“Well, that went very well.” Amy stared back at the storefront. “I would have liked to buy one of her hats, actually. They were quite pretty.”
William took her hand again, and they walked to where his carriage waited behind the store. “It seems there are several people who would have liked to kill Harding. Our problem is, which one of them actually carried through on their threat to do so?” He helped Amy into the carriage.
“Do you still wish to walk in the park?”
“No. Frankly, I am quite rattled by Mrs. Burrows’s actions and words. There was a great deal of hatred and malice in her attitude. I honestly believe her. I think if she had the oppo
rtunity and the means, she would have killed him.”
“So far, Patrick Whitney and Miss Gertrude would have as well. And we have yet to speak with Mr. Montrose.”
William looked out the window as the carriage moved into traffic. “We have a few suspects who certainly had a motive to kill him, but we need the person who actually did the deed.”
“And are you one of them?” Amy asked.
“With a motive to kill him? Not that I would ever step over that line, but I’m afraid to say, yes. Although I didn’t discover I even had a motive until after he was already dead, so we don’t need to add my name to our list.”
“Not since the police already have you at the very top of theirs.”
He shook his head. “They have what they consider conclusive evidence.” William reached into his pocket and withdrew a paper. “I forgot about this note my butler handed me as I left earlier today to escort you to tea. I’m afraid I was a bit distracted.”
He opened it, read it, and smiled at Amy. “Nick Smith has found Patrick Whitney.”
CHAPTER 22
William dropped the knocker on the worn wooden door and stepped back, prepared for anything. Nick Smith had provided this address as belonging to Patrick Whitney. It was not his home, apparently, but for some reason he was living here.
It was eleven o’clock in the morning, and unless Whitney was an early riser, he should be at home. William had been watching the house for the past hour to see if anyone came out, but everything remained quiet.
It was a hoarier section of Bath, the houses mostly eighty to a hundred years old. Not exactly seedy, but the area would not be considered middle class. William dropped the knocker again.
About two minutes later the door opened and a woman stuck her head out. She appeared to be somewhere in her early thirties, and judging by her dishabille, she had just risen from her bed. “Who are you and what do you want?”
“I was told Mr. Patrick Whitney was residing here.”
“What if he is?”
“I would like to speak with him. His stepmother is quite concerned about him.”
The woman snorted and opened the door wider, allowing William to enter. “If she’s so concerned, why isn’t she here herself?”
“She was unable to locate him.” As he stepped inside, his eyes swept the inside of the residence, which was quite pleasant. Although the furniture and accoutrements were old and worn, the place was clean and tidy, with splashes of color provided by pillows and a vase of flowers. The woman tightened the belt around her dressing gown.
“May I speak with Mr. Whitney?”
“I’ll have to get him out of bed first. He’s been sick, you know.”
“Sick?”
The woman nodded. “He’s been suffering from an ague, and I’ve been caring for him.”
“That is very kind of you. How long has he been sick?”
“Aye. About two weeks. He showed up here sick as can be and practically collapsed at my feet.”
“You are friends, I assume?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “It’s not what you’re thinking. I’m a respectable woman and earn my wages by working in a pub. Serving drinks. Nothing more.”