The Sign of Death

by Callie Hutton

  “No. Not yet, anyway. Mr. Nelson-Graves is keeping my name out of it until he has no choice but to reveal it. I am hoping to have the true killer behind bars before it gets that far.”

  They settled in a seat near the window, watching those brave enough to walk around in the chilly air.

  “I must make a visit to Mrs. Carol Whitney,” William said as they waited for their tea. “With all that has happened, I forgot to report back to her that I found her stepson—that he has been ill but is now on the mend.”

  “I wonder how he’s getting on with Mrs. Johnson dead. It was her house he was living in, isn’t that so?”

  “Yes. He went there when he began to feel sick, and she took care of him.”

  “That was very nice of her. He must feel terrible about her death.”

  “Yes. I’m sure he was notified by the police.”

  “He might not even still be there.”

  William shrugged. “That is a possibility. But first we must visit with Mrs. Whitney and let her know her stepson is all right.”

  “Have we removed her from our list, then?”

  William lips tightened. “No one is being removed from our list until this is over. The only person who I know for a fact is innocent is me.”

  CHAPTER 28

  “Have you seen my copy of The Woman in White? I know I left it here in the drawing room.” Lady Wethington wandered around the room, looking under chairs and tables.

  William looked up from his comfortable chair in the drawing room, where he was reading his morning newspaper. “I believe I saw the book in the kitchen, of all places. I thought perhaps Cook had decided to join our book club too.”

  “Oh dear. That is correct. I remember having it in my hands when I went to visit Cook yesterday to arrange for my dinner party.”

  “Dinner party?” He lowered his newspaper and watched his mother blush prettily.

  “Yes.” She raised her chin. “I decided it was time we held a social affair or two.”

  “If I remember correctly, we had Lady Amy’s family for dinner less than a month past.”

  “My dear son. Having guests for dinner once a month hardly signifies entertaining. Once you marry, you know Lady Amy will want socializing.”

  “Wait. What makes you think Lady Amy and I will marry?”

  He grew uneasy when she merely stared at him with raised brows and a you don’t fool me look. He picked up his newspaper, shook it to straighten it out, and continued to read.

  “I am planning a dinner party for a week from Friday.”

  He lowered the newspaper again. “Mother, with murder charges hanging over my head, I don’t think this is the best time to plan any sort of entertainment.”

  She waved her hand as if murder charges were something any dimwit could deal with. “That will all be cleared up any day now. There is no need to avoid normal life.”

  “Madam, I just indicated that dinner parties were not part of my normal life to begin with.”

  “You worry too much, my dear. All will be fine.” She did that awful pat-on-the-head thing again.

  “I wish I had your optimism,” he mumbled to his newspaper.

  But alas, she was not going to permit him his morning indulgence. “I have the list here of guests, which I would like you to approve.”

  “Me? Why would I need to approve? It appears you have everything in hand.”

  Instead of answering him, she slid the guest list between him and his newspaper. He lowered the paper again. “Very well. Since I will have no peace until I do this, let me look it over.

  “Mr. Colbert! Why is he invited? I have never socialized with the man.” When no answer was forthcoming, he continued to peruse the list: Mr. Charles Colbert, Miss Gertrude O’Neill, Miss Penelope O’Neill, Mr. George (how had she gotten his name?) Davidson, Mr. Christopher Rawlings, Lady Amy Lovell, Lady Margaret Lovell, Lord Franklin Winchester, Lord Michael Davenport.

  “Some are book club members, along with all of Lady Amy’s family. What are you planning, Mother?”

  She looked very innocent. “A dinner party. I just told you.”

  Knowing his mother as he did, he would get no further information from her, but a sinking feeling in his stomach told him he had a good idea of what she was planning. Perhaps he should visit a jeweler in town before the dinner.

