“What if he is?”
“I would like to speak with him. His stepmother is quite concerned about him.”
The woman snorted and opened the door wider, allowing William to enter. “If she’s so concerned, why isn’t she here herself?”
“She was unable to locate him.” As he stepped inside, his eyes swept the inside of the residence, which was quite pleasant. Although the furniture and accoutrements were old and worn, the place was clean and tidy, with splashes of color provided by pillows and a vase of flowers. The woman tightened the belt around her dressing gown.
“May I speak with Mr. Whitney?”
“I’ll have to get him out of bed first. He’s been sick, you know.”
“Sick?”
The woman nodded. “He’s been suffering from an ague, and I’ve been caring for him.”
“That is very kind of you. How long has he been sick?”
“Aye. About two weeks. He showed up here sick as can be and practically collapsed at my feet.”
“You are friends, I assume?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “It’s not what you’re thinking. I’m a respectable woman and earn my wages by working in a pub. Serving drinks. Nothing more.”
A bell went off in William’s head. “At which pub do you work?”
“What’s it to you? I just said I only serve drinks.”
“No. I apologize; that is not what I meant. I am looking for those who work in the pubs near the river.”
“Looking for Patrick, looking for people who work at pubs. What are you, some private investigator?”
“No. I am checking on Patrick on behalf of his stepmother. I would like to speak to those who work at pubs near a certain part of the river for another reason.”
The woman sniffed. “Sounds suspicious to me.”
Perhaps his title would get him some answers. “I am Lord Wethington. May I ask your name?”
“Millie. Mrs. Millie Johnson.” She fisted her hands on her hips. “Why?”
The woman was certainly of the suspicious sort. But then, if she was serving drinks in a pub near the river and allowing men to stay in her house while they recovered from illnesses, she would have to be suspicious in order to stay unharmed. And alive.
Since it appeared he would get nowhere with Mrs. Johnson, he said, “May I speak with Mr. Whitney?”
Millie shrugged and pointed to a room to his left. “You can wait in there. I think he’s probably well enough to come downstairs.”
William nodded his thanks and entered the drawing room. Whitney had been sick for the past couple of weeks and staying here. Why he wouldn’t seek help from his stepmother raised a few questions in William’s mind.
About fifteen minutes passed before Whitney entered the room. William had no idea what he had expected the man to look like, but nevertheless he was startled to see a very young man, perhaps little more than eight and twenty years. He had the look of someone who had been sick for a while. Moving slowly, he had pasty skin, dark circles under his eyes, and a slender form, which could be his normal figure. “Why are you looking for me?”
Just the walk to the room and that little bit of speech had left Whitney breathless.
“Why don’t we sit?” William waved to a faded olive-green settee.
Whitney nodded and plodded over to the settee. He let out a deep sigh once he was seated. For having been sick for a couple of weeks already, the man was not in good shape. Whatever had gotten hold of him must have brought him close to his death.
He looked over at William with narrowed eyes. “What do you want?”
William leaned forward. “Your stepmother is concerned about you. She wanted me to find you and let her know you are all right.” No point in mentioning she was afraid he might be hiding for killing Harding.
“As you can see, I am not all right, but don’t tell her that; she worries about everything. Which is why, when I started to feel really sick, I came to Millie’s house. We’ve been friends for years.”
“How long were your father and stepmother married?”
“Only about three years when he died last year.” He leaned his head back on the settee and closed his eyes. The man was really in poor condition.
“Do you have employment you’ve been unable to attend to while you’ve been sick?”
He shook his head. “No. My father left me a tidy sum. I also inherited his two businesses.” He remained silent for a bit, then said, “How is Mrs. Whitney? She was distraught the last time I saw her.”
Likely she had been distraught because he was making threats. It was time to either cross Patrick off his list of suspects or move him to the top.
“When she spoke with me, she was troubled because she said you had threatened Mr. Harding.”
He waved his hand. “I’ve been sick too long to deal with Harding. But you can be sure I will visit with him to check on Mrs. Whitney’s trust.”
William was taken aback. “Did you not know that Mr. Harding is dead?”
Patrick sat up, his eyes wide. “Dead?”
“Yes. He drowned a couple of weeks ago. His body was found floating in the River Avon.”
Patrick shook his head. “I didn’t trust the man, but I’m sorry for his death.”
William still had one question to ask, despite the man’s reaction to Harding’s death. “Did you kill Mr. Harding?”
“I’ve been sick. Haven’t left the house for weeks. Was it not an accident, then?”
“No. Someone apparently got him drunk and pushed him into the river. Right about the time you had a conversation with Mrs. Whitney about seeking Harding out.”
Patrick groaned and shook his head. “Are the police looking for me?”
“No. They think they have found the culprit, but I’m sure they have not.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s me.”
Patrick laughed. “No wonder you were anxious to find me—not so much that my stepmother was concerned as you wanted to pin this thing on me. Well, I can tell you, my lord, I had a bit of whiskey in me and ranted about the man and his stealing from my stepmother, but then I went out and got more drunk. I woke up in an alley feeling like death would soon arrive.
