The Sign of Death

by Callie Hutton

  Once they were settled in the carriage and on their way, Amy folded her hands and placed them in her lap. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. While I sympathize with your father in wanting to keep your identity hidden, I don’t agree with it.”

  Her jaw dropped. “You don’t?”

  William shook his head. “Not at all. There is no reason why you cannot take credit for your work. You are not the first woman to publish dark novels. Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein comes to mind, along with books by Ann Radcliffe. And look at it this way, you are making inroads for other female authors to delve into the dark and dangerous.”

  Tears welled in her eyes. “Thank you.”

  Something deep inside him woke up then, and he knew at that moment that it would never go back to sleep again. He reached over and pulled Amy to his side, put his arm around her, and held her close.

  It felt right.

  The night was as dark and dreary as the pub looked. When they’d seen it the last time, it had been daylight, and even though the extra light had accentuated the bleakness, now, shrouded in darkness, the place looked downright ominous.

  “I think we should have brought a gun.” Amy moved the window curtain aside and looked out at the building.

  “I did.”

  She turned back to him, her eyes wide. “You did? I thought you told me no guns.”

  “No guns for you. Or for my mother, who also mentioned getting one.”

  “Why can you have a gun and I cannot?”

  William stepped out of the carriage and held out his hand for Amy to grasp. “Because I am trained in the use of guns. I keep my skills up by practicing.”

  Before she could continue the argument, he ushered her down the path and into the pub. It was almost as dark inside as outside. Most tables were full, and William managed to secure one near the middle of the room.

  There were small tables in the corners, their occupants not visible in the darkness. “This is sort of spooky.” Amy rubbed her palms up and down her arms. “I can’t imagine working in a place like this at nighttime.”

  “I don’t want to imagine you working in a place like this at all. Or any place, for that matter. In that I agree with your father. Women should not leave their homes to work unless there is no other way to keep the family housed and fed.”

  She grinned. “Aha. I notice you danced around that one quite nicely by saying not leave their homes to work.”

  “Just so.” He winked at her and then looked around and immediately spotted Mrs. Johnson. He waved his hand, and she nodded that she would be right there. He didn’t think she recognized him from that distance; she was just acknowledging another impatient customer.

  “What can I get ya?” Although she spoke to them, she looked around the room, no doubt seeing who she needed to take care of next.

  “Hello, Mrs. Johnson.”

  Her head snapped back, and she looked down at them. “Aren’t you the man who came to my house to see Patrick?” She didn’t look pleased.

  “Yes, I am. I wonder if I could speak with you.”

  She looked around and then said, “What can I get you?”

  “Two ales.”

  She walked off before he could say anything else.

  “Was she that unfriendly when you met her earlier?” Amy asked.

  “I wouldn’t say unfriendly as much as suspicious. But I imagine if I were a woman working in a place like this, it would make me a bit uncomfortable to have someone come into my place of work looking especially for me.”

  Mrs. Johnson plunked the two glasses down on the table and skirted around the two of them to hurry off before William could say a word.

  “I guess we wait to see if she comes back.” Amy gingerly picked up the glass and held it to the dim light. “Not very clean.”

  “I expect not.” William eased his glass away.

  “I’m glad you brought a gun.” Amy looked behind her. “In my books, anyone who feels threatened always sits with their back to the wall, facing the door.”

  “In real life, people who feel threatened sit with their back to the wall, facing the door.”

  Mrs. Johnson rushed by, ignoring them.

  “Do you think she will talk to us?”

  “I hope so. The fact that she’s avoiding our table makes me wonder if she knows something and is afraid to say anything. I think Whitney might have told her what we discussed when I visited him.”

  The next time she came near their table, William said, “Madam, may I have a brandy?” If he ordered something, she would have to come to their table.

  She reappeared a few minutes later. “Here you are.” She slammed the small glass down on the table. She looked around and leaned in. “If you want to talk to me about anything, it won’t be here. Too many ears.” She looked around again.

  “When?”

  She leaned closer and wiped the table with a dirty cloth. “Come to the Roman Baths square tomorrow. That’s the best I can do.” She walked away, then turned back. “Three o’clock.”

  William nodded, placed some coins on the table, and stood. Amy followed him, and he took her hand in his as they left the pub.

  * * *

  The next day William sat behind his desk going over his files again, trying to reconcile his bank statements with the records he had received from Wilson. Hopefully his new man of business—who seemed very efficient—would help to get all of this straightened out, before too long. He’d found himself unable to sleep the past few nights with all the worries on his mind.

  Another conundrum—as if he hadn’t enough of them in his life—was his missing appointment book. He had left it on his desk and had planned to go over it to see if he could piece together his activities the week James had been killed.

  With the way things were in his life right now, there was a good possibility he hadn’t left it on his desk but had put it somewhere else. He planned to leave for Amy’s house in about an hour so they could proceed to see Mrs. Johnson. He was sure she had wanted to give them some information the night before but had felt uneasy doing so at the pub. Hopefully it would be something that could lead to Harding’s killer.

