Page 62 of In the Midnight Hour

“Up Grey Street, where he turned down Pemberton.” Johnson shrugged. “I’m not sure where he was going.”

North quashed an eager smile. He snapped his gaze to Hypatia’s and saw that she was thinking the exact same thing: that in his fit of rage, Killingsworth had walked straight to Sir Radnor’s.

Hope surged in Hypatia. Killingsworth wasn’t just in Pemberton Square, he’d walked toward Sir Radnor’s!

“What did you do whilst he was walking?” she asked the coachman.

“I waited at the coach. Mr. Killingsworth can be temperamental, especially when he’s intoxicated.” Johnson spoke plainly, as if this kind of behavior were perfectly normal.

“So, you just stay out of his way when he’s like that?” Northwood asked.

Johnson nodded. “He’s even asked us to do so. Says we should leave him alone when he’s angry.”

Whatever opinion Hypatia had regarding Mr. Killingsworth completely plummeted. He sounded like a horrid employer. “Do you know how long he was gone?”

“I marked the time on the clock in the square’s garden. He was gone about twenty minutes. When he returned, he was muttering about Sir Radnor. I fear he was even more drunk than when he’d set out.” Johnson looked a bit pained. “I had to practically lift him into the coach, where he immediately slumped in the corner and closed his eyes. The footman helped me carry him inside when we arrived in Russell Square. By that time, Mr. Killingsworth was asleep.”

Hypatia’s hope faltered. “What time did you leave the square?”

“Around half after midnight.”

Frustration and even a flash of despair drove her to exhale sharply.

“Thank you, Mr. Johnson,” Northwood said, sounding as disappointed as she felt. “We appreciate your time.”

Hypatia turned with him. He guided her back across the street as Barlow trailed them. “I don’t see how Killingsworth could have killed Sir Radnor in twenty minutes. Certainly not in his inebriated state.”

“I suppose it’s possible he could have done it, but he would have had to possess a great deal of information to accomplish the feat in that amount of time. I just don’t see how he could have stolen into Sir Radnor’s house through the mews and back door, made his way to Sir Radnor’s chamber where he killed him, then tidied up the mess and staged the scene to look like an accident. Furthermore, the timing doesn’t even work,” she added bitterly. “Mr. Killingsworth was gone from the square before the murder happened.”

“Unfortunately, I think we must conclude that while Killingsworth had a compelling motive to kill Sir Radnor and was in the vicinity, he could not have done it.” Northwood sent her a worried look as they arrived at the coach.

“This leaves me as the sole suspect then.” She climbed into the coach without help and sat stoically on the forward-facing seat.

Northwood sat beside her. “Don’t lose hope. We’ll find the killer.”

She did not share his optimism nor his confidence. “Drummond is probably waiting for me in Pemberton Square.” She kept her focus straight ahead as they began moving.

“Let’s talk through everything.” He straightened against the squab. “We have to be missing something right in front of us. My brother has always said the killer has to have a motive, the means, and an opportunity to commit the murder.”

“The servants at Sir Radnor’s had the means and the opportunity—the latter of which just about everyone else lacks. However, we haven’t been able to determine a motive. Is a motive really necessary? What if it was an accident?”

Northwood angled himself toward her. “Is that what you think?”

Hypatia turned to look at him and let her thoughts tumble free. “Sir Radnor was made to look as though he’d fallen out of bed. Whoever killed him tried to cover that up. Everything was too tidy, as if the killer was familiar with Sir Radnor’s routines.”

“It all points at someone in the household.” Northwood tossed his hat to the opposite seat and ran his hand through his thick hair, causing a lock to fall over his forehead in a thoroughly rakish fashion.

“I’m thinking about what Usher told me as we walked back from the burial yesterday,” he said. “Sir Radnor could be harsh with Mrs. Babcock, the maids, and the cook.”

Hypatia gasped before he could say more. He turned toward her once more, his eyes wide with alarm. “What?”

“All the women in the household,” she said with a soft horror as suspicion seeded and grew in her mind. “I know exactly what kind of man Sir Radnor was.” She could still feel his hands on her, and see the desperate, primal look in his eyes. “What if his harshness with the women in his household went further than verbal abuse? What else might he have done to them? Unlike me, they have nowhere to go and no protection.”

Northwood sucked in a breath, his eyes dark with dread. “I don’t know how we didn’t see this before.”

She shook her head. “I don’t either.” It seemed almost obvious now. But why should it be? He hadn’t forced himself on her, thank goodness. And she’d no idea if he’d behaved that way with anyone else. “There were other women,” she said, her mind working. “Mrs. Babcock and Usher mentioned his other ‘infatuations.’” The word made her shudder. “What if he did to them what he did to me? That’s why none of them ever married him.”

“That seems plausible. And if he did that to those women, what on earth did he do to the women in his power?” Northwood’s expression turned fierce. “It’s good that I can’t confront Sir Radnor.”