Page 39

“But if you do, rest assured there is a doctor on hand,” Thornton said with a mischievous grin.

“Do you want to hear what I’ve learned or not?” Sir asked, wheezing.

Hugh crossed his arms. “Yes. However, don’t think I’m overlooking the fact that you stayed out all night without a word to anyone. I’ve a punishment in mind, and it has to do with assisting Basil with one of his tedious tasks.”

Sir tossed up his hands in resignation, then declared, “It’s the wife, Mister Hugh! She said she was with her mum all night because she was poorly, didn’t she?”

Hugh straightened, his arms coming back down to his sides. “Mrs. Harwood? Yes. Is that where you were last night? Checking her alibi?”

He hadn’t seen the need for it, as Sir’s interview with the Harwoods’ neighbor had verified that he’d seen both Mr. and Mrs. Harwood leaving at the times they had claimed.

“That’s right, and I’m glad I did,” Sir said, finally breathing normally. “She’s been lying this whole time.”

Chapter

Thirteen

Awide sash of black crepe had been fixed to the front door of the Harwoods’ home. It marked the residence as one that was in mourning, and the sight of it increased Audrey’s feelings of awkwardness as she brought down the knocker. She didn’t wish to disturb Mr. and Mrs. Harwood during their grieving, and yet after her conversation with Lady Susan at the reservoir, she could not let her suspicion rest that Jessamin Harwood had known about the baby. Not only that, but that the baby and plans for an elopement were tied to Penelope’s murder in some way.

Whatever Mrs. Harwood knew, it was imperative that she share it with Hugh. However, it might be more comfortable for Mrs. Harwood to discuss these matters first with another woman.

When no one answered the door after her first knock, Audrey tried again. It wasn’t entirely uncommon for houses in mourning to not answer the door when someone arrived unannounced. Audrey was preparing to return to the carriage, where Greer and Carrigan waited, when the sound of the door’s locks stopped her.

Once again, it was Mrs. Harwood who answered the door. She wore black, and as it did to many women in mourning, it drained the color from her cheeks. The rims of her eyes were red, the tip of her nose too, from crying.

“Oh, Viscountess Neatham. I didn’t expect you.”

It wasn’t the warmest of welcomes, yet Audrey didn’t fault her for it.

“I apologize for arriving unannounced, especially while you are in mourning,” she began, still standing on the front step. Mrs. Harwood vacillated a moment, and Audrey wondered if she would be turned away.

But Mrs. Harwood blinked and seemed to come to a decision. She stepped aside, and Audrey accepted the invitation to come into the foyer. “I do not mean to be rude, my lady, but I find I am not suitable for callers.”

Her low mood was evidenced by her pallid complexion. The hollows under her eyes were deep and dark, as if bruised.

“I don’t wish to bother you, but I have a few more questions. They are delicate, and for that reason, I thought you might welcome them more from me than you would from my husband,” Audrey explained.

Mrs. Harwood frowned. “Delicate?”

The sound of approaching footsteps on the staircase drew Audrey’s attention, and she saw Mr. Harwood descending, a valise in his hand. He came to a stop when he saw her.

“Viscountess,” he said, sounding and looking startled.

Audrey greeted him with a benign grin and noted that two large traveling portmanteaus sat at the base of the stairs, along with a few hat boxes. Mr. Harwood added the valise to the collection.

“We’ve gathered some of Penelope’s things to give to charity,” Mrs. Harwood said, gesturing to the portmanteaus. “I thought it best to take care of it now rather than draw out the inevitable.”

“Of course,” Audrey said, though she did think it rather odd to have already cleared out Penelope’s belongings. Unfeeling in a way as well, although Audrey knew better than to judge how people chose to grieve. Perhaps this was a way they could temporarily avoid feeling the full loss of Penelope.

Audrey peered at Mr. Harwood, lingering on the steps, then at his wife again. “Do you have a few minutes to spare, Mrs. Harwood?”

She held out a hand toward the front sitting room, then addressed her husband, “The Viscountess and I shall be in the parlor, dear.”

Once they were seated across from one another, with Mrs. Harwood perched primly on the very edge of her chair’s cushion, she repeated, “Delicate, my lady? How do you mean?”

Audrey would come right to the matter, rather than dance around the questions. “I have reason to believe that Penelope might have been with child. And that you may have known.”

Mrs. Harwood had been fidgeting with her lace handkerchief, dyed black to match her mourning attire. Her fingers now stilled. She blinked several times, lashes fluttering, as her gaze slowly slid toward the rug. Audrey knew the expression the woman wore: It was one of guilt.