Page 42 of In the Midnight Hour

Ferris had returned to the doorway, and he wasn’t alone. Lord Northwood stood behind him looking rather agitated. She hadn’t even heard him arrive.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Lady Cartwright,” Ferris said. “Lord Northwood says he has an urgent matter to discuss with you.”

Urgent? Given the way he appeared—as if he had very bad news—she immediately tensed. “Thank you, Ferris.” She stood, and Mr. Huxley rose with her.

“An urgent matter?” Mr. Huxley asked Northwood.

“And a private one,” Northwood added with a bland smile.

“I see,” Mr. Huxley murmured before pivoting toward Hypatia. “I’m glad to see you doing well. Please don’t hesitate to send word if you require anything at all. I’m pleased to be your friend and staunch supporter.”

“Thank you, Mr. Huxley. You are most kind.” She held out her hand, and he took it, giving her a gentle squeeze as he executed a bow.

Then he turned on his heel and left, sweeping up his hat on the way out.

Northwood turned his head to watch Mr. Huxley depart. “Were you expecting him?”

“No, nor was I expecting you. What is the urgency of your call?”

“Unfortunately, I have bad news,” he replied with a deep frown. “Harry called a short while ago. Drummond intends to bring you into Marlborough Street for formal questioning. Probably Friday, since the funeral is tomorrow.”

The air left Hypatia’s lungs in a gasp, and for a brief moment, she felt light-headed. “I suppose I should be glad he’s allowing me to mourn.” Not that she was actually mourning.

“Apparently,” Northwood said. “I came directly here after Harry left because I want to conduct our interviews with Sir Radnor’s servants as soon as possible, despite the hour.” He stepped closer. “Are you all right? You look pale.”

She pressed her fingertips to her cheeks to bring forth some color, not that doing so would rectify the dread curling through her. It was one thing to have her house searched, but to be brought to Marlborough Street for questioning seemed a step away from being charged with murder.

“I didn’t do it,” she whispered.

Northwood moved close enough that she could see the golden ring around his pupils that gave his brown eyes their tawny hue. “I know you didn’t, and we’re going to find who did. Do you feel up to accompanying me to Sir Radnor’s? It’s all right if you don’t.”

She lowered her hands and took a deep breath. “I want to go. I need to go. Thank you for coming so quickly.” She met his gaze. “I still don’t understand why you believe me so certainly. You barely know me.”

“I can see you’re afraid.” His eyes had darkened to a warm bronze.

He saw that. But he didn’t even know where her fear came from. Perhaps it didn’t matter. “Thank you.”

“Let’s go to number twenty-four now. I’ll wait whilst you fetch your pelisse—or whatever you need.”

“Thank you.” She gave him a small but very grateful smile. “For believing in me as well as helping me.”

A shadow passed over his eyes, giving her pause. Then he smiled, and the moment dissipated. “We’re going to find who killed Sir Radnor, and right now, I’d wager it was the Clavertons.”

“There is another suspect,” Hypatia said.

Northwood blinked in surprise. “Who? When did this happen? I mean, how did you find another suspect?”

“I asked Mr. Huxley about the collector who’d battled over manuscripts with Sir Radnor. His name is Aristotle Killingsworth, and he was at Huxley’s last Friday night.” She enjoyed Northwood’s eager shock and proceeded to relate everything she’d learned from Mr. Huxley.

Clapping his hands together with enthusiasm, Northwood startled Quill so that the cat leapt into an arched stance, ready to strike.

“It’s all right, Quill.” Hypatia moved slowly toward the cat, then glanced up at Northwood. “You’ve spooked Quill with your excitement.”

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly as Hypatia soothed Quill by stroking his head. He relaxed his posture. “I’m afraid I couldn’t contain myself. This is excellent news. Having more suspects in this case is better for you.”

Hypatia didn’t want to agree. She knew what it felt like to be wrongly accused. However, someone was guilty, and it wasn’t her.

“Killingsworth leaving Huxley’s at midnight means he could have gone to Sir Radnor’s and killed him,” Northwood continued.