The Sign of Death Callie Hutton (color ebook reader .txt) 📖

a party, then?” Amy’s brother, Michael, entered the drawing room. “I’ll have a brandy.” He walked to the sideboard and poured himself a drink.

They all chatted amiably until Stevens announced that luncheon was ready.

It was a pleasant lunch—white soup, salmon with a dill sauce, potatoes, and a mix of carrots and turnips. The conversation was lively, and Lord Winchester kept them laughing with stories about his travels when he was a young man.

It was obvious the family got along well, even though Lord Winchester chided his sister about not marrying. Once or twice he directed his comments about the married state to Michael, but the earl never took the bait. Smart man.

’Twas interesting that Winchester never mentioned Amy and a potential match for her, although he looked at William more than once with a speculative eye.

Soon the meal ended and he and Amy were on their way to Mrs. Whitney’s house.

Amy breathed a sigh of relief when she and William were ensconced in his carriage and on their way to visit Carol Whitney. With all the comments Papa had directed toward Aunt Margaret and Michael regarding the state of matrimony, Amy had waited for him to start in on her and William.

She was truly amazed he had not. Strange, that.

“Do you know if Mr. Whitney normally lives with his stepmother?”

“I don’t know. I assume he has his own rooms somewhere and that’s the reason he sought help in his illness. He told me Mrs. Whitney worried too much about everything, and I imagine that’s why he sought Mrs. Johnson’s assistance when he fell ill.”

“Do you find his relationship with his stepmother a bit odd?”

“What do you mean?” William asked.

“She apparently hadn’t been married very long to his father, and yet she and Patrick seem to have a close friendship. Also, even though I never met Patrick Whitney, you haven’t mentioned his relationship with his father. For example, was he upset by his death? From what you’ve told me, he seemed more concerned with Mrs. Whitney’s finances than his father’s death.”

“Perhaps he feels he must support her in the event the money is gone.”

“Perhaps.” The carriage pulled up to a modest townhouse in an excellent section of Bath. It appeared that Mrs. Whitney’s husband had provided well for his wife upon his death.

“Is she expecting us?” Amy asked as they climbed the steps to the front door.

“Yes. I sent a note around advising her we would be calling this afternoon with word about Patrick.”

A butler opened the door to them. He was an elderly man, tall and distinguished, a member of the old class of servants.

William held out his card. “Lord Wethington and Lady Amy Lovell calling on Mrs. Whitney. I believe we are expected.”

“Very good, my lord, my lady. Allow me to take your coats.” They shrugged out of their outerwear and then followed the servant upstairs to the drawing room. “Mrs. Whitney will be with you shortly.” He bowed and left the room.

It was a cozy space, small for a drawing room but tastefully decorated. It also didn’t contain all the little trinkets and whatnot that were so popular in most homes.

Mrs. Whitney made her entrance with a bright smile. “Lord Wethington and Lady Amy, how pleasant to see you.”

They both stood and offered greetings.

“Please, have a seat.”

They all settled in, and she folded her hands in her lap. “What news can you give me of my stepson? I am very concerned about his disappearance.”

“I am happy to report that your stepson is well. He was ill for a while, but he is on his way to recovery.”

“Oh dear. What happened? Why didn’t he come to me to take care of him?”

“Apparently he developed an illness and went to the home of a woman he had been friendly with for years.”

“Had been?”

William looked as though he wanted to call back the words he had just said. “Yes, unfortunately, the woman—Mrs. Johnson—passed away a few days ago.”

“Oh, how sad.”

William nodded. “Yes, very sad.”

Amy was grateful he didn’t add that she had been shot and left behind the pub where she worked.

Mrs. Whitney grasped her throat. “She didn’t die from what Patrick was suffering, did she?”

“No.”

William jumped in to avert any more questions about Mrs. Johnson and her death. “When I visited with Mr. Whitney, he mentioned he would contact you as soon as he was feeling better.”

Something flickered in her eyes. Maybe her relationship with Patrick was not as wonderful as she would have them believe. “Thank you for that. I was most concerned.”

Since there didn’t seem to be much more to say, they stood and wished her a good day and left the house.

“What do you make of that?” Amy asked.

“You mean in relation to Harding’s murder?”

“Yes.”

“She seemed genuinely surprised by Mrs. Johnson’s death, and since we are convinced whoever killed her also killed Harding, I would say she falls farther down on our suspect list.”

“But not off?”

“No one is off.” William checked his timepiece as they settled into the carriage. “I believe we have time to visit with Patrick Whitney. I am curious to see if he is still at Mrs. Johnson’s.” He slid the panel in the roof. “Please take us to Millie Johnson’s house. I believe you remember where it is?”

“Yes, my lord.”

William slid the panel closed, and the carriage moved forward. “I sense we are at a stalemate. I also have a feeling that we are looking at something and not seeing the entire picture.”

“A missing piece?”

“Yes. Either a missing piece or something not aligned. There is also the fact that Mrs. Johnson had something to tell us that probably caused her death.”

They continued to the woman’s house, both quiet with their thoughts.

It took a while for anyone to answer their knock. They were about to leave when the door opened to a very disheveled Patrick. “Oh, it’s you.” He opened the door wider and stepped back. “Please, come in.”

William looked over at Amy as they entered. Patrick looked terrible.

“May I present Lady Amy