  Since his session with his solicitor, his barrister, and the police, he had felt as though he were waiting for an ax to drop. The fact that the detectives had come to his house to harass his mother and hadn’t returned since worried him. If it had been something important enough for them to make the trip to his house, why hadn’t he heard from them?

  His mother entered the library, pulling on her gloves.

  “Are you going out?”

  “Yes. I have an appointment with my modiste. I am in dire need of an updated wardrobe.”

  William leaned back in his chair and studied her. “Why the sudden need for more clothes?” He hadn’t spoken to her yet about Mr. Colbert seeing her home the Saturday before. She’d been busy making her morning calls and receiving her own guests. She’d also been out a couple of nights with no indication of where she was going. Although he was very curious, it felt odd asking his own mother to keep him abreast of her comings and goings.

  Truth be known, he was a bit reluctant to question her because he was afraid to hear what she’d have to say. He knew that she was a grown woman and had already lived through a marriage, so she certainly knew what was what about male-and-female relationships.

  He could not condone any sort of an affair, however. After all, she was his mother. Watching her sneak into the house in the early-morning hours, or worse yet, seeing Colbert creep out the front door, would push him close to calling Colbert out.

  “I just feel the need for some new things. Is there a problem with funds, dear?”

  William shook his head. “Not at all. You may purchase whatever you like.”

  “Thank you, son.” She kissed the top of his head and proceeded toward the door, almost running into Stevens.

  “My lord, the two detectives are here again.”

  “I thought I told them ne
ver to return,” his mother huffed.

  William stood and walked around the desk. “Mother, one does not forbid the authorities from coming to one’s house if they have reason to.”

  She raised her chin. “They have no reason. This idea of you having anything at all to do with the death of that business manager is preposterous.”

  “Thank you for your vote of confidence, but nevertheless, the police generally tend to dismiss character references from one’s mother.”

  “The drawing room?” William asked.

  “Yes, my lord. They are waiting there.”

  He would really have preferred to leave his mother out of it, but she appeared unlikely to sail out the door for her appointment, so they both entered the drawing room.

  The two detectives stood in the middle of the room. When William entered, Detective Carson moved up to him. “Lord William Wethington, please place your hands behind your back.”

  “What?”

  “You are under arrest for the murder of Mr. James Harding and Mrs. Millie Johnson.”

  “Mrs. Johnson! I just saw her last night.”

  “Yes. We know that. She was found behind the Kings Garden with a bullet in her. We had a tip that you met with her last night after she finished her shift.”

  “That’s absurd. I did not meet her after her shift. Who provided this tip?”

  “It was anonymous.”

  Just then, with a soft sigh, his mother slumped to the floor. Somehow he didn’t think this swoon was fake.

  “Detectives, I cannot leave until I see to my mother.” William walked to where she lay on the ground, picked her up, and placed her on a settee. “Get me a maid, please,” he said to Stevens. “Then send someone to Lady Amy’s house with a message that I need her here as quickly as possible.”

  A maid entered, and William immediately began to shout instructions at her to tend to his mother.

  “I beg you, please, Detectives, to allow me time to see that Lady Amy has arrived.”

  The two detectives looked at each other and shrugged. “We will give you a half hour, no more.”

  They both sat in chairs near the door, obviously making sure William could not leave the house.

  “Stevens, fetch me some paper and pen. I must write a note to Mr. Nelson-Graves.”

  William had learned enough from watching the barrister in operation last week as well as last year when he represented Amy to know that he needed to keep quiet and allow Mr. Nelson-Graves to do all the talking.

  His mother was finally sitting up and clutching at her maid’s arms. “Detectives, you cannot arrest my son. He is a member of the nobility.”

  “I’m sorry to dispute you, Lady Wethington, but these are serious charges, and yes, we can arrest him.”

  William’s head was still spinning with the news about Mrs. Johnson. Obviously there had been someone in the pub the night before who had heard her tell them to meet her at the square.

  That same someone had killed her to keep her from telling him and Amy something important.

  At last, close to a half hour later, Amy hurried through the door to the drawing room. “Whatever is going on?”

  William walked up to her and took her hands in his. “You must stay here with my mother; she is extremely distraught.”

  “Why? What’s happened?”

  “I am being arrested for murder.”

  CHAPTER 25

  “I reiterate one more time, Detectives. I had nothing to do with Mr. Harding’s death, nor Mrs. Johnson’s.” William ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated and angered.

  He’d sent word to Mr. Nelson-Graves before being taken to the police station, but so far the man had not arrived. William had been in the interrogation room for only about an hour, but it seemed like all day.

  “Let’s go back again and tell me why you and Lady Amy were at the King’s Garden pub last night, Tuesday, the third of March.”

  “I’ve answered that question several times already, and at this point I will answer no further questions until my barrister arrives.”

  Detective Carson looked over at Detective Marsh. “Sounds guilty to me.”

