-long visit to her friends, Mr. and Mrs. Devon Woods. Aunt Margaret and Mary Woods have been friends since boarding school.” She gripped the strap alongside her head as the carriage hit a bump in the road. “Mrs. Woods married later in life and is now rapidly producing offspring, almost as if she were attempting to catch up.”
His brows rose. “Why does that make you smile so devilishly?”
“Because Aunt Margaret will be spending a week with a house full of children, not her favorite humans.” She shook her head, her grin growing. “No, not her favorite at all.”
After a few minutes of silence, Amy said, “Do you suppose Mr. Tibbs locks the door when he leaves for his lunch?” Once again she grabbed the strap hanging by her head as the carriage hit yet another hole in the road. She rubbed her shoulder, which had struck the side of the carriage. “These roads need to be fixed.”
William nodded. “To answer your question, yes, I’m sure he does lock the door. But I remember Harding telling me when Tibbs first took the space with him that he was very particular about his schedule and even had his meals at the exact same time each day. According to Harding, Tibbs leaves for his midday meal at twelve thirty each day.”
“Ah, it is so convenient when one’s investigation involves a suspect with such punctuality.” Her smile turned to a frown. “Is he on our suspect list?”
His brows rose. “I didn’t realize we had a list.”
“As you so cleverly pointed out, Mr. Harding was not a drinker, so it was highly unlikely he slipped into the river while drunk. That means he was helped into the water. Hence, a murder. Hence, suspects are needed.”
“Your mystery-writer persona is showing,” William said.
She bowed her head. “Thank you.”
The ride didn’t take too long, since the building that housed Harding’s office was only a few streets from Amy’s townhouse. William checked his timepiece. Precisely 12:20.
They entered the building, and William pointed to the staircase. “Next floor up.”
They made their way up the stairs and down the corridor to the second-to-last door on the end. The top half of the door was glass. MR. JAMES HARDING, BUSINESS MANAGER was printed in black, with MR. ERNEST TIBBS, BARRISTER directly below it.
William opened the door and ushered Amy inside. There was an outer area with a desk, but no one occupied it. In all the time William had been doing business with Harding, there had never been anyone at that desk.
Mr. Tibbs stepped out of his office, obviously dressed to go outdoors. “Oh, may I help you?”
“Yes.” William moved toward him and held out his hand. “I am Lord Wethington. I believe we met once before.”
If Tibbs was surprised to see him, it didn’t show. “Yes, I remember. How may I help you, my lord?”
“I would like to retrieve my files from Mr. Harding’s office. I assume there is no problem with that?”
Tibbs looked a bit confused, then uneasy. “I guess that would be all right. I’ve been waiting for the police to visit and secure the office.”
“Why is that?” Did Tibbs know something that had slipped past William?
Tibbs shrugged. “I just assume they will do an investigation. From what I know of criminal law, an unexpected death is considered suspicious and a routine investigation will take place. I’m sure the first place they would look would be Mr. Harding’s office.”
“Yes. That is true.” Tibbs was a Queen’s Counsel, so he clearly knew the law well. He looked at his timepiece. “I guess I can wait while you get your files.”
That would not do. They needed time to do a search of other files. But any concern on Tibbs’s part could make him deny them access to the office. “If the authorities do visit, please feel free to tell them I took my records. We don’t wish to stop you from taking your meal.”
Tibbs looked relieved. “Thank you, my lord.” He grabbed his hat. “I will leave you to your work, then.” He got as far as the door and stopped. “If you will turn this latch when you leave, it will lock the office and I have a key to get in.”
Once the door closed, Amy and William headed to Harding’s office. Everything was quiet, almost as if the room sensed its occupant was permanently gone. Dust motes danced in the sunlight streaming from the window behind Harding’s desk.
“Have you ever visited here?” Amy asked in a soft voice.
“Yes. Most times, Harding came to my home, but on occasion it became necessary for me to visit him here.” William moved to stand behind the desk. “I will search his desk, and I suggest you start with the files.”
Like most offices, Harding had employed the pigeonhole organization method, using vertical folders to sort and order his various clients.
“What are we looking for?”
“First of all, pull my file, then make a list of his other clients. I’m thinking if someone did want Harding dead for business reasons, it might be one of his clients. That is especially true if he was fleecing others as he was me and Mr. Lemmon. If we have time, we can skim some paperwork to see if there are inconsistencies or anything in the documents that looks odd.”
“That will take some time.” Amy spoke over her shoulder as she slid out a stack of files. “We only have about an hour. And not even that if Tibbs eats fast. He might not mind us being here to retrieve your files, but it would not take more than ten or fifteen minutes to make sure you have your things.”
“We will work as quickly as possible and get out of here before he returns.” William opened the center drawer of Harding’s desk. Pencils, paper, two pens, and a dried-up inkwell.
