Page 92 of In the Midnight Hour

The housekeeper’s eyes hardened. “Are you going to let us leave?”

North was torn. What would Harry do? Letting them go was a violation of the law, and yet Maberly was right. Did anyone need to pay for killing Sir Radnor? Perhaps not, but that didn’t mean it was right or lawful. However, Maberly was also correct that they couldn’t prove what Mrs. Babcock had done—or Maberly’s role. They were going to get away with murder.

Hypatia turned to him and spoke in a low tone. “We have to.”

North bristled inwardly. He wanted to do the right thing, what his brother would do. But in this instance, allowing Maberly and Mrs. Babcock to leave was perhaps the best thing, if not the right one.

“Go on then,” he said gruffly.

Maberly looked at the dressing gown remnant in Hypatia’s hand again. “Shall I take that for you?”

She closed her hand over the fabric. “I’ll keep it, thank you. I won’t be giving you or Mrs. Babcock a reference. In fact, I’d planned to dismiss you both.”

The butler shrugged. “Then it’s fortunate we don’t require one.” He and Mrs. Babcock departed.

North stared after them. “We can’t tell anyone about this, especially my brother.”

“No,” Hypatia agreed. “We couldn’t have proved they killed him and covered it up, unless their confession to us would have been enough.”

“It might have been, but we had no other evidence to back it up. Anyone could have burned that dressing gown, including Usher in a confused daze.”

“I’m shocked by this revelation,” Hypatia said. “Not that Mrs. Babcock killed Sir Radnor, but that Maberly was her accessory.”

North nodded. “He was exceptional at disguising his loathing of his employer. I would not have thought him capable of this level of deceit.”

“Mrs. Babcock’s protection of the maids takes on a different light now.” Hypatia looked at North, her eyes full of compassion. “We need to tell one person. Cora should know she didn’t kill Sir Radnor. That’s a weight her conscience doesn’t need.”

“I can’t argue with that,” North said. “Shall we go find her now?”

“Yes, let’s. I don’t want her to carry that another moment.” Hypatia opened her hand and wrinkled her nose at the piece of Sir Radnor’s dressing gown. “I think I’ll finish Maberly’s job and burn this. Perhaps with the rest of Sir Radnor’s clothing.”

“Bonfire Night is coming up soon,” North said with a teasing smirk.

Hypatia laughed, and North joined in. “Thank you,” she said at length when they’d sobered. “I needed a bit of humor. This has been a difficult week. Or however many days.”

“In some ways, it feels much longer,” North said. “Perhaps because of our partnership. I feel as if I’ve known you for some time.”

“And yet we’re barely more than acquaintances.”

“Surely, we’re friends by now.” North would be surprised if she didn’t agree.

Hypatia looked away uneasily. “I’m not sure it’s in my best interest to be friends with a man.” She met his gaze once more. “My reputation may not survive it, among other reasons.”

North had heard what she’d said to Mrs. Babcock—that most women felt powerless at some point—and what she hadn’t said. He knew Hypatia spoke from experience, just as Mrs. Babcock had.

He’d suspected she was keeping something from him, and now he thought he knew. Not the specific thing, whatever it was, but he felt confident it was to do with her marriage. He also presumed he wouldn’t like hearing whatever it was. Because whether Hypatia thought they were friends or not, she’d become important to North.

“I would be heartbroken if our association ended now,” he said honestly. “And I’m not trying to flirt with you. I’ve believed in you, stood by you, and I’ve come to care for you as a good friend would. I am your friend, Lady Cartwright. Whether you want me to be or not.” He lifted his hands in surrender.

“Yes, you have been a friend. Just don’t ask me to dine at your house alone. I’m done with that.”

North chuckled. “Fair enough. We could dine at the Pemberton Club, however. I’ve yet to go.”

“Why don’t you come to whist night at the club on Tuesdays?” she suggested.

“That sounds diverting.” He understood why she preferred that. A dinner between the two of them would prompt gossip, at least from Mrs. Lambton, who’d already demonstrated an interest in their relationship. The whist tournament would be far less provocative. “I suppose we should go.”

“Yes.” She started toward the door, then turned to look back at him, cocking her head. “Heartbroken? How can I not take that as flirtation when disappointed would have sufficed?”