  On the other hand, three of the intended guests were on their suspect list: Miss Gertrude, Mr. Davidson, and Mr. Christopher Rawlings, whom he had mentally added after witnessing the embrace in Davidson’s carriage the other night. It was apparent that Mr. Davidson and Mr. Rawlings were lovers, and since that was illegal and punishable by law, they would both want to keep Harding silenced.

  “Do you care to see the menu?”

  He shook his newspaper, which would have been a signal to anyone else that he was irritated with the constant interruptions. Mother had always been an exception to normal rules. “No. I am certain whatever you work out with Cook will be excellent.”

  “We do want to make it special.”

  He ignored that statement.

  “Certain events require a special menu.”

  When he remained silent, she said, “Don’t you agree, William?”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. Perhaps he could wait until this afternoon and read the morning paper along with the evening paper.

  “Yes. I agree, Mother. However, now I must leave for an appointment. I am sure whatever you plan will be wonderful. I await the festivities with great fervor.” He stood, placed his newspaper on the table next to his chair, gave her a slight bow, and left the room.

  * * *

  If Amy was surprised at his early arrival, she didn’t show it. Instead, she greeted him with a huge smile. “Good morning, my lord. I didn’t expect you so early, but I am happy to see you.”

  “Things were a bit uncomfortable at home.”

  She led him to a sofa in the drawing room. “Why is that?”

  How much to tell Amy? Should he share his suspicions? She continued to stare at him.

  “Mother is planning a dinner and wanted my advice on it, and you know how little I know about such things.”

  “Yes, we all received invitations.”

  He said, “She’s invited Mr. Colbert as well.”

  “That is quite interesting. It appears they are becoming a couple.”

  William grunted. “As long as his ideas of a couple don’t encompass anything untoward.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, William, you sound like an old shriveled-up spinster.”

  He was gentleman enough not to mention that, given her age, she could herself be considered a spinster. Except Amy was much too lively, intelligent, and bold to hold that moniker.

  “I was preparing to have luncheon soon. Papa, Michael, and Aunt Margaret will be joining me. I hope you will stay as well?”

  A meal with another parent staring him down with that expression so evident in his mother’s eyes these days. “Yes. I would be honored. Then I think we should go as planned to Mrs. Whitney’s house and let her know her stepson has been ill but now seems to be on the road to recovery.”

  “After all this time, she must be quite anxious.”

  “I know. I feel bad about that. I would also like to visit with Patrick Whitney. I’m almost sure the police would have visited Mrs. Johnson’s house when her body was found, so he should already know about her death. But I do want to ask him a couple of questions about her and offer my condolences.”

  “Wethington, good to see you.” Amy’s father strode across the room, his hand outstretched. William shook hands with him, and then Winchester slapped him on the back, almost sending him to the floor. “Joining us for luncheon, I hope?”

  William straightened his jacket and smoothed back his hair. “Yes, sir. Lady Amy was gracious enough to invite me.”

  Winchester rubbed his hands. “Good, good. How about a small drink?” He strode to the sideboard, poured two glasses, and brought one over. William ra
rely drank spirits before the sun set, but not wanting to seem ungracious—or possibly judgmental—he accepted the glass.

  Amy’s father waved to one of the chairs. “Have a seat, son. Haven’t seen you in a while.”

  Both of them settled with their glasses of brandy.

  Isn’t this cozy?

  “Lady Amy tells me you’re still having some issues with the police.”

  Issues with the police. That’s an interesting way to refer to two murder charges. The man must be taking lessons from my mother.

  “Yes. Mr. Nelson-Graves is being most helpful. I hope to have them cleared up directly.”

  “Good, good.”

  “Company, how lovely.” Aunt Margaret sailed into the room. “And we’re drinking so early?” Her raised eyebrows were directed at Amy’s father.

  “Would you care for a sherry, sister? Amy?”

  Both refused.

  “Are we having a party, then?” Amy’s brother, Michael, entered the drawing room. “I’ll have a brandy.” He walked to the sideboard and poured himself a drink.

