“That is true.” She placed her teacup in the saucer and wiped her mouth on her napkin. “However, if our serious injury or death was the plan for the cut wheel, and the police are also investigating Mr. St. Vincent’s murder, is the killer going to attempt to do away with the entire police department?”
The concern in his eyes warmed her. “It appears whoever murdered Mr. St. Vincent feels we are closer to him than the police are. Since our favorite detectives had been focused on only you until now, the culprit could very well be correct in his assumption. If he noticed, as we did, that the police stubbornly continued in the same direction while we have broadened our search, then it follows that we would find Mr. St. Vincent’s killer first.”
Amy raised her finger. “But not if we are dead.”
“Correct.”
She shivered. “If the killer is right and we have a better chance of exposing him than the police, then one of the people we have been considering is our man.”
William’s hand stopped as it was bringing his teacup to his lips, and he regarded her over the cup. “Just so.”
They finished their tea and the small sandwiches and biscuits Cook had sent in, both of them consumed with their own thoughts. Amy wiped her mouth and placed the napkin alongside her plate. “It might be a good idea to go over a few things while we are together. I find that since the accident I feel quite weary and ready for a nap after being awake for only a few hours.
“With the detectives questioning me about some of our friends, it brought to mind the argument we witnessed between Mr. Miles and Lady Carlisle last Saturday while leaving the Assembly Rooms.” It had meant very little to her that night, but now, in light of the “accident” not really being an accident and the police finally spreading their net wider, as it were, perhaps it did mean something. After all, Mr. Miles was involved in nefarious behavior of which the police seemed to be aware.
William studied his shoes, his lips pursed and brows furrowed. “I can’t imagine what those two would have to argue about. But then, it could have been anything at all. Perhaps they’d danced and he stepped on her toes.” He smiled, and she chuckled.
“A good theory, my lord, but I’ve never seen Mr. Miles dance at any of those events. I’m sure he only comes to escort his mother, who seems to thoroughly enjoy the evenings out.”
“Or, since he’s in the illegal drug market, it is a way to innocuously maintain contact with those to whom he sells.”
Amy straightened in her seat. “Do you think he is selling to people we know? Those who attend our book club meetings, sewing circles, and Assembly Room dances? I always assumed his customers were from the lower end of Bath.”
William smiled at her as if she were a mere child needing a lesson on deportment. “Amy, surely you know that the use of opium is not restricted to the unfortunate members of society? It is well known to be a plague among all ranks of citizens.”
“No, I did not know that. But then, I am busy killing people—in books, that is—and never reflected on the current problem with drug use. This is very interesting. Perhaps I need to add that to a plot in one of my books.”
“And when you add that most likely those of our rank in society would not be visiting an illegal opium den, it becomes even more interesting. Perhaps in London that would happen and could go unnoticed to some degree with the size of the city, but in Bath”—he shook his head—“it would be much too dangerous to visit an opium den and have it not become common knowledge.”
“The police said they know Mr. Miles is selling drugs, yet he remains free.”
“It is my guess they are hoping to catch whoever is providing Miles with the drugs more than the local distributor.”
“Mr. Harris,” they both said at once.
“That would be more of a boon, to stop the flow of drugs into the country.”
Amy considered what he said. “Then, if we want a connection between Mr. Miles and Mr. St. Vincent, we need to look at Mr. Miles’s drug business.” She stopped for a moment, starting to feel weary, something she had experienced ever since the accident.
Which, it turned out, had not been an accident at all.
“I apologize; I am getting tired. There is a connection, since Mr. Albright identified Mr. Miles as the man who sold him drugs, and we know from Miss Hemphill’s note that Mr. St. Vincent was importing the drugs.”
“Yes. I think we considered this before. But why kill your fiancé since he was providing the drugs?”
“Ex-fiancé.”
William climbed to his feet, leaning on his cane. “I believe I will leave you now. I have an appointment with the coach-maker, and I can see you are ready for some rest.”
They walked to the front door together, where William took his leave, and Amy slowly mounted the stairs to her bedchamber and climbed onto her bed, staring at the overhead canopy. The last thought she had before drifting off was to wonder why Lady Carlisle and Mr. Miles had been arguing.
* * *
The following Friday, Amy again awaited William’s arrival. He’d sent a no
te around saying that if she was as disgruntled at being confined due to the last few days of rain as he was, they should take a ride in the park and perhaps a walk in the shops area.
Amy perked up when William’s note arrived. She was truly ready to cast off the malaise that had struck her since the accident and had been compounded by the foul weather. The air had warmed, and the sky was bright blue. She was ready for some fresh air and maybe even a visit to one of the tea shops.