Page 65 of In the Midnight Hour

“Trigg is my coachman,” Hypatia explained. “And Orson is Sir Radnor’s head groom. The mews are next to one another, of course, and they’re friends.”

“The retainers in the mews hear gossip?” Northwood sounded aghast.

“In Pemberton Square, they do,” Mrs. Goss informed him. “Trigg didn’t know who Orson heard it from.” She sent Hypatia a commiserative look. “You know how men are.”

Northwood stared at them in confusion. “And how’s that?”

“Not very good at gossip,” Hypatia and Mrs. Goss answered nearly in unison.

Hypatia stood and began to pace. “This is not good at all.”

“It’s a lie,” Mrs. Goss said crossly, her brows dipping into a furious V. “You were here at home.”

“Of course I was.” Hypatia paused and took another deep breath. “The problem is that no one can corroborate that I was in my bedchamber all night.”

Mrs. Goss appeared distressed. “Why would someone in Sir Radnor’s household lie?”

“Because they’re trying to cover for whoever actually killed him,” Northwood said with a great deal of scorn.

The housekeeper gasped. “Someone in his household killed him?”

Hypatia returned to the table. “You mustn’t tell anyone that’s what we suspect.”

“Absolutely not.” Mrs. Goss touched her chest. “I’m so sorry this is happening, my lady.”

“We’ll sort this out with Drummond,” Northwood declared, as if it would be that simple.

“I don’t know how.” Hypatia couldn’t shake an overwhelming sense of hopelessness. “It’s my word against whoever says they saw me at Sir Radnor’s at half after one.”

“You’ll convince him of the truth,” Mrs. Goss said with a confidence Hypatia didn’t feel.

“I will try,” she replied with little enthusiasm as she sat back down.

“Let me pour the tea.” Mrs. Goss filled their cups and set them on the table in front of their chairs. “Can I do anything else?” she asked, her gaze kind as she regarded Hypatia.

“No, thank you. Before you go, do you know where Mrs. Jennings moved to?”

“Of course. Petunia—the housekeeper—and I exchange letters. They relocated to Brompton Crescent.” After a final look of concern at Hypatia, Mrs. Goss departed.

Hypatia sipped her tea. It did little to ease her anxiety—and fear. This was murder. If she was found guilty, she would hang.

“We should go speak with Mrs. Jennings now,” Northwood suggested. “We can take my coach as it’s still outside.”

“Excellent.” Hypatia rose with alacrity. It wasn’t just that she wished to avoid Mr. Drummond. She was eager to prove that Sir Radnor was abusive to women, which gave many people besides her a motive—and better opportunity to have killed him.

She started toward the doorway just as Ferris appeared. The anxiety in his features was so apparent that Hypatia knew immediately something was wrong.

“What is it, Ferris?” She was surprised at the calmness of her voice.

“Mr. Drummond is here and requests an interview.”

“He’s here?” Hypatia turned to Northwood, who’d walked up beside her. She’d missed the coach pulling up outside as she’d sought to calm herself.

“Perhaps he doesn’t plan to take you to Marlborough Street.” Northwood held her gaze with warmth and care. “You’ll be fine.” He glanced at Ferris. “Send Mr. Drummond up.”

“I beg your pardon,” Hypatia said. “This is my house.” She pursed her lips briefly, then looked at Ferris who, to his credit, hadn’t moved. “Please show Mr. Drummond up.”

Ferris nodded. “Yes, my lady.” He darted a smug smirk at Northwood before departing.