Page 41 of In the Midnight Hour

Hypatia’s neck chilled. “About what?”

“They wanted to name you as Sir Radnor’s murderess, but I and several other jurors were adamant that there wasn’t any solid evidence to support that.” He rested his elbow on the arm of the settee. “Furthermore, we agreed the Clavertons have a better motive than you do. Some of us on the jury also found them unpleasant, particularly in the way Miss Claverton spoke of you.”

“I’m grateful for your advocacy. Obviously, I’m not surprised to hear that Lord Wetherby spoke against me.” The viscount had made snide comments about her living “lavishly” as well as maintaining friendships that “some would find scandalous.” He referred to himself, of course—he was “some.”

“He’s a pompous prig,” Mr. Huxley said crossly. “I’ve a mind to toss him from the shop next time he comes in, not that he’s visited more than once or twice. He does not enjoy literature as you do. Or as Sir Radnor did. I imagine it’s especially difficult to have lost your partner in literary conversation.” He regarded her with compassion.

Hypatia quashed the urge to shudder. “I wouldn’t call him a ‘partner.’ We had similar interests, and I confess he introduced me to a great many works, including his passion for illuminated manuscripts.”

“Such a pity the Chaucer and Le Roman de la Rose have gone missing,” Mr. Huxley said with grave consternation.

This was an excellent opportunity for Hypatia to try to learn the name of Sir Radnor’s collecting nemesis. “I know how hard Sir Radnor fought to win them both, particularly Le Roman de la Rose. What was the name of the other collector who was also vying for it?”

“Aristotle Killingsworth,” Mr. Huxley replied. “They were rivals for years. Their bidding war over Le Roman de la Rose was nearly as vicious as that of Blandford and Spencer over Boccaccio’s Decameron, though it didn’t come to a public auction.”

“Remind me how Sir Radnor acquired it?” she asked, curious if the truth would differ from what Sir Radnor had told her.

“The manuscript was supposed to be auctioned with the rest of Chilton’s library—he’d amassed an incredible collection by the time of his death. However, Sir Radnor underhandedly went to the solicitor and arranged to buy it outright before it could go to auction,” Mr. Huxley animatedly explained. “He’d lost out to Killingsworth a time or two before, and—in my estimation—didn’t want to suffer the disappointment again.”

That was not how Sir Radnor had described the transaction to her. He said he’d beat a rival collector to the prize for once, something that he indicated didn’t happen often.

“Underhandedly?” she asked.

Mr. Huxley nodded. “He made sure Killingsworth wouldn’t have a chance to even make his case. Killingsworth was livid. It’s funny we’re discussing this as he was just at my house for dinner with some other collectors.” He cocked his head. “It was Friday night, come to think of it.”

The same night Sir Radnor had been killed. Killingsworth had been in Pemberton Square. Hypatia’s pulse quickened.

“Someone brought up the Le Roman de la Rose battle,” Mr. Huxley continued. “Killingsworth was still furious, all these months later, not that I blame him. Sir Radnor made very public statements about ‘winning’ the manuscript and wished Killingsworth better luck next time.”

How obnoxious. Until seeing Sir Radnor’s demeanor last Friday and hearing more about him in the ensuing days, Hypatia would have found Sir Radnor’s ruthless and smug behavior shocking. Now, it seemed this was the man he truly was, the one he hid from most people.

“Mr. Killingsworth displayed his anger at your dinner?” Hypatia asked.

Mr. Huxley nodded. “I’m afraid one of the other guests needled him about it. When he left, he was most aggravated.”

Hypatia held her breath. “What time was that?”

“I would say around midnight?” Mr. Huxley replied uncertainly. “I wasn’t paying much attention, I’m afraid. I know he departed first.” He narrowed his hazel eyes at her. “Do you suspect Mr. Killingsworth of something? I suppose he had a motive to harm Sir Radnor, but I can’t see him committing murder, though ‘kill’ is right there in his name,” he added with a weak laugh.

“I’m merely curious.” Hypatia didn’t want to reveal too much to Mr. Huxley. She steered the conversation to a safer topic. “Speaking of literary discussions, I’m still interested in the monthly events you suggested recently.”

Mr. Huxley had wanted to host literary conversations in the library and hoped Hypatia might agree to be the patron, whatever that meant. She thought he just wanted her presence to lend distinction, though she wasn’t sure her name carried the same respectability it had even a week ago.

He smiled with enthusiasm. “Excellent. Though, we should wait a little while before we introduce anything to the residents of the square.” It seemed he shared her concerns about her reputation, and that was more than a little devastating.

“Yes, it’s probably best if things settle. The square is abuzz with the loss of Sir Radnor,” she said softly, masking her dismay.

Thinking about how people may currently view her made her ill. She hadn’t survived a horrible marriage only to find herself in this position. Never again was she going to befriend a gentleman, even if he appeared pleasant and, most of all, safe. What a fool she’d been.

“Agreed.” His brows gathered. “I hope you aren’t concerned about your reputation after the inquest.”

“I would be lying if I said I wasn’t,” she said.

“This will pass.” His tone held a confidence she didn’t share but nevertheless appreciated.

“You’re certain I’m not a social pariah now?” She smiled, again to hide her upset.

“I don’t think so. You don’t need to worry until Mrs. Lambton points her finger at you and yells ‘murderess!’” He laughed, and she joined in despite fearing that such a thing could come to pass.