Page 18 of In the Midnight Hour

“But there is gossip.” He waggled his brows at her in a vexing fashion. “Such as Sir Radnor’s relatives being left out of his will. I find myself curious how the author knew such a detail. Do you know who writes the Observer? I didn’t see a name associated with any of the articles.”

“I do not. And neither does anyone else. You ought not concern yourself overmuch with how people learn things in Pemberton Square. Gossip is rife.”

“I see, that is helpful to know,” he said with a creased, contemplative expression. “How long has the Observer been in print?”

Why was he asking so many questions about the broadsheet? “Lord Northwood, you are either an exceedingly curious man, or you enjoy provoking people with questions. Which is it?”

He laughed, surprising her. “Both, if I’m being honest.”

Blast, but she found him almost charming. “I believe it began its distribution a few months ago.”

“Well, I can’t imagine the author and publisher can remain unknown,” he mused. “I’m curious how they come by their information.”

“We’ve established that you’re inordinately curious.”

“Lady Cartwright, dare I hope you’re flirting with me?”

“I don’t recommend you bother. You must excuse me.” She looked down at Quill, who was giving himself a bath. “Come, Quill.”

She turned and walked away from him. He called out after her, “See you at the inquest tomorrow!”

Frustratingly, Hypatia returned home in a darker mood than when she’d left.

Chapter 5

North was one of the first people at the Three Tuns in advance of the inquest late Tuesday morning. He’d even arrived before Harry. However, no one was being admitted upstairs to the room where the inquest would be held until after all twelve members of the jury arrived. A constable from Marlborough Street stood sentinel at the stairs.

Whilst he waited, North obtained an ale from the barkeep and sat down at a table. Harry arrived just then, his gaze settling on North, who lifted his tankard with a smile in greeting.

“You’re here early,” Harry noted with an arched brow.

“I’m eager.” North shrugged. “I’m looking forward to seeing you in your new role. You were quite formidable as a constable and, before that, as a magistrate.”

A brief smile flitted across Harry’s mouth. “I just hope this doesn’t end up being a waste of time.”

“I would say the pursuit of truth and justice never is.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “That sounds like something I would say, not you. Perhaps you should have studied the law and become a barrister.”

“Perhaps I will.” North took a drink of ale.

Humor danced in Harry’s gaze. “I doubt that very much. Father would tell you not to bother, and that if you want an occupation, you should stand for Parliament in the Commons.”

Indeed, their father had suggested that to North several times. However, North didn’t relish the idea of pushing someone else out, which is precisely what would happen if he, the son of an earl, stood for an occupied seat.

“I do appreciate your interest in finding the truth, even if I find it slightly puzzling,” Harry continued. “I should not discount your inkling that something may be off with Sir Radnor’s death. I sometimes have those same feelings, and as you are my twin and we share a sometimes bizarre connection, I should give you the same credence I give myself.”

“I appreciate that,” North said genuinely. His gaze flicked to the door where a familiar face walked in. The tall, dark-haired man with envy-inducing chiseled features was Piers Huxley, the proprietor of the bookshop and lending library. North expected many people from Pemberton Square to attend the inquest.

Except Huxley went straight to the stairs, and the constable allowed him to go up. That meant Huxley was a juror. How many other Pemberton Square residents were on the jury?

“I need to get upstairs,” Harry said. “I’ll see you there. As promised, you’re up first for testimony.” He flashed a smirk before striding away from the table.

Over the next quarter hour, the common room of the pub began to fill with mostly residents of the square—or so North thought. He’d only made the acquaintance of a fraction of his neighbors, but he recognized many, including Mr. White from next door.

Mrs. Lambton and her spinster sister, Miss Selby, entered. North had finished his ale and stood from the table. The sisters made their way toward him—perhaps they’d seen him stand—or rather, Mrs. Lambton targeted him and her sister trailed behind.

“Lord Northwood, I should have expected to see you here given your assistance with Sir Radnor’s household the morning he was discovered,” Mrs. Lambton said. “So kind of you to help.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Are you testifying?”