The two drawers on the right-hand side of the desk held personal items—the first one a comb, brush, toothbrush, and tooth powder, the second some photographs and an old, bulky sweater. As William shut that drawer, he looked up at Amy, who was frowning and leafing through folders. “What’s wrong?”
She continued to thumb through the files. “I’ve gone through these twice, and there are no files here under your name.”
“What? That’s impossible. I’ve been his client for three years.” He headed over to where Amy sat in a chair, folders on her lap and stacked on the floor next to her.
“These files are in alphabetical order.” She motioned to the piles on her lap and the floor. “Yet there is no file under William or Lord or Wethington.”
“How odd.” He bent over her shoulder and looked at the stack on her lap. “I can’t imagine why, but try my family name. St. John.”
Amy reached for a group of folders on the floor. She worked her way through them. “No. Nothing here for a St. John.”
This was very, very strange indeed. “I have an idea. Look in the files and see if you find a Mr. Charles Lemmon.”
Amy searched both stacks. “No Charles Lemmon.” She looked up at him. “Is he not the man we spoke with at the Assembly?”
“Yes. As he said, he had a reason to believe Harding was doing something odd with his businesses.”
“Since both files are missing, I would say that is no coincidence.” Amy stood and began to place the files back in their pigeonholes. “Now what do we do?”
“It doesn’t pay to search the files to see if there were some discrepancies. Since my file and Lemmon’s file are both missing, that leads me to believe that the records of those Harding was pilfering were not kept here.”
William began to pick u
p the files from the floor. “Let’s put things back the way we found them and leave. We need to discuss this further, but not here.” William helped her return the files, not caring too much if they were in order.
They took one last look around the room, fastened the latch as Tibbs had asked them to do, and left the office.
The carriage awaited them at the end of the pavement. A light rain had begun to fall while they were occupied upstairs. Amy shivered as the carriage moved forward. William handed her the blanket, and she wrapped it around her body.
“Since you are always providing me with sustenance, I would like to offer you tea at my house for a change. We will be able to discuss our investigation over the best biscuits in Bath.”
Amy nodded. “That sounds lovely, only I believe my cook makes the best biscuits.”
“We shall see.” He grinned.
“Regarding our search of Mr. Harding’s office, it appears we now have a few reasons to investigate the man’s death.”
“True.” William began to tick them off on his fingers. “First, Harding, a known teetotaler, falls into the river and drowns while carrying a flask. Second, I had suspicions that things weren’t right before that happened. Third, we find out that Mr. Lemmon was also being cheated, and fourth, Lemmon’s records as well as my own are missing from Harding’s office.”
“And perhaps others are missing.”
“True, and a very good point, Miss Murder Mystery Author.” He looked out at the rain coming down a bit harder, everyone on the street huddled under their umbrellas. February was such a bleak month.
Once they arrived at his home, William escorted Amy to his drawing room and advised his cook that he had a guest for tea. He also left the door to the room open to avoid any suggestion of impropriety.
“What are your thoughts on how to locate the missing files?” Amy settled on the sofa and adjusted her skirts. “I am anxious to proceed with the investigation. There is a murderer out there, and he or she needs to be caught. Who knows when the police might decide Harding’s death was not an accident?”
William started a fire in the fireplace, which helped to take some of the dampness out of the room. “Obviously the records have to be somewhere. There is no way Harding conducted all the business he did for me—and now we know for Lemmon as well—without having records of it. The question remains, where are the records?”
“If they are not in his office, the obvious place would be his residence. Do you know where he lives?”
William stopped in front of Amy and rested his hands on his hips. “Yes. He has a flat here in Bath but also a home outside the city on the road to Bristol.”
Her eyes widened. “Two homes? It appears the man was doing quite well.” She grinned. “At others’ expense.”
“According to Harding, the home outside the city was an inheritance from a family member.”
She studied him, her author’s mind obviously going over the facts in her head. “And now you doubt that.” It wasn’t a question.
William snorted. “I am beginning to doubt everything I knew about the man.”
Amy placed her hands in her lap, fingers linked. “There is only one thing to be done.”
“And that is?”
“We must break into his flat. And if we find nothing there, we must break into his home outside the city.” She gave him a curt nod.
William considered her for a moment. “You have no problem acting the criminal, do you?”
Amy sniffed. “We are not criminals. We are investigators trying to catch a criminal. And in this case, a murderer.”
“I agree that with the police still not sure if Harding’s death was murder or an accident, finding who killed Harding is our primary goal, but I am also interested to know exactly how much Harding stole from me. I can’t reconcile my records without his in hand.”
“Therefore, breaking into his flat to retrieve your records is not a crime.”
William smiled. “I would love to see the magistrate’s face when you offer that explanation for why we were caught rummaging around a dead man’s flat.”
“There is no reason to be concerned about that, my lord.”
“And why is that?”
“I have no intention of getting caught.”
William quoted:
The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men
gang aft agley,
an’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain
for promis’d joy!
“Robert Burns,” Amy said.
“Exactly.”
