Page 6 of In the Midnight Hour

“What were you doing?” North asked.

“Determining the depth and consequence of the injury. I felt a depression in Sir Radnor’s skull. I believe it was fractured when he hit his head.”

North’s gaze snapped to the bedpost. “Wouldn’t he have had to fall on the finial to cause that kind of damage?”

Dr. Ellingham took the wet cloth that Maberly gave him and wiped his bloody fingers. “It’s hard to say.” He handed the soiled cloth back to the butler. “I do think it’s plausible, if not probable, that Sir Radnor fell unluckily.” The physician frowned as he looked down at his former patient once more. “I’ve no station in the law, but I think it’s likely Sir Radnor’s death was a tragic accident. Mr. Maberly, you said the coroner was on his way?”

“He is not.” A booming voice with a thick Scottish accent sounded from the doorway.

North recognized the new arrival and he was, indeed, not his brother Harry, the coroner. He was Lachlan Drummond, principal officer of Bow Street. North had met him on several occasions as he’d worked with Harry at Bow Street.

Drummond introduced himself to Dr. Ellingham, and North noted the housekeeper loitering outside the door. She must have shown him up.

“Sheffield sent me,” Drummond said, stepping into the chamber. He wasn’t the tallest of men, but his breadth and muscular frame made him intimidating all the same. His red hair—a lighter shade than North’s darker auburn—did not indicate a fiery demeanor. In fact, Drummond was almost ruthlessly calm and measured. His light blue gaze drifted to North. “He dispatched a note saying you’d requested his presence but that a Bow Street officer is what’s required. If there’s to be an inquest, your brother will get involved at that time.”

North felt a bit chastised, not necessarily from Drummond’s tone or demeanor. Perhaps North was just vexed that Harry hadn’t come.

“What’s happened here?” Drummond asked. “I know Sir Radnor was found dead by a member of the household early this morning.” His gaze fell on Dr. Ellingham, who introduced himself.

“Sir Radnor appears to have struck his head.” Dr. Ellingham gestured to the bedpost. “There is blood on the finial but none on the carpet.”

“Someone cleaned.” Frowning, Drummond took a notebook from his coat, along with a pencil, and scratched notes across the parchment. “Very unhelpful. What other evidence has been destroyed?”

Maberly flushed as he explained that the bed had also been tidied.

Drummond directed his glacial gaze at the physician. “Would you say Sir Radnor’s injury is consistent with falling and hitting his head on the bedpost?”

“I would, but he had to have struck the top of the finial directly. There is a depression in his skull, likely a fracture.” Dr. Ellingham cast a sad look at Sir Radnor. “There must have been a great deal of blood. One can only hope he was too inebriated to feel anything.”

Drummond addressed Dr. Ellingham once more. “What else can you tell me about your examination?”

The physician shared his thoughts on when Sir Radnor had died and that alcohol was likely a contributing factor to the accident.

Drummond pivoted toward the butler. “Was he drunk?”

Maberly nodded in a subdued manner. “Almost certainly. Sir Radnor is—was—fond of his port, and he drank a great deal of it last evening. He has also fallen before. Usher, his valet, found him on the floor next to the chamber pot one morning about a fortnight ago.”

“I’d like to speak with Usher,” Drummond said. “Fetch him for me, please.”

“I will try.” Maberly’s features creased in a faint grimace. “He can be hard to rouse early. He’s in the dressing chamber, if you’ll excuse me.” The butler strode to a door in the corner that looked as though it was part of the blue and ivory striped wallpaper.

Drummond turned to North. “You happened to be strolling around the square when the footman encountered you?”

“I was enjoying a morning constitutional,” North replied with a shrug.

“Just back from the club?” Drummond asked with an arched brow. “Harry has mentioned you keep late hours, but then you’re the heir.”

North bristled inwardly. He was pointedly aware of the differences between him and Harry, largely that he was idle, and Harry was absolutely not. “Yes.” He tried not to sound terse and doubted his success.

“Maberly also mentioned you’re new to the square,” Drummond said. “When did you take up residence—and where?”

“Only last week. At number twelve.”

“Were you acquainted with Sir Radnor?”

North shook his head. “Not as of yet. And I suppose I never will be.” He glanced at the body.

“It was good of you to offer assistance. You can seek your bed now. I’m sure you’re eager.” Drummond shifted his attention to the doorway where Maberly had gone.