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“Too kind,” she said in a wry tone. “Now, sit. You must be exhausted.”
“No, although I did have an early start to the day, thanks to you,” he said with a smile.
Bathsheba wrinkled her nose. “Sorry, but I knew John would have wished for you to take the call.”
“You too, I suspect.”
“Moi?” she replied with exaggerated surprise as she handed him the whisky.
He settled into the other armchair. “Yer a cheeky lass, ye ken.”
Bathsheba daintily scoffed as she resumed her seat, her wide skirts belling around her. As always, the lovely Mrs. Blackmore was dressed bang-up to the mark. But even more than her appearance, it was her incisive mind and sharp wit that made her so attractive. If not for the fact that he was perfectly happy with his bachelor status, Braden might even be jealous of John’s domestic bliss. As it was, he considered himself fortunate to have the Blackmores as good and true friends.
“How is little Mary? Will I be seeing her today?”
“My daughter is spending the afternoon with friends. I wanted to make sure we had the chance for a full discussion of the problem without being interrupted.”
Braden shook his head. “I was hoping my suspicions were far-fetched, but I suppose that was too much to ask for.”
“Sadly, yes. That’s why I asked you to attend the call. I knew you would keep your counsel and not pester Samantha with questions. But, first, tell me how Donny fares. Is he much injured?”
“A badly sprained ankle and possibly a small tear in the ligament, but nothing that won’t mend. He’ll have to stay off the foot at least for a few weeks, if not longer.”
Bathsheba grimaced. “Hmm. That’s likely to be a problem.”
“And why is that?”
“Because Donny goes everywhere with Samantha. He watches over her.”
“You mean like a bodyguard?”
“Exactly like that.”
Bathsheba absently tapped the stem of her wineglass, deep in thought. Braden guessed that she was trying to decide which details to share with him. After all, a woman’s reputation was at stake, as well as the loyalty one friend owed to another. Braden had little doubt that Lady Samantha would be appalled to know that he and Bathsheba were about to discuss what could laughably be described as a very delicate matter.
“What do you know about Roger Penwith’s death?” she asked.
“Very little, but for the fact that he was killed during a robbery attempt.”
Bathsheba shook her head. “It wasn’t a robbery attempt.”
He frowned. “That’s the common understanding, though. And how would one know? I don’t believe there were any witnesses.”
“No, unfortunately. The murder occurred in one of those dreary little alleys off Westbow. So it was quite deserted.”
The wynds and laneways of Old Town could be like the depths of Hell after nightfall, with only the dim lights from tenement windows to break up the gloom. Taking the alleys or the staircases after dark was a risky venture at best.
“What was Penwith doing in that part of town at night by himself and unarmed?”
She arched an ironic brow. “Oh, like some doctors we know?”
“Trust me, lesson learned.”
“I’m relieved to hear it. Unfortunately, poor Roger was not given the opportunity to learn that lesson. He’d been working late at the orphanage and for some reason decided to walk home instead of taking a hackney. He was shot not far from the orphanage, but his body was not found until a few hours later.”
Braden surveyed his mental map of Old Town.
“I suppose he could have been taking a shortcut up the hill. Seems rather foolish, though.”
