“No, I suppose not,” I said, admitting defeat. “I take it you intend to question him?”
“Unless you’ve recently introduced Mrs. Archer to a more likely suspect, he’s just moved to the top of my list.” Delaney tapped the stubby pencil on the notebook and slipped them both into his pocket.
“I was afraid of that.”
After showing Delaney to the door, I walked back to the empty drawing room, to the card table near the front window. I gazed down at the marquetry pattern of the tabletop, wishing my thoughts were so organized. Or better still that they’d been organized before I’d spoken to Delaney.
“Is he gone?”
I turned sharply as Hetty, Lily, and Lottie slipped into the room, glancing around as if Delaney might be hiding behind a sofa.
“Just,” I replied. We all gravitated to the tea table and seated ourselves on the chintz-covered chairs. Hetty leaned forward eagerly.
“Well?” she said. “Was he here about the murder?”
“Yes. And I’m afraid I may have implicated Cousin Charles in the matter.”
Lottie gasped. “Mr. Evingdon?”
“Goodness, Frances! He’s your cousin,” Lily said.
The two girls gawked at me as if I’d accused one of them of the crime.
“It wasn’t intentional, I assure you. I simply answered his questions.”
Hetty, practical as always, patted my knee then rose to her feet. “You need a drink, dear. Then you must tell us about this conversation.”
While she moved to the drinks cabinet along the wall, Lily and Lottie eyed me with suspicion, waiting for my explanation. Heavens, what part had Delaney told me to keep to myself? The blackmail, wasn’t it? Yes, that and the notes.
“There really isn’t much to tell,” I said. Hetty handed me a snifter with an inch of brandy. I noted she’d brought one for herself as well. I took a sip and as the liquid warmed me, I detailed my conversation with Delaney, at least as it pertained to Charles.
“Dearest, you’ve done nothing wrong,” Hetty said when I’d finished. “Inspector Delaney would have learned about their relationship sooner or later anyway.”
I drew a deep breath. “Do you think so? He seemed rather keen on the idea of Charles as a suspect. In fact, I got the impression he planned to question him almost immediately.”
Lily leaned over the table and squeezed my arm. “I’m sure Aunt Hetty’s right, Franny. Inspector Delaney will question Mr. Evingdon and find him innocent of any wrongdoing. Best to get that out of the way so he can search for the real murderer.”
I imagined Charles stumbling through his answers to Delaney’s questions and couldn’t quite match Lily’s confidence. “I hope you’re right.”
Hetty turned to me, narrowing one eye. “You don’t believe he might have done it, do you?”
I joined in the chorus of denials from the girls while asking myself just how well I knew Cousin Charles. He was part of the Wynn family through his mother. But while the Wynns were a feckless bunch, snobs, terrible with money, and sometimes philanderers, I don’t believe they ever produced a murderer.
Hetty caught the indecision in my expression. “Frances?”
I pulled my lip in between my teeth. “I can’t imagine it.” But could I imagine Mary Archer as a blackmailer? “It doesn’t seem possible.” How well did I really know him? “He’s always been so kind.” But did he have a temper?
“As long as you’re sure, dear.”
All three of them watched me closely. Then Hetty brightened. “Perhaps you should confer with Hazelton.”
Of course, George. I should certainly speak with him. “Aunt Hetty, that’s an excellent notion.”
“Mr. Hazelton?” Lottie’s brows drew together in confusion. “Is he in the legal profession?”
“He is,” I said. Though I wasn’t quite sure how to explain George Hazelton’s profession, this would have to do. George “handled” matters for the Crown and other highly placed individuals in the government, but some of the actions he took could hardly be considered legal. Still, he had good connections, both with the police and the government, and more importantly he knew the law and what Charles might be facing.
Perhaps George could offer some clarity for my muddled thoughts. If nothing else, he could provide my cousin with some legal advice. They were friends after all. Yes, I should definitely speak with him.
Chapter 3
Pleased I’d made some sort of decision, I was eager to take action. I left the ladies in the drawing room and slipped through my library out to the back garden. Then out my back gate and in through the gate to George’s garden. In this manner I avoided the front door and any chance a passing neighbor might see me calling on a single gentleman.
I caught a glimpse of George through his library window. Seated at his desk, he leaned back in the chair, as if not completely absorbed in his work, one ankle resting on the other knee in a relaxed attitude. I paused, drinking in the sight of him. George had become a very important part of my life in recent months. Longer than that, really. He came to my aid the night my husband died, well over a year ago. And his gallantry saved more than one reputation.
Since I’d moved in next door to him, he’s been part guardian angel, part friend. I wasn’t sure how I felt about him in an emotional sense, but there could be no doubt about my attraction to him. Watching him now, I longed to caress that rugged face or run my fingers through his dark, wavy hair. I blew out a breath and lifted the trailing curls off the back of my neck. Goodness, I must learn to curtail my imagination. Particularly since I didn’t know how he felt about me.
George was an honorable man and had asked me to marry him not long ago. At least I think he did, but that’s neither here nor there as his proposal, if it was one, only arose from some manly sense of duty. My late husband had married me out of his duty to fill the family coffers with my dowry. I’d rather avoid making that mistake again. Besides, I’d only just gained my independence and the single state suited me well for the time being. I rested my hand against the glass. George was far too much a gentleman to be interested in a dalliance.
Not that I was, of course. Heavens, no! My face burned as I damned my imagination.
I saw his posture stiffen seconds before he drew his gaze up to the window. I gave him a bright smile and waved my fingers. In return he gave me a look of enduring patience. He inclined his head to the left, indicating that I should meet him at the doors leading into the drawing room.
“Good afternoon, Frances,” he said, holding open the French door.
“Good afternoon, George. I hope you’re well?” I stepped past him and into a room so masculine in style it felt as if it belonged in a gentlemen’s club rather than in a home.
“To what do I owe this surreptitious visit?”
“Well, I’m afraid I have rather bad news to report.” I preceded him into his library.
“Indeed?” With a gesture, he invited me to take a seat in one of the wingback chairs near the window, then waited for me to do so before seating himself next to me.
“It’s about Mr. Evingdon and Mrs. Archer.”
His inquisitive expression quickly turned to a frown as his brows drew together. “Evingdon and Mrs. Archer? Why are their names linked?”
I took a deep breath and continued. “I imagine you’ve already heard Mary Archer has been murdered?”
“Yes,