“Do you have a confession to make?” the evil man smirked back.
About two hours had passed since they’d left her house and arrived at the police department. For most of that time she had been alone in the room, the two detectives only joining her for the last ten minutes. “We have sent a message to your father.”
Amy closed her eyes. “Oh, no. Please, why would you do that? You know Lord Wethington will arrive as soon as he receives my message.” Visions of Papa storming into the police building, waving his arms, shouting threats, then dragging her back to London filled her mind.
Carson stood and moved to the front of the desk, where he rested his hip and regarded her. “Lady Amy, you don’t seem to understand how dangerous your actions are. You are not a trained investigator. You have no experience with police work. You and Lord Wethington are roaming Bath, asking questions and making someone very, very nervous.”
“The true killer.”
“Precisely,” Marsh responded.
“Aha!” She raised her finger. “You just admitted I am not the main suspect any longer. Yet you arrested me on suspicion of murder. That is false arrest. I demand to be freed.”
A knock on the partially open door drew their attention. A young man stood there in the uniform of a police officer. “Detectives, there is a Lord Wethington here, with a Mr. Nelson-Graves, who says he is Lady Amy’s barrister.”
Carson returned to his chair and sat, leaning back with his fingers intertwined and his index fingers tapping his lips. “Show them in.”
William entered first, his eyes flicking around the room until they landed on Amy. “Lady Amy! Are you well?” He strode in her direction but stopped right in front of her, his hands reaching out as if to embrace her. Then, thinking better of it, he dropped them to his side.
“Thank you for coming, my lord. I am well and more than ready to leave here and return to my home.”
Mr. Nelson-Graves stepped up to Detective Carson and held out his hand. “I am Mr. Nelson-Graves, Lady Amy Lovell’s barrister, retained by her father, the Marquess of Winchester.”
Her barrister apparently felt that reminding the detectives of with whom they were dealing might give him the upper hand. In her experience, the detectives were not impressed by titles.
“Yes, I remember you from our meeting with Lady Amy, her father, and Wethington right after Mr. St. Vincent was found.”
Mr. Nelson-Graves nodded. “Good. Perhaps, then, we can all sit down and discuss this?”
More chairs were brought in and they all sat, William next to her, his chair so close that the heat from his body and the familiar scent of his bath soap calmed her. She’d never been so glad to see him. She would not have thought to bring the barrister, which was why sometimes, she supposed, men did have clearer heads then women, as traitorous as that thought was.
Based on what Marsh had said, they no longer thought she had killed Mr. St. Vincent. Or at least with no positive proof, they had begun to look in other directions. That was a relief, but she had no intention of abandoning their search for the killer.
With the strange way Mrs. Miles and Lady Carlisle had been behaving of late, and with Mr. Miles being the drug dealer who might still be working with Mr. Harris, it opened up an entirely new avenue to explore.
The murder-mystery writer in her would not let go of all the hard work they’d done and the clues they’d accumulated. While the men discussed and argued about her arrest and how to settle the matter, she smiled at the words the detective had ranted about how she knew nothing of police investigations. Wouldn’t he be surprised to learn she wrote books about police investigations? He would be further surprised to know she possessed an array of books on the subject.
More relaxed than she’d been for the last couple of hours, she realized her mind had drifted while the men spoke, and now there was a great deal of paper shuffling and gathering of documents by Mr. Nelson-Graves as he shoved them into his satchel.
She leaned toward William, which was no great distance. “What happened? I’m afraid I’ve been woolgathering.”
“You are being set free. Mr. Nelson-Graves has arranged for you to be bonded out.”
Amy hopped up. “Excellent.”
“Wait just one minute, Lady Amy.” Detective Marsh rose. “We want no more interfering in our investigation. Your barrister here has assured us you will stop following in our footsteps.”
“I agree not to follow in your footsteps.” An easy promise to make, since they seemed to be steps ahead of the detectives.
She looked over at Mr. Nelson-Graves, who certainly had the proper last name. His demeanor was indeed grave, and he looked now like he wanted to lock her up himself. ’Twas too bad she’d been ruminating while they spoke about how she could continue on. Although she hadn’t listened to the exchange, she was sure the detectives’ words about her interference had not been pleasant and had put that scowl on her barrister’s face.
Surely Papa would also hear from Mr. Nelson-Graves. Her one salvation was, being under bond from the court, she would not be able to leave Bath without permission, which she hoped the detectives would not grant when Papa arrived. She did not want to be hustled off to London.
Right now all she wanted was to get William alone and discuss the latest ideas she had about Mrs. Miles and Lady Carlisle.
Good-byes were uttered, and Amy, Mr. Nelson-Graves, and William left the police department. She shuddered as they walked down the stairs to William’s carriage, happy to be gone from the dark building.
“Where shall we drop you, Mr. Nelson-Graves?” William asked as they all settled in the carriage.