One of his maids pushed a tea cart into the drawing room. Mrs. Pringle was right behind her, directing the setup.
“Thank you, everything looks wonderful.” Because William’s cook seemed to think he would fade away if she didn’t ply him with immense amounts of food, she had sent in small sandwiches, tarts, biscuits, cheese, and fruit along with a large pot of tea.
William nodded at Amy. “Will you pour, my lady?” With Mrs. Pringle present, he reverted to formality.
Amy poured the tea for them both, adding sugar and a drop of milk in William’s. She handed him a plate. “Choose what you wish. I’m not sure how hungry you are.”
He filled his plate with everything offered while she took cheese, fruit, and a small biscuit. He noticed but didn’t comment as she eyed the lovely tarts but didn’t put one on her plate.
“Have you admitted that breaking into Harding’s flat is the best way to move forward?” Amy asked in a low voice.
William wiped his mouth with a napkin and sighed. “I never think breaking the law is the best way to do anything, but in this case, breaking in will not be necessary.”
“Oh. Why is that?”
“I am part owner of the building where his flat is located. All I need do is contact the managing agent and tell him I need to enter Harding’s flat to retrieve some of my belongings.”
Amy sat back. “Well. That was certainly easy enough. Why did you not tell me before that we would not have to break into the building?”
He grinned. “I was far too entertained listening to you planning on operating on the wrong side of the law again.”
Amy had opened her mouth—to offer a retort, no doubt—when his attention was drawn by noise at the front door. It sounded as if a whirlwind had entered. “What the devil?” He stood and walked to the drawing room entrance.
“William! I cannot tell you how delighted I am to finally arrive.” His mother smiled and tugged on the tips of her gloves. “All my luggage will be here in a day or so. But right now I could use a good cup of tea.” She glided up to him and kissed him on his cheek while he stared dumbfounded at her.
She was actually here. She had made good on her promise to move in with him.
Mother leaned back and patted him on the cheek. “My goodness, son, you look as though you’ve seen a ghost.” To his horror, before he could stop her and explain, she moved past him and entered the drawing room. Sucking in a deep breath, she clasped her hands to her throat and said, “Oh my goodness.” His conniving, diligent, hungry-for-more-grandchildren, marriage-minded mother turned to him with absolute glee written on her face. “Who have we here?”
William dropped his head to his chest and groaned.
CHAPTER 7
It didn’t take much in the way of investigative skills for Amy to determine that the grinning woman standing in the doorway to William’s drawing room was his mother. Same hair color, same eye color, and similar stances, although there was nothing masculine about Lady Wethington.
She was graceful, lovely to look at, and well dressed. Amy stood and smiled at her. “Good afternoon. I assume you are Lady Wethington?”
The woman extended both of her arms and walked toward Amy as if she’d just discovered her long-lost daughter. “Yes, my dear. I am William’s mother, and so very, very pleased to meet you.”
Lady Wethington grasped Amy’s hands and squeezed. Amy looked over the woman’s shoulder, afraid she might pull her in a f
or a hug. William’s face had gone quite pale.
“Mother, if you will release my guest, I will introduce you to Lady Amy Lovell. She is the daughter of the Marquess of Winchester and sister to the Earl of Davenport.”
Lady Wethington let go of Amy, allowing her to take a deep breath, and regarded her with so much happiness that Amy suddenly felt the need to escape. As quickly as possible.
“You are just perfect. Perfect!” Lady Wethington withdrew a laced handkerchief from the cuff of her dress and patted the corners of her eyes.
William cast a look of desperation at Mrs. Pringle, who remained at the window seat but had stood upon Lady Wethington’s entrance. The housekeeper hurried forward. “Lady Wethington. How lovely to see you again! We have prepared your room. I am sure you will want to take a short rest after your journey.” She took William’s mother by her elbow and attempted to move her forward.
Lady Wethington was not allowing that. At all. She pulled her elbow from Mrs. Pringle’s grip. “So nice to see you as well, Mrs. Pringle. But I believe I will join my son and his—guest—for tea.”
They all took seats, and when Lady Wethington merely stared at the teapot, Amy sighed. Lady Wethington apparently expected her to act as hostess.
“Mrs. Pringle, can you please bring more hot water for her ladyship? I believe this one has chilled.” Thank goodness Amy had spent enough time at William’s house that the staff didn’t seem to resent requests from her.
“Wonderful,” Lady Wethington said, and beamed at Amy. She turned to William, who looked as if he had something caught in his throat. “I do hope I am not interrupting anything … personal?”
Amy had reached the point where she found the entire situation comical. She’d thought her papa was anxious to see her married off. Absolutely nothing could compare to William’s mother. There was no doubt in Amy’s mind that Lady Wethington was mentally composing the invitation list for their wedding and would soon join William’s cook to work out the wedding breakfast menu.
“No, Mother. You have not interrupted anything personal. Lady Amy and I belong to the same book club. We were merely discussing the current book.”
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