Page 4 of In the Midnight Hour

Sir Radnor had white hair that was quite thin on top. His right temple had a gaping wound where the flesh was torn, and blood matted the surrounding hair and stained his skin.

North looked up at the finial: a large egg shape atop the turned post with a carved point rising from the center. Landing on that finial just right could cause a horrible wound. Blood streaked from the top of the point down the side of the egg. At least North had stopped Mrs. Babcock from cleaning that bit.

Standing, North judged the top of the finial to be about four feet from the ground. North bent his temple toward the bedpost and decided he could have sustained such an injury if he’d fallen in precisely the right way. But he was just over six feet tall. He looked at the butler. “How tall is Sir Radnor?”

“Not as tall as you, my lord. Perhaps a few inches shorter?”

Sir Radnor was likely tall enough to have hit his head. But had he? “I’m afraid I can’t ignore the principle of parsimony, that the simplest explanation is likely the correct one.” Likely. However, North had the sense something was off. Perhaps it was the housekeeper’s demeanor and her cleaning and tidying everything so that the evidence was ruined.

Maberly looked sad. “I’m sure you’re right. I’m just so shocked that Sir Radnor is—” He lost a shade of color and swallowed. “Dead,” he murmured, bowing his head.

“We can hope he didn’t suffer,” North said, though if the man were as foxed as the housekeeper indicated, he likely hadn’t felt a thing. “I’m sorry for the upset this causes you and the household.”

The butler raised his head to reveal that his eyes were damp. “I’d hoped Sir Radnor would be my last employer, but that was probably foolish given his age.”

“How old was he?” North asked.

“Seventy this past summer,” Maberly replied. “Just ten years ahead of me. It’s jarring to think I may have only a decade left in me. Or less if I’m not as fortunate.” He waved his hand. “Ignore me. I’ve turned maudlin. I shall go downstairs to await Dr. Ellingham.” He started for the door.

“Maberly,” North called, and the butler turned. “Does Sir Radnor have children or other family who need to be alerted?” Mrs. Lambton had indicated he was a widower, which North just remembered.

“No children, but he has a great-nephew and great-niece. They reside in Islington and call regularly.” Maberly shook his head sadly. “They’ll be sorry to hear this, I’m sure.”

“One more thing,” North said. “I would still like to send for the coroner. Perhaps you could dispatch Amos, if you think he’s not too distressed.”

“He’ll be fine,” the butler said. “Probably best if this is all sorted appropriately and with due haste. I hate to think of the gossip this will ignite around the square.”

“Mr. Sheffield is at number fourteen Cavendish Square,” North said.

The butler departed, leaving North alone in the bedchamber.

North moved to the head of the bed. He imagined lying in the bed and waking up twisted in the coverings. North had done that on more than a few occasions. Usually, there was a woman in the bed with him who’d helped to tussle the bedclothes in that manner.

Perhaps Sir Radnor’s entanglement was due to a similar issue? The man was seventy, but he hadn’t been dead. Yet.

Exhaling, North glanced at the bedside table and noted the book—Characters of Shakespear’s Plays. He picked it up and opened the cover. There was an inscription on the first blank page:

For Sir Radnor,

I’ll expect you to have read this before our next discussion of Mr. Shakespear’s work.

With affection,

H. Cartwright

Lady Cartwright again. He recalled what Mrs. Lambton had told him about her. She was a widow of means, which she had to be, given the size of her house. She frequented the new bookshop and the attached lending library and had many friends in the square. In fact, Mrs. Lambton had started to tell him that Lady Cartwright had a “particular friendship,” but they’d been interrupted by Mrs. Lambton’s spinster sister, Miss Selby. Now, North was curious if Mrs. Lambton had been about to tell him of Lady Cartwright’s particular friendship with Sir Radnor. Had she helped Sir Radnor tumble the bedclothes?

For some reason, North found that distasteful. Was that because Lady Cartwright was probably forty years younger than Sir Radnor?

North had glimpsed her on one occasion as she’d departed her coach and walked up the steps to her house. Though he hadn’t seen her closely, he’d judged her to be a woman of estimable taste based on her extremely well-cut and fashionable costume. He’d also found her alluring, even from a distance. Something about the tilt of her head, the carriage of her shoulders, and the curve of her hip had drawn his attention. He’d looked forward to making her acquaintance.

Now he had a specific reason to. Lady Cartwright would want to know her friend—presumably she and Sir Radnor were at least friends given the tone of her inscription in the book she’d gifted him—had died.

A maid entered. She was slight and pale with dark brown hair mostly tucked under a white cap and wide eyes. Her costume was that of an upstairs maid.

She regarded North warily. Then her gaze darted toward Sir Radnor. Her frame appeared to stiffen. Had she not known he’d died?

“I’m Lord Northwood from across the square. I’ve come to help with Sir Radnor’s unfortunate demise. I’m sorry if you’ve just happened upon this unfortunate scene.”