  They all chatted amiably until Stevens announced that luncheon was ready.

  It was a pleasant lunch—white soup, salmon with a dill sauce, potatoes, and a mix of carrots and turnips. The conversation was lively, and Lord Winchester kept them laughing with stories about his travels when he was a young man.

  It was obvious the family got along well, even though Lord Winchester chided his sister about not marrying. Once or twice he directed his comments about the married state to Michael, but the earl never took the bait. Smart man.

  ’Twas interesting that Winchester never mentioned Amy and a potential match for her, although he looked at William more than once with a speculative eye.

  Soon the meal ended and he and Amy were on their way to Mrs. Whitney’s house.

  * * *

  Amy breathed a sigh of relief when she and William were ensconced in his carriage and on their way to visit Carol Whitney. With all the comments Papa had directed toward Aunt Margaret and Michael regarding the state of matrimony, Amy had waited for him to start in on her and William.

  She was truly amazed he had not. Strange, that.

  “Do you know if Mr. Whitney normally lives with his stepmother?”

  “I don’t know. I assume he has his own rooms somewhere and that’s the reason he sought help in his illness. He told me Mrs. Whitney worried too much about everything, and I imagine that’s why he sought Mrs. Johnson’s assistance when he fell ill.”

  “Do you find his relationship with his stepmother a bit odd?”

  “What do you mean?” William asked.

  “She apparently hadn’t been married very long to his father, and yet she and Patrick seem to have a close friendship. Also, even though I never met Patrick Whitney, you haven’t mentioned his relationship with his father. For example, was he upset by his death? From what you’ve told me, he seemed more concerned with Mrs. Whitney’s finances than his father’s death.”

  “Perhaps he feels he must support her in the event the money is gone.”

  “Perhaps.” The carriage pulled up to a modest townhouse in an excellent section of Bath. It appeared that Mrs. Whitney’s husband had provided well for his wife upon his death.

  “Is she expecting us?” Amy asked as they climbed the steps to the front door.

  “Yes. I sent a note around advising her we would be calling this afternoon with word about Patrick.”

  A butler opened the door to them. He was an elderly man, tall and distinguished, a member of the old class of servants.

  William held out his card. “Lord Wethington and Lady Amy Lovell calling on Mrs. Whitney. I believe we are expected.”

  “Very good, my lord, my lady. Allow me to take your coats.” They shrugged out of their outerwear and then followed the servant upstairs to the drawing room. “Mrs. Whitney will be with you shortly.” He bowed and left the room.

  It was a cozy space, small for a drawing room but tastefully decorated. It also didn’t contain all the little trinkets and whatnot that were so popular in most homes.

  Mrs. Whitney made her entrance with a bright smile. “Lord Wethington and Lady Amy, how pleasant to see you.”

  They both stood and offered greetings.

  “Please, have a seat.”

  They all settled in, and she folded her hands in her lap. “What news can you give me of my stepson? I am very concerned about his disappearance.”

  “I am happy to report that your stepson is well. He was ill for a while, but he is on his way to recovery.”

  “Oh dear. What happened? Why didn’t he come to me to take care of him?”

  “Apparently he developed an illness and went to the home of a woman he had been friendly with for years.”

  “Had been?”

  William looked as though he wanted to call back the words he had just said. “Yes, unfortunately, the woman—Mrs. Johnson—passed away a few days ago.”

  “Oh, how sad.”

  William nodded. “Yes, very sad.”

  Amy was grateful he didn’t add that she had been shot and left behind the pub where she worked.

  Mrs. Whitney grasped her throat. “She didn’t die from what Patrick was suffering, did she?”

  “No.”

  William jumped in to avert any more questions about Mrs. Johnson and her death. “When I visited with Mr. Whitney, he mentioned he would contact you as soon as he was feeling better.”

  Something flickered in her eyes. Maybe her relationship with Patrick was not as wonderful as she would have them believe. “Thank you for that. I was most concerned.”

