Page 19 of In the Midnight Hour

“Yes,” he replied in a normal tone. “It’s not a secret. Everyone will know as soon as I’m called.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Mrs. Lambton said with a light chuckle. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she regarded him. “Care to share what information you’ll be imparting?”

“I can’t say because it will depend on what the coroner asks me.” North didn’t share that the coroner was his brother. That would become evident as soon as everyone walked into the room and saw that Harry and North were nearly identical.

“There’s Lady Cartwright.” Mrs. Lambton looked toward the door, craning her neck to see over someone.

The widow moved into the common room, and North couldn’t help but notice the hush that fell over everyone momentarily. This was followed by a fast-growing murmur of conversation, as if the assembly were commenting on Lady Cartwright’s entrance.

Or perhaps they were admiring her gorgeous ensemble. She wore a dark plum walking dress with a magnificent hat decorated with an ostrich feather dyed plum to match. Her gloves were the same stunning color. Indeed, she looked like a walking fashion plate.

Mrs. Lambton leaned toward North. “I wonder if the specifics of her friendship with Sir Radnor will become known during her testimony. One can hope,” she added with a smile that irritated North far more than it probably should have.

“Martha.” Miss Selby nudged her sister with her elbow, then sent North an apologetic look. “Forgive my sister. She often speaks without thinking.”

Such was the way of a gossip. North typically found such people irritating, but in this case, she could perhaps provide useful information. He turned his attention to Mrs. Lambton. “Did you notice the revelation in yesterday’s Observer about Sir Radnor’s relatives being denied an inheritance?”

“I did.” Mrs. Lambton’s gaze sharpened to that of a wolf identifying its prey. “I would love to know who is writing the Observer and where they collect their information.”

It occurred to North that Mrs. Lambton could very well be the author. She seemed well-positioned to gather the gossip. But he doubted she would gain satisfaction from sharing it anonymously in writing. Busybodies such as her thrived on being recognized as having the latest and most shocking on-dits. North had met his share of them in London Society.

“You’ve no idea who the author is?” North was certain of her answer but wanted to ask anyway.

“No.” She exhaled with disappointment. “It could be anyone in the square. Or within the entire Pemberton Estate, for that matter.”

In truth, the author didn’t even have to reside in the square.

North was spared from further conversation with Mrs. Lambton by the constable announcing they may now make their way up to the inquest room. He also called for the witnesses to sit in the first row in front of the coroner’s table.

It was good the room was large since so many people had turned out. Harry was seated at one end of the room behind a table. A recorder sat to his left.

The jurors, which included Huxley, were seated on benches against the wall opposite the door. Chairs and benches were arranged in parallel rows facing Harry’s table. Drummond sat in a chair in the corner to Harry’s right.

North glanced about and realized he was looking for the alluring widow in plum. Since they were both witnesses, why not sit together?

Lady Cartwright had provoked his curiosity. At both their meetings, she’d seemed nervous, but she’d also been witty. North found himself utterly beguiled despite whatever involvement she had in Sir Radnor’s death.

She was easy to spot with the feather in her hat as she moved to the front row and sat nearest the door. North quickly cut through the flow of people to hopefully snare the seat beside her, but a gentleman North didn’t recognize beat him to it.

Walking past Lady Cartwright as he made his way to the open chair on the other side of the gentleman, North slid his gaze toward her. She did not look up. Her gloved hands rested demurely in her lap over her matching plum reticule, the right positioned atop the left.

North settled, rather disappointedly, into the chair next to the unknown gentleman.

“I see Lord Wetherby and Mr. Huxley are jurors,” Mrs. Lambton said in a low tone from behind him. Glancing back, he saw that she was talking to her sister. Mrs. Lambton was seated directly behind him.

North looked over at the jury and noted that Huxley sat in the chair closest to Harry. The man’s attention was fixed on something. Following the direction of his stare, North saw the man was looking at Lady Cartwright.

She inclined her head—almost imperceptibly, but North caught it—in response. He looked back at Huxley, who’d dropped his head in an effort to hide a smile. North wondered what their unspoken communication could be about.

Lord Wetherby sat a few seats down from Huxley. In his late fifties with storm-cloud gray hair and a penchant for using a quizzing glass, the viscount was extremely conservative in his views, particularly with regard to women. North knew him from Society and found him barely tolerable. He lived on the east side of the square two doors from the Pemberton Club. North hadn’t yet gone to the club and supposed he should make it a priority, lest his neighbors think he was a prig.

Harry rose, and the conversation in the room died out. Behind North, Mrs. Lambton gasped. North could practically feel her eyes boring into him. In fact, he sensed the attention of nearly everyone on him—but none more keenly than that of Lady Cartwright, who leaned slightly forward in her seat to look around the gentleman so she could deliver North a frigid stare.

Oddly, North thrilled at her attention even though it was cool.

Ignoring the murmurs that had picked up briefly around the room, Harry began the inquest and swore in the jurors. Piers Huxley had been elected as the foreman. Harry then promptly announced they would be leaving the Three Tuns to view Sir Radnor’s body in Pemberton Square.

North had expected that, but he heard others grumbling at the delay, the loudest of which seemed to be Mrs. Lambton. Perhaps that was because North could hear her best.