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A bell went off in William’s head. “At which pub do you work?”
“What’s it to you? I just said I only serve drinks.”
“No. I apologize; that is not what I meant. I am looking for those who work in the pubs near the river.”
“Looking for Patrick, looking for people who work at pubs. What are you, some private investigator?”
“No. I am checking on Patrick on behalf of his stepmother. I would like to speak to those who work at pubs near a certain part of the river for another reason.”
The woman sniffed. “Sounds suspicious to me.”
Perhaps his title would get him some answers. “I am Lord Wethington. May I ask your name?”
“Millie. Mrs. Millie Johnson.” She fisted her hands on her hips. “Why?”
The woman was certainly of the suspicious sort. But then, if she was serving drinks in a pub near the river and allowing men to stay in her house while they recovered from illnesses, she would have to be suspicious in order to stay unharmed. And alive.
Since it appeared he would get nowhere with Mrs. Johnson, he said, “May I speak with Mr. Whitney?”
Millie shrugged and pointed to a room to his left. “You can wait in there. I think he’s probably well enough to come downstairs.”
William nodded his thanks and entered the drawing room. Whitney had been sick for the past couple of weeks and staying here. Why he wouldn’t seek help from his stepmother raised a few questions in William’s mind.
About fifteen minutes passed before Whitney entered the room. William had no idea what he had expected the man to look like, but nevertheless he was startled to see a very young man, perhaps little more than eight and twenty years. He had the look of someone who had been sick for a while. Moving slowly, he had pasty skin, dark circles under his eyes, and a slender form, which could be his normal figure. “Why are you looking for me?”
Just the walk to the room and that little bit of speech had left Whitney breathless.
“Why don’t we sit?” William waved to a faded olive-green settee.
Whitney nodded and plodded over to the settee. He let out a deep sigh once he was seated. For having been sick for a couple of weeks already, the man was not in good shape. Whatever had gotten hold of him must have brought him close to his death.
He looked over at William with narrowed eyes. “What do you want?”
William leaned forward. “Your stepmother is concerned about you. She wanted me to find you and let her know you are all right.” No point in mentioning she was afraid he might be hiding for killing Harding.
“As you can see, I am not all right, but don’t tell her that; she worries about everything. Which is why, when I started to feel really sick, I came to Millie’s house. We’ve been friends for years.”
“How long were your father and stepmother married?”
“Only about three years when he died last year.” He leaned his head back on the settee and closed his eyes. The man was really in poor condition.
“Do you have employment you’ve been unable to attend to while you’ve been sick?”
He shook his head. “No. My father left me a tidy sum. I also inherited his two businesses.” He remained silent for a bit, then said, “How is Mrs. Whitney? She was distraught the last time I saw her.”
Likely she had been distraught because he was making threats. It was time to either cross Patrick off his list of suspects or move him to the top.
“When she spoke with me, she was troubled because she said you had threatened Mr. Harding.”
He waved his hand. “I’ve been sick too long to deal with Harding. But you can be sure I will visit with him to check on Mrs. Whitney’s trust.”
William was taken aback. “Did you not know that Mr. Harding is dead?”
Patrick sat up, his eyes wide. “Dead?”
“Yes. He drowned a couple of weeks ago. His body was found floating in the River Avon.”
Patrick shook his head. “I didn’t trust the man, but I’m sorry for his death.”
