Page 11 of In the Midnight Hour

North rose early on Monday to ride in Hyde Park. When he returned to Pemberton Square, he went directly to the morning room for breakfast, where his footman, George, brought him a plate of kidneys and eggs with a slice of toast.

“Coffee or tea, my lord?” George asked.

North never knew which he would choose until the moment the word left his mouth. “Coffee today, thank you.”

George went to the sideboard where he poured. The butler, Rook, strode in carrying a stack of newspapers, which he set on the table as North slathered strawberry jam on his toast.

Rook, who’d just started in the position when he’d overseen North’s move to the house, placed all but one sheet on the table next to North’s plate. Prior to becoming North’s butler, Rook had been the senior footman at Aylesbury House. His green eyes glimmered with mischief, which was not unusual. One of the reasons North had hired him to manage his household was his ability to find humor in every situation.

“Were you aware there is a broadsheet dedicated to the news of Pemberton Square and the surrounding areas?” Rook asked with enthusiasm.

North swallowed as George set the coffee on the table. “I was not.”

Rook set the paper on top of the others. The masthead read THE OBSERVER with “News of the Pemberton Estate” beneath. It was dated today, the eighteenth of October.

The primary article that took up two-thirds of the page was titled, “TRAGEDY IN PEMBERTON SQUARE.” North knew without reading the article what it was about.

George glanced at the paper. “Perry says that’s a gossip rag.”

Perry was his valet.

“Has he been reading it?” North asked.

“Today is the first day I’ve seen it,” Rook said. “I think Perry heard that from Mr. White’s butler next door. Not that he called it a ‘rag,’ mind you. That was Perry’s colorful contribution.”

“I shall decide what it is.” North read the article, which gave a surprisingly clear account of Sir Radnor’s death. Whoever authored the Observer had correct information. He skimmed for the author’s name anywhere on the sheet, but there wasn’t one. “Do either of you know who writes this?”

“Doesn’t it say?” Rook asked.

North shook his head and went back to reading. None of it was new to him—Sir Radnor’s death was ruled an accident, so there would be no inquest. However, one sentence contained new—and interesting—information.

Sir Radnor’s blood relatives were not included in his will.

How did the author of this broadsheet know such a detail?

The article concluded with information about the funeral, which was to be held tomorrow afternoon. North had thought about Sir Radnor lying in his house across the square more than once. He would probably look and smell awful by now, despite the servants’ efforts to keep him and the air fresh.

George had returned to his position by the sideboard, and Rook had retreated to the doorway that led to the staircase hall.

“What is your determination of the broadsheet?” Rook asked.

“That it is rather accurate.” North had shared his activities at Sir Radnor’s house the other day with both his butler and his valet. He narrowed his gaze at Rook. “You didn’t discuss anything I told you with anyone, did you?”

“Of course not,” Rook replied. “I confirmed you were there to help, but that was already common knowledge.”

“Bloody hell, news travels quickly around this square,” North said as he forked a bite of eggs.

Rook inclined his blond head. “I’ve gathered there is quite a servants’ network of gossip, in addition to Mrs. Lambton, of course.”

“I don’t want any of you participating in that.” North waved his fork as he looked at George and then Rook. “People always want to know what the heir to an earldom is up to, and it’s none of their affair.”

“We would never, my lord,” Rook assured him.

“How goes the unpacking of the study?” North asked before taking another bite.

Rook glanced at the footman. “George will be unpacking the crates of books today.”

North turned his attention to George. “I don’t mind if you start that now. I’m keen for things to be settled.”