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Tobias Sinclair had seemed quite certain of his friend’s involvement with Penelope. But then, Morris Harwood and his wife had not mentioned Calvin, and they’d said they did not know Victor Messinger. Only Tobias had connected Calvin and Penelope. Hugh didn’t want to think Tobias had been trying to throw suspicion onto someone else, but he also couldn’t overlook that possibility.

“So, you claim to have no knowledge of your son’s relationship with Penelope Harwood,” Hugh said. “Who might? His valet?”

Victor Messinger puckered his mouth, looking as though he’d sucked a lemon wedge. “Lansing is with him on the Continent, of course, but you are welcome to question the rest of my staff. However, what you will find, Lord Neatham, is that the young woman was not known to anyone here.”

Messinger’s smug grin crawled under Hugh’s skin and lodged there. He prayed Audrey had discovered a connection between Penelope and Calvin while speaking to Lady Susan Ritchson because so far, only Tobias had been able to connect them.

“It might take some time to receive his reply, but I’d like you to write your son and ask him what his relationship was with Penelope Harwood,” Hugh said.

Messinger stood from where he’d sat down earlier. “I will write him directly. But I believe you are wasting valuable time. Someone clearly wished to implicate me in the young woman’s death by transporting her to my carriage house, and it looks like you are falling for the ruse. It is disappointing, to say the least.”

“There is a reason Miss Harwood was left here to be found,” Hugh said, ignoring the man’s barb. “I believe it has to do with your son Calvin.”

Messinger leveled Sir Gabriel with a look of betrayal. “I am sure you can show yourselves out, gentlemen. It seems I have a letter to write. Good day.”

He swept from the room with the same urgency as he’d entered. As soon as he was gone, the chief magistrate swore under his breath. “Well, I doubt I’ll be welcome the next time he hosts a dinner here.”

“Sorry, sir,” Hugh replied. Though he couldn’t imagine why Sir Gabriel would wish to attend any function thrown by Victor Messinger. “I believe him when he says he did not recognize Miss Harwood, but there is something he is withholding.”

Hugh couldn’t describe how he knew this. To say it was a feeling was not enough.

“I find I agree,” Sir Gabriel said as they exited the home, stepping outside into the raw December afternoon. “I think you should have another conversation with Mr. Harwood. And Lord Sinclair,” he added, with a look that said Hugh should not argue.

He sighed. “I will.”

They parted ways, with Sir Gabriel climbing into a hansom to bring him home while Hugh simply walked next door. He descended directly to the servant’s entrance under their front stoop; there was no point in questioning the family that resided there. Servants always knew more than their employers anyhow.

He did not introduce himself as a viscount; doing so would only ensure the servants would not speak freely to him. Instead, he presented himself as he once had, as Principal Officer Hugh Marsden. He hadn’t missed the apathetic sneers he often received from people when questioning them. Though the housekeeper at Number 8, right next door to Victor Messinger, was unimpressed, she held her outright aggravation in check while Hugh stood just inside the servant’s hall.

“It’s a disgrace, this sort of goings-on happening here on our decent street. It reflects poorly on us all,” she said, her arms crossed over her chest and chin hitched high.

“Did you or any of your staff see anything strange last evening in the mews lane between six thirty and seven thirty?”

It was possible someone else had seen the same shifty wagon and person driving along the mews as the maid from Number 9 had. Perhaps someone had seen even more.

“We were busy preparing dinner for Mr. and Mrs. Belton at that time. None of the staff should’ve been outside,” she said.

“Have you ever seen a young woman—who isn’t a servant—entering or exiting the Messinger household?”

Hugh had asked the servants employed by Victor Messinger if a young woman of the victim’s description had ever been seen there before, and they’d all denied it. However, now, Hugh wondered if they had simply been close-lipped about Calvin’s secret courtship. Surely, if he’d been carrying on with Penelope, she may have gained access to the house via the mews lane.

The housekeeper hesitated, her lips pressing together thinly. “A young woman? No. However…” She checked over her shoulder to peer at the busy kitchen down the hall. “I did see something odd in the mews having to do with Mr. Messinger.”

Hugh’s interest piqued. “When?”

“About a month back.”

“What did you see?”

She lowered her voice some more. “Him and another man. It was late, past dark, and there wasn’t much light, but I saw the pair of them. Mr. Messinger had his arm around this man’s shoulders, leading him inside.”

The housekeeper arched a brow and pulled a face that conveyed the nature of the meeting she believed she’d seen.

“Did you see the other man’s face? Recognize him?” Hugh asked.

She shook her head decisively. “He wore a hat, and his collar was up. His head was down too. He was being careful, he was, going round the back like that.”

Hugh wasn’t sure how it would relate to the case at hand, but it was clear the housekeeper believed she’d witnessed her neighbor welcoming another man into his home for a romantic liaison. That two men would enjoy each other’s company romantically was not a shock to Hugh. It did not disgust him, either, as it might have others. What people got up to in the privacy of their own homes was none of his concern.