“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 Lovell?” He turned to Amy. “This is Mr. Patrick Whitney.”
The two merely nodded at each other.
“Are you still ill, Whitney?” William asked.
“No. Just grieving.” He led them to the drawing room, and they all sat. He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. “A terrible thing.”
Although he didn’t look sick this time, he had dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, and his hand shook as he picked up a newspaper from the sofa and placed it on the table.