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This notion Sir had spoken of must have had something to do with the murder inquiry. “Did Carrigan or Norris drive him?” Hugh asked.

“No. They were both in the kitchens this morning for breakfast.”

Wherever he’d gone, Sir had either walked or hired a cab. Restless agitation had stolen any remaining sense of contentment his night with Audrey had given him. He shrugged out of his dressing gown and reached for his clothes. Basil gave his cravat cloth an extra inspection before wrapping it around Hugh’s collar and knotting it expertly. That, and helping him into his jacket, were the only tasks Hugh permitted his valet to assist him with.

“I’m meeting with Thornton this morning to discuss the inquest for Miss Harwood. If Sir arrives, keep him here,” he said once he was ready.

Basil wrinkled his brow. “I shall try. It is the best I can offer.”

At thirteen or thereabouts, Sir was entering the troublesome years in which he would believe himself to be more mature, more capable, and more entitled than he truly was. No one was going to tell him what to do, least of all Basil.

Hugh asked Rivers to summon Norris and the carriage, and then he went to the kitchens himself. As soon as he entered the servants’ space, Dorothy, Carrigan, Greer, and Whitlock all ceased speaking and jumped from their chairs to stand—the butler hardly coming out of his before Hugh held up his palm.

“Sit, please. Carrigan. Mrs. Carrigan. A moment, if you will.” He stepped into a narrow corridor, and Audrey’s driver and former lady’s maid followed.

“My lord, is something wrong with her ladyship?” Greer—now Mrs. Carrigan—asked.

“No, not at all. She is still sleeping. But I believe you know that she has an appointment today at one o’clock in Hyde Park?”

“Yes, my lord. Dorothy informed me yesterday,” Greer said.

“Good. Carrigan, it’s imperative that you stay close. I don’t trust the woman she is meeting with. I do not want Audrey alone with her, or anywhere too secluded. She won’t allow me to accompany her, so I am asking you to be vigilant.”

Carrigan, who stood at least six feet tall and had broad shoulders and hams for fists, understood Hugh’s order. The slow nod and serious gaze conveyed it. “I won’t let her ladyship out of my sight. You’ve my word.”

“I will accompany her,” Greer said. Though she was now housekeeper, her attachment to Audrey ran deep. “As her maid, I will be able to stay closer. A few strides away, at most.”

She was correct. Lady Susan would surely hesitate to lash out at Audrey, should she have any inclination to do so. Hugh wasn’t going to take any chances with Audrey’s safety.

“Thank you,” he said. “Both of you.”

The carriage was waiting for him by then, and Norris drove him the short distance to Thornton’s home. Goodwin took his coat and hat at the door and directed him to the dining room.

There, he found Thornton seated at the head of a long table, a plate of eggs, sausages, and toast practically untouched. Another place setting was to his right, a silver cloche covering the plate. Without looking up from his morning issue of The Times, Thornton said, “Against my wishes, Mrs. Dort prepared a plate for you.”

Hugh pulled out the chair at the designated spot, his stomach suddenly wide awake with hunger. “Against your wishes?”

“I’m still peeved there is a dead body in my cellar.”

“Being stingy with breakfast isn’t going to make her disappear,” Hugh said as he spread a napkin in his lap and lifted the silver cloche, not waiting for the footman to come forward and do it for him. The plate, however, had been scraped clean except for a single triangle of toast.

“No, but your expression of disappointment certainly helps lighten my spirits,” Thornton said, folding his newspaper while laughing heartily.

Hugh took the toast and ate it. “Bloody bastard.”

Still grinning, Thornton signaled the footman who came forward with another plate. This time when the cloche came off, the plate was full to its gold-etched edges.

“Stop pouting and eat already. And tell me where you are with the inquest.”

“I’ve identified a few witnesses to take part. A footman at the Harwoods’ neighbor’s home, a servant at Mr. Messinger’s, the doorman at the Seven Sins. Morris Harwood, of course. Sir Gabriel has some jurors in mind. I’ll have invitations delivered today.”

“And do you have any suspects yet?” Thornton asked.

Hugh’s hunger waned somewhat as he explained to his friend why Tobias Sinclair was currently the primary suspect. Thornton’s surprise was evident by his speechless state and the heaviness with which he sat back in his chair.

“Tobias will be present to answer questions put to him,” Hugh said. “As will Victor Messinger. His son, Calvin, just so happens to have been the victim’s secret fiancé.”

Thornton sat forward, elbows on the table. “So, he probably did send her that ancient ring you found with the body.”