  Since there didn’t seem to be much more to say, they stood and wished her a good day and left the house.

  “What do you make of that?” Amy asked.

  “You mean in relation to Harding’s murder?”

  “Yes.”

  “She seemed genuinely surprised by Mrs. Johnson’s death, and since we are convinced whoever killed her also killed Harding, I would say she falls farther down on our suspect list.”

  “But not off?”

  “No one is off.” William checked his timepiece as they settled into the carriage. “I believe we have time to visit with Patrick Whitney. I am curious to see if he is still at Mrs. Johnson’s.” He slid the panel in the roof. “Please take us to Millie Johnson’s house. I believe you remember where it is?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  William slid the panel closed, and the carriage moved forward. “I sense we are at a stalemate. I also have a feeling that we are looking at something and not seeing the entire picture.”

  “A missing piece?”

  “Yes. Either a missing piece or something not aligned. There is also the fact that Mrs. Johnson had something to tell us that probably caused her death.”

  They continued to the woman’s house, both quiet with their thoughts.

  It took a while for anyone to answer their knock. They were about to leave when the door opened to a very disheveled Patrick. “Oh, it’s you.” He opened the door wider and stepped back. “Please, come in.”

  William looked over at Amy as they entered. Patrick looked terrible.

  “May I present Lady Amy Lovell?” He turned to Amy. “This is Mr. Patrick Whitney.”

  The two merely nodded at each other.

  “Are you still ill, Whitney?” William asked.

  “No. Just grieving.” He led them to the drawing room, and they all sat. He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. “A terrible thing.”

  Although he didn’t look sick this time, he had dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, and his hand shook as he picked up a newspaper from the sofa and placed it on the table.

  “I am so sorry about Mrs. Johnson.”

  He merely dipped his head and sighed. “Thank you. I have not been able to sleep or eat since she passed away.”

  Amy was growing more uncomfortable as they remained. Patrick just sat there, staring into space. />
  Finally, William said, “We stopped in to see how you were doing and also to tell you your stepmother has been advised of your illness.”

  He looked over at William. “She is not worried, is she?”

  “No. I told her you were on the way to recovery.”

  “Good, good.” He continued to stare, giving a slight sigh every once in a while.

  Amy caught William’s eye and gestured with her head toward the door. In unison, they both stood.

  “We will leave you now, Whitney. If there is anything we can do to help, please let us know.”

  “Thank you.” He climbed from the sofa and walked them to the door. “I appreciate you stopping in.”

  “Will you be staying here for a while, then?”

  “Not for long. I expect to return to my own rooms shortly.”

  “Well, we’ll be off, then.” William took Amy’s arm, and they descended the steps and climbed into in the carriage.

  “The poor man is a mess,” Amy said.

  “Yes.” William stared at the house as they left, his brows furrowed.

  CHAPTER 29

  Amy and William entered the bookstore for the weekly meeting. Aunt Margaret had agreed to come with them but said she would browse the bookshelves for a while, then join them in the meeting and do a quick sketch of Mr. Davidson before the gathering broke up.

  Miss Gertrude and Miss Penelope were standing in a circle with Lady Wethington and Mr. Colbert when they arrived. Amy noted that Mr. Colbert stood closer to Lady Wethington than anyone else.

  Miss Gertrude hurried over to Amy, took her by the arm, and led her to one of the settees. “I am very upset, my lady, and I can’t think of anyone else I can speak to about this.”

  “What is the matter, Miss Gertrude?

  With shaky hands, the woman patted her upper lip with the handkerchief she clutched in her hands. “You know that horrible Mr. Harding was blackmailing me?”

  “Yes. I agree, he is horrible, and yes, you told me he was blackmailing you. Does your upset have something to do with that?”

  “Yes.”

  Amy took Miss Gertrude’s ice-cold hands in hers. “What is the problem?”