Page 27 of In the Midnight Hour

What if whoever had killed Sir Radnor stole the walking stick that they’d used to strike him, then decided to take other items to cover up the fact that the walking stick was the murder weapon? Indeed, the killer could have staged Sir Radnor and his bed so that his death would be presumed an accident.

“I’m sure they will,” she said benignly. Her gaze drifted to the jurors, several of whom were speaking to one another, including Mr. Huxley. Hypatia had hoped he might escort her home. She desperately wanted to know what the jury had discussed and whether they suspected her of killing Sir Radnor.

She also wanted to know if she could expect Lord Wetherby to poison the residents of the square with derogatory comments about her involvement with Sir Radnor. He already judged her to be scandalous and likely would have done even if she just sat at home with her cat and never went out.

Lord Northwood appeared before Hypatia’s chair. “May I escort you downstairs now that the crowd has thinned?”

She glanced toward the jury again and saw that Mr. Huxley was still engaged. Resigning herself to Northwood’s offer, she took his hand and rose.

He guided her from the room, his hand hovering close enough over her lower back that she was sure she felt his touch.

“I’m surprised you aren’t waiting to walk out with your brother,” Hypatia said. Mr. Sheffield had been speaking with Mr. Drummond.

“I’ll speak with him later, I’m sure,” he replied. Again, his tone was darker than normal, but Hypatia was too distracted to care why.

They walked down the stairs to the common room. Hypatia saw that several of the observers had remained. Now they were sending furtive glances toward Hypatia. Perhaps they planned to discuss the inquest. Or just her.

She couldn’t leave fast enough. “Please excuse me.” Hypatia cut through the tables and people, careful not to make eye contact with anyone, and exited into the overcast autumn afternoon.

“May I walk you home?” Northwood had followed her outside. His auburn brows were drawn tight, his jaw tense.

“No, thank you.” She turned and started down Marylebone High Street toward Pemberton Square.

Nevertheless, he quickened his pace to walk beside her. “I’d like to help you.”

“With what?”

“Discovering the truth of what happened to Sir Radnor.”

She looked at him askance. “I thought that was Bow Street’s duty. Or your brother’s.”

“It is, but I’d like to help you,” he repeated insistently.

Hypatia stopped and faced him. “Why?”

“Because you need it,” he said urgently. When she didn’t reply, he continued. “I didn’t like the way some of the jurors looked at you. Despite the jury saying Sir Radnor was murdered by an unknown person or persons, I worry you’re the primary suspect.”

“Why does that worry you? Why am I a concern to you at all?” Hypatia found his interest dubious.

He nearly scowled, but his gaze wasn’t on her, so she didn’t think his frustration—or whatever it was—was directed at her. “Did you kill him?”

She deeply appreciated the openness with which he asked that question. He seemed to be seeking the truth—and would believe what she said in response. She held his gaze. “I did not.”

Hypatia held her breath until he gave her a slight nod—which thankfully didn’t take long. In fact, he seemed rather convinced of her innocence. Instead of relieving or even encouraging her, she found it suspicious.

“Then it’s important to me that we find out who did kill him,” Northwood said. “I care about justice being served and ensuring innocent people are not persecuted.”

He recognized that this was troublesome for her. That eased her suspicion and made her feel a little better about his persistent requests to help.

“Why do you so easily believe me?” she asked cautiously.

He looked at her frankly. “Because I think, too often, it’s easier not to believe women in particular, and that is unjust.”

“Perhaps you should have gone into the law instead of your brother,” she mused. From the corner of her eye, Hypatia saw people leaving the Three Tuns. They walked along the pavement, then crossed the street before having to pass by her. She was fast becoming a pariah.

Hypatia was desperate to make her way home. “The last thing I need is for people to think I’m trying to gain the coroner’s favor by spending time with his brother. You must excuse me.”

Turning on her heel, she stalked away from him, moving quickly to put distance between herself and talk of murder.