Page 7 of In the Midnight Hour

It was a dismissal if North had ever heard one. “I’m happy to remain awhile longer. I presume you’re going to interview all the servants?”

Drummond flicked him a glance. “I will, yes, though this seems a straightforward accident. Isn’t that right?” He directed the last toward the physician.

“In my opinion, yes,” Dr. Ellingham replied.

North didn’t disagree, but he also couldn’t disregard that something wasn’t right. Perhaps he really did need to sleep.

Maberly returned to the chamber with a deep grimace, his features pulled tight. “My apologies, Mr. Drummond, but I am not able to rouse Usher.”

“He’s not dead too?” North asked with surprise.

“No, no,” Maberly assured them, lifting his hands. “He’s merely a very sound sleeper, and he doesn’t typically rise until eight or nine.”

“I shall interview the rest of the household then,” Drummond said. He narrowed his eyes at the butler. “Please do your best to wake Mr. Usher, else I will do it myself.”

“I’m up!” A man who looked to be at least as old as Sir Radnor ambled from the doorway. His gray hair stuck straight up, and his eyes were slitted as if he still hadn’t found the energy to open them entirely. He wore a hastily donned dressing gown that wasn’t quite on his shoulders and hung open to reveal his rather thin nightshirt. “What a racket you’re making.” His bare feet shuffled along the carpet as he approached them. Then he suddenly dropped into a chair near the hearth as if he was too spent to take another step.

“Good morning, Mr. Usher. I’m Drummond from Bow Street.”

The valet’s eyes opened a fraction more as he lifted his head. “Bow Street?”

“Perhaps you’ve noticed your employer’s body on the floor there.” Drummond gestured to Sir Radnor.

Usher blinked, then squinted at the body. “That can’t be Sir Radnor. He is still abed at this infernal hour.”

“You need spectacles,” Maberly scoffed. “It is Sir Radnor, I’m afraid. He’s dead.”

“What? No!” Usher’s eyes fully opened then, at least for a flashing moment, as he paled. “God in heaven, this is terrible news.”

“He apparently fell as he departed the bed at some point in the night,” Drummond said. “What time did you assist him to bed?”

“Around midnight, I suppose. He was up quite late with Mrs. Jennings.”

Drummond paused in writing and looked up from his notebook. “Who’s Mrs. Jennings?”

“She’s an old friend of Sir Radnor’s,” Maberly replied. “Whom we haven’t seen in many years. She moved away from Pemberton Square some time ago. Usher meant Lady Cartwright. She came for dinner last night, then they removed to the library to discuss books as was their typical activity.”

“How late was Lady Cartwright here?” Drummond asked. “Did she remain in the library, or did she also come upstairs?”

“She never comes upstairs!” Maberly replied quickly and with perhaps a bit of disdain.

“She has too,” Usher argued, tilting his head up at the butler. “She was up here last night.”

Maberly waved his hand, his brow knitted with frustration. “Don’t listen to him. He suffers from senility. He’s confused more and more.”

“I am not,” Usher grumbled.

Drummond’s thick red brows crept up briefly. “Did you hear Sir Radnor get out of bed and fall?”

“He fell?” Usher asked. “Is he all right?”

North was astonished that Usher was still serving as Sir Radnor’s valet. The man needed to retire and be cared for. He wondered if he was even capable of conducting the duties of valet.

“Mr. Usher, if you’d like to return to bed, you may,” Drummond said kindly, his voice softer than it had been since his arrival.

“I think I shall.” The valet rose and shuffled back to the dressing chamber, closing the door behind him.

“I don’t think we can rely on any of the valet’s testimony.” Drummond settled his gaze on the butler a moment. “I’m surprised he’s still in Sir Radnor’s service given his senility.”