“When I realized my illness was not the result of overindulging but something else, I managed to get to Millie’s house. She’s been taking care of me. I’m afraid you will have to look elsewhere for someone to take your place at the swinging rope.”
Patrick’s story made sense, and William was sure Mrs. Johnson would back him up in saying he’d been here in her house, recovering from some illness, since the night he’d left his stepmother.
It seemed young Whitney would have to be removed from their list of suspects.
“What shall I tell your stepmother?”
Patrick sighed. “Tell her I have been ill and am slowly recovering at a friend’s house and will be in touch with her when I’m feeling better. She worries far too much about everything. You might sweeten it a little bit by saying I don’t want to see her until I am sure I am no longer contagious.”
William nodded and then slapped his thighs and stood. “Thank you for seeing me. I appreciate the information.”
“Do you?” Patrick’s brows rose. “Aren’t you a bit sorry that you couldn’t lay the blame for Harding’s death at my door?”
The young man was sharp.
“No need to walk me to the door. I assume you wish to return to your bed.”
“Yes. I have been seen by a doctor, and he believes I should be up and about in another two or three days.”
“One more thing before I leave. Mrs. Johnson mentioned she works at a pub near the river. Which pub is that?”
Whitney hesitated slightly. “The King’s Garden.”
The pub where the man had told them Harding was meeting people every couple of weeks. Perhaps, since he had met Mrs. Johnson, he and Amy could revisit the place and speak with her there.
“Do you know when she works
next?”
“Why?”
“I just wondered if she saw anything. Mr. Harding’s body was found not too far from that pub.”
“She works various times.” Patrick gave William a look that told him he wanted to return to his bed.
If William remembered correctly, he and Amy had made their visits to the pubs on a Tuesday afternoon. Since he hadn’t recognized Mrs. Johnson when she came to the door, possibly she worked at night.
“Well, thank you again. I will advise your stepmother of your condition. I am sure she will be relieved.”
There was no reaction from Whitney.
William left the house without seeing any more of Mrs. Johnson and wondering if there was warmth or absolute coldness between Patrick and Mrs. Whitney. His visit with Patrick had not cleared it up either way.
After leaving the house, he made his way to the public mews for his horse. Since he was alone on this trip, he hadn’t bothered with his carriage.
He purposely hadn’t told Amy about the visit, because she would have insisted on coming with him, and since he’d had no idea what he was walking into, he hadn’t wanted to worry about defending himself and her.
When he picked her up later for the Assembly, he would relate the details of his visit. Hopefully she wouldn’t be too mad at him, but even if she was angry, it had been worth it not to have to be anxious about her.
About an hour later, he walked into his house to find his mother pacing in the entryway. “There you are.” She hurried to him, threw her arms around him, and burst into tears.
“Mother, what’s wrong?”
She kept sobbing and clinging to him. He slowly walked her into the drawing room, where he placed her on a sofa and sat alongside her.
She looked up at him and waved a sodden handkerchief at him. “Those horrible police people were here again.”
Uh-oh. That didn’t sound good. He wasn’t supposed to hear from them until he had a chance to go over the records his solicitor had requested from Harding’s files. “What did they want?”
She patted her eyes and took a deep breath. “They wanted to talk to you again.”
“What did you tell them?”
“I gave them quite a tongue-lashing—bothering an upstanding citizen of Bath and our wonderful country of England. I sent them on their way and told them to never show their faces here again.”
William didn’t know whether to laugh or cry—his mother had told police detectives who believed he was guilty of murder to never show their faces again. “Did they say anything about a warrant?”
“A what?”
“A warrant for my arrest?”
She sucked in a breath and glared at him. “Of course not. And they better not dare come here with something like that. I will get a gun and shoot them.”
“Mother!” Whatever was it with fine well-bred ladies wanting guns? “You will do no such thing. You have never handled a gun, and if you did, you would most likely shoot your foot off.”
She raised her chin. “I can learn.”
The devil take it. Didn’t he have enough on his hands without worrying about Amy and now his mother purchasing a gun and racing off to do damage to themselves?
“Mother, promise me you will not buy a gun.”
“I think it might make me feel secure.”
“No. It will not make you feel secure. You will end up shooting me or one of the staff who startle you. I have never felt the need to protect myself in my own home with a gun. Now promise.”
Images of his mother hanging out the window, waving a gun and taking shots at the police detectives, had his heartbeat picking up speed.
Mother wiped her nose. “I consulted with your dear father last night, and he knows you will overcome this foolishness, since it grows near the time you should be married and filling your nursery.”
William dropped his head in his hands. “Mother, we’ve been through this before. It is not possible to receive information and advice from dear Papa.”
“Nonsense. The link between the two of us does not end with death.”
A change of subject was in order. “You didn’t answer me. Please promise you will not buy a gun.” Just the thought of it made him shudder.
“Very well. But they better not come around here again. I will refuse to receive them.”
