The Sign of Death (Victorian Book Club Mystery 2)

William and Amy took the chairs next to each other. Carson and Marsh sat across from

them.

Detective Carson removed a flask from his inner jacket pocket. He waved it in William’s direction. “I hear you’ve been looking for this.”

Deciding that silence was his best response, especially since Detective Carson had not raised a direct question, William said nothing, his brows rising slightly.

Visibly annoyed at William’s lack of response, the man continued. “In the course of our investigation—and by that I mean police work—we visited a few pubs near where the late Mr. Harding’s body was found floating in the River Avon.”

Again, no question, so William remained silent.

“Imagine how confused we were to discover that a man and a woman had visited one of these places asking about a ‘stolen’ flask.”

Still no question. Still silence on William’s part.

“Do you know what is peculiar about that?” Carson asked.

Finally, a question. William looked the man straight in the eye. “No. But I assume you are about to tell me.”

“You are bloody right about that, lad.” He glanced in Amy’s direction. “I apologize for the language, my lady.”

Amy waved him off, and Carson continued. “We warned you two before about staying out of police business. There can be only one reason why you would be nosing around those establishments asking questions.”

Again, William rewarded the man with silence.

“Remember, my lord, you are a suspect in a murder investigation.”

“What!” Lady Wethington had quietly entered the room, unnoticed by any of them. Her face was pale as she stared at the two detectives.

William groaned. This could turn into a catastrophe. “Mother, all is well. The detectives are asking questions about my man of business, who drowned recently.”

“And they suspect you? Of murder? A peer? A member of the ton? An upstanding, moral, loyal, and honorable man?” Her voice rose as she spoke, and her face now turned bright red.

Carson looked over at Marsh. “His mother. No surprise there.”

William walked over to Lady Wethington, taking her hand in his. “Mother, this won’t take long. I suggest you retire to your bedchamber, and I will attend you once the men have left.”

“Not at all!” She straightened her shoulders and glared in the detectives’ direction. “I demand to know what this silliness is all about.”

Detective Carson stood—something he should have done when Lady Wethington entered the room—and arranged his features into an almost-pleasant mien. “Lady Wethington, I suggest you do as your son said and remove yourself from the room.”

“Remove myself? This is my home, sir.” She raised her indignant chin. “I will not be ordered about by the likes of you.” With those words, she let out a soft sigh, her knees crumpled, and she slid to the floor in a faint.

“Shite,” Detective Marsh mumbled, and slapped his notebook closed.

William and Amy both rushed to his mother’s side. Amy got down on her knees and turned to Carson. “I suggest you leave now, Detectives. Apparently the stress of your assumption has thrown her ladyship into a faint. She needs our attention.”

Carson gritted his teeth, then pointed his finger at William. “I am warning you”—he swung his attention to Amy, still on the floor—“and you as well, Lady Amy. Stay out of our business.” And with that, the two detectives left the room.

Once the sound of the front door closing had reached them, Lady Wethington opened one eye. “Are they gone?”

William and Amy burst out laughing.

* * *

Later that evening, Amy joined her papa, brother, and Aunt Margaret in the front hall as they prepared to leave for William’s house. After she and William had helped his mother up from the floor that morning and he had assured her he was not a murder suspect, Amy had taken her leave, never having learned what this two-family dinner was all about.

Since William had seemed confounded by her questions and had told her he’d had no idea her family had been invited until that very morning, she felt a bit more confident that she would not have to endure an embarrassing moment.