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“I agree that with the police still not sure if Harding’s death was murder or an accident, finding who killed Harding is our primary goal, but I am also interested to know exactly how much Harding stole from me. I can’t reconcile my records without his in hand.”
“Therefore, breaking into his flat to retrieve your records is not a crime.”
William smiled. “I would love to see the magistrate’s face when you offer that explanation for why we were caught rummaging around a dead man’s flat.”
“There is no reason to be concerned about that, my lord.”
“And why is that?”
“I have no intention of getting caught.”
William quoted:
The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men
gang aft agley,
an’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain
for promis’d joy!
“Robert Burns,” Amy said.
“Exactly.”
One of his maids pushed a tea cart into the drawing room. Mrs. Pringle was right behind her, directing the setup.
“Thank you, everything looks wonderful.” Because William’s cook seemed to think he would fade away if she didn’t ply him with immense amounts of food, she had sent in small sandwiches, tarts, biscuits, cheese, and fruit along with a large pot of tea.
William nodded at Amy. “Will you pour, my lady?” With Mrs. Pringle present, he reverted to formality.
Amy poured the tea for them both, adding sugar and a drop of milk in William’s. She handed him a plate. “Choose what you wish. I’m not sure how hungry you are.”
He filled his plate with everything offered while she took cheese, fruit, and a small biscuit. He noticed but didn’t comment as she eyed the lovely tarts but didn’t put one on her plate.
“Have you admitted that breaking into Harding’s flat is the best way to move forward?” Amy asked in a low voice.
William wiped his mouth with a napkin and sighed. “I never think breaking the law is the best way to do anything, but in this case, breaking in will not be necessary.”
“Oh. Why is that?”
“I am part owner of the building where his flat is located. All I need do is contact the managing agent and tell him I need to enter Harding’s flat to retrieve some of my belongings.”
Amy sat back. “Well. That was certainly easy enough. Why did you not tell me before that we would not have to break into the building?”
He grinned. “I was far too entertained listening to you planning on operating on the wrong side of the law again.”
Amy had opened her mouth—to offer a retort, no doubt—when his attention was drawn by noise at the front door. It sounded as if a whirlwind had entered. “What the devil?” He stood and walked to the drawing room entrance.
“William! I cannot tell you how delighted I am to finally arrive.” His mother smiled and tugged on the tips of her gloves. “All my luggage will be here in a day or so. But right now I could use a good cup of tea.” She glided up to him and kissed him on his cheek while he stared dumbfounded at her.
She was actually here. She had made good on her promise to move in with him.
Mother leaned back and patted him on the cheek. “My goodness, son, you look as though you’ve seen a ghost.” To his horror, before he could stop her and explain, she moved past him and entered the drawing room. Sucking in a deep breath, she clasped her hands to her throat and said, “Oh my goodness.” His conniving, diligent, hungry-for-more-grandchildren, marriage-minded mother turned to him with absolute glee written on her face. “Who have we here?”
William dropped his head to his chest and groaned.
CHAPTER 7