Well, that would certainly stop the detectives in their path.
“Why don’t you take a cooling bath and have dinner sent up to your room? Perhaps you might skip the Assembly tonight.”
“No. Not at all. I just love spending time with Lady Amy; she is such a pleasant young woman, and she seems quite fond of you.” That look was in her eyes again.
“Yes, Lady Amy is quite pleasant. Now I think you should take a short rest, have your bath and dinner, and then if you still feel up to it, we will attend the Assembly.”
She patted his cheek. “You are such a fine son. I am so very proud of you.” She stood and kissed him on the head as if he were seven years.
Only a mother would say she was proud of someone who had a murder charge hanging over their head.
It was disturbing that the police had returned so soon. Hopefully it had not been with an arrest warrant. He headed to the sideboard and poured himself a brandy. Were it not for the fact that he would be disappointing Amy and his mother, he would skip socializing for the rest of the day and crawl into bed and drink himself into oblivion.
He downed his drink and trudged upstairs. It didn’t bother him at all that he wished Amy was upstairs waiting for him. He could use a bit of consolation right now. Maybe it was time for him to marry. He smiled. The word that had always had him breaking into a sweat no longer seemed so terrifying.
CHAPTER 23
“I don’t understand what is wrong with Persephone.” Amy settled into William’s carriage after wishing Lady Wethington a good evening. “She has been so clingy lately. She doesn’t want me to leave her side.”
“Hasn’t she always been that way? I remember when we …” William drifted off, no doubt remembering their foray into Harding’s house, where Persephone had barked every time Amy walked two feet from her.
“I would say yes, she is a bit attached to me, but it has certainly gotten worse lately.”
“She’s getting old.”
Amy had a difficult time leaving for the Assembly, one place she could definitely not bring her dog. She hated having to trick her in order to depart with any sense of dignity. Right now Persephone was happily gnawing on a bone from Cook. Once she finished that and looked around to find Amy gone, she might begin to wail.
Lady Wethington seemed distracted and a bit on edge. Whatever was troubling her hadn’t kept her from attending the Assembly, though. Amy made a mental note to ask William when they were alone if something was wrong. Men didn’t always notice such things, and he might need some prodding to see what was troubling the woman.
Aunt Margaret had left earlier, once more accompanied by Lord Pembroke. He had apparently returned from the business trip she had told Amy about.
Aunt Margaret was closemouthed about his lordship, and Amy allowed her that discretion, even though her aunt had no qualms when it came to offering suggestions and advice about William.
The gathering was well under way when they arrived. Well-dressed couples swirled around the dance floor to the tune of a quartet. It was late February, and though the Assembly was full tonight, many of the families would soon be leaving to travel to London for the Season.
For at least two decades, American heiresses had made up a sizable proportion of the young ladies presented each Season with the idea of snaring a husband. Railroad barons, hoteliers, and industrial giants in America were anxious to secure titles for their daughters to solidify their social standing in the United States.
English estates had long been financed by agriculture, with England being the worldwide leader in grain production. However, once the United States started cultivating grain on its prairies, production in Englan
d had begun to suffer. Consequently, aristocrats were more than willing to trade their titles for money.
During the Season in London, families would retire to Bath for a week or so to take a break from the social swirl, but the number of tourists would shrink considerably very soon.
Amy and William and his mother were barely past the front door when Mr. Colbert strode across the room, dodging dancers, heading straight for Lady Wethington, a huge smile of welcome on his face. Amy kept her own smile to herself when she saw William scowl.
Mr. Colbert took Lady Wethington’s outstretched hand and bowed over it. “Good evening, my lady. You are looking splendid, as always.”
Lady Wethington was not immune to flattery and blushed slightly. “Thank you, Mr. Colbert. It is a pleasure to see you.”
“Colbert.” William offered a curt nod.
“Good evening to you, Lady Amy.”
“You as well, Mr. Colbert.” Wishing to distract William so that poor Mr. Colbert could have a word with Lady Wethington, or possibly ask her to dance, Amy took William’s arm. “I find myself a bit parched; will you join me in a stroll to the refreshment table?”
He didn’t look happy, but being a gentleman, he took her arm, and they moved away. “For goodness’ sake, William. You’re acting like an overprotective father of a young blushing miss.”
“Did you not see my mother blush?”
Amy laughed. “I thought you liked Mr. Colbert.”
“I like him as a co-member of the book club. I like him as a well-respected solicitor. I like him when I see him in my club. I like him as the leader of the book club meetings. I don’t like him as a man who looks at my mother in that way.”
“She’s an adult. She’s been married. She raised two children and is a grandmother. I’m sure she can handle a mild flirtation with a man.”
William snorted. “Mild flirtation.” He shook his head as if she were trying to convince him of the truth of a fairy tale. “I wonder what my father will think of this.”
“Your father? He is deceased, is he not?”
He waved his hand. “Yes. But Mother ‘consults’ with him on various things.”
“Seriously?”
The Sign of Death Page 18