  William kept his mouth closed. They were taunting him, trying to get him to say more, but the entire situation was frightening enough without him blundering about and saying something that would only get him in deeper.

  “Detective, Lord Wethington’s barrister has arrived.” A young police officer entered the room after giving a slight knock.

  “Send him in.”

  Mr. Nelson-Graves entered the room and nodded at them. “Good afternoon, Detectives.” He took the seat next to William. “Before we go any further, I would like to speak with my client in private.”

  Without a word, the two detectives stood and left the room.

  “Start from the beginning.” Mr. Nelson-Graves pulled out a pad of paper and a pencil.

  William took the barrister through everything step by step, from the time he had visited with Patrick Whitney to when he had spoken with Mrs. Johnson at the pub and then returned home.

  “You are in a mess here, my lord.”

  “I know.”

  “Right now we need to get you out of here. I will arrange for bail, but if the detectives insist on continuing their interrogation, I will insist it happens at another time. We need to gather some facts first.”

  William nodded, hopeful for the first time since he’d been arrested. Mr. Nelson-Graves stood and walked to the door. “Detectives, we are ready.”

  They both lumbered into the room, taking the same spots they’d occupied when William arrived over an hour before.

  “Is you client ready to confess, barrister?”

  “No. Of course not, and I find the question ridiculous. We are requesting Lord Wethington be released with a bond.”

  “No.”

  William’s stomach sank.

  Mr. Nelson-Graves didn’t flinch. “You are speaking of a peer. Lord Wethington is a viscount and an upstanding member of the community. He has nothing in his background that would suggest he would commit a crime such as murder.”

  “Nothing in his background would suggest he would be fleecing people, setting up false business, and therefore robbing investors either.”

  “We’ve been over this before, Detective. My client denies any knowledge of the information contained in the file you found in Mr. Harding’s home.”

  “His signature is on the papers.”

  “Again, we’ve covered this already. Those are forgeries. However, I do not intend to try this case here in the interrogation room.”

  Try the case? Does Nelson-Graves believe it would go that far? William broke into a sweat.

  Nelson-Graves stood. “I have an appointment this morning with the magistrate to release his lordship with a bond.”

  “Until its granted, his lordship will stay here.”

  It looked as though Nelson-Graves was going to argue the point, but apparently deciding against it, he nodded. “Very well.” He turned to William. “I shall be back within the hour.” He looked over at the detectives. “Based on his lordship’s peerage, I demand he be allowed to wait here. I do not want him subjected to a jail cell.”

  To William’s surprise, the detectives agreed, and they left the room with Mr. Nelson-Graves.

  William slumped in the chair and rubbed his forehead. With all that had happened since the detectives stormed his house, he hadn’t had a chance to even think about Mrs. Johnson being murdered.

  Obviously, someone who had been in the pub the night before had heard her tell him and Amy to meet her today. There were four dark corners in the place, as well as other spots that were poorly lit, so there could have been several people William and Amy hadn’t seen who overhead the conversation.

  Here the poor woman had done a good deed by taking Whitney in when he was so sick and nursing him, and because of that she had been dragged into a murder investigation and ended up dying for it.

  William also wo
ndered if the detectives had gone to Mrs. Johnson’s house and notified Patrick of her death. William still hadn’t reported back to Mrs. Whitney about her stepson.

  First and foremost, he needed to find the person who had already killed two people and attempted to kill him and Amy. With the police focused solely on him, he and Amy had to unravel the mess and find the real killer.

  He blanched, imagining the harsh feel of a rope around his neck.

  * * *

  Amy rested on the settee and held Lady Wethington’s ice-cold hand. The now-cool teapot and half-empty cups sat on the small table in front of them.

  “I cannot believe my son was arrested for murder.” Lady Wethington had been repeating these words nonstop since the detectives and William left the house. Amy’s assurances that of course William would never do such a thing as kill anyone failed to make his mother feel better.

  “Perhaps I should escort you to your bedchamber and you can take a tisane to help you sleep for a while,” Amy suggested.

  Lady Wethington shook her head. “I could not sleep a wink until I know this nonsense has come to an end.” She gripped Amy’s hand so tight that Amy thought the bones in her hand would snap. “Suppose they keep him in jail? That would be horrible.”

  “I think we should not worry about that. William has an excellent barrister who would never allow that to happen.”

  “Why? Why my son?” Lady Wethington wailed, for about the seventieth time since Amy had arrived. Amy knew why, but there was no reason to share her information with her ladyship.

  Someone had been at the pub, sitting in darkness, and overheard their exchange with Mrs. Johnson, then decided to kill the woman before she could tell Amy and William what she knew. Since Mrs. Johnson worked in the pub and had seen Harding collecting his blackmail money any number of times, it was quite possible she could have pointed them to the killer.

  Now, instead of having that vital information, William was sitting in jail, and Amy was trying to keep Lady Wethington from jumping out the window.

  “You know I am fond of you, Amy. You don’t mind if I call you Amy, do you?”