It appeared they were doing their work, but unfortunately, whatever they learned, they always seem to come back to her. “If you must know, Mr. Harris had the poor taste to offer marriage. I turned him down and sent him off. And, I might add, your insinuation that a man would only be interested in marrying me because he needed money is crass and unkind.”
Ignoring her complaint, Carson continued. “Yet you met him in the Pump Room on Tuesday morning.”
Dear God in heaven. Were they following her?
“I did not meet him in the Pump Room. I mean, I did meet him, but it was purely coincidental.”
Detective Marsh simply raised his eyebrows. “And was the dance you had with him last night purely coincidental as well?”
Amy gasped and looked over at William, who appeared as shocked as she was. He recovered first, however. “Detectives, I demand to know why you are pursuing this line of questioning. In fact, I must ask you, on Lady Amy’s behalf, to leave now. Your five minutes are up, and if you have further questions, she will answer only with her barrister pr
esent.” William turned to her. “My lady, may I escort you in to lunch?”
Marsh slapped his notebook closed.
Thank heaven she had William’s arm to hold on to, because Amy was having a very difficult time moving her feet forward. Her mouth was dried up like a rain-starved plot of dirt, and her heart was practically beating its way out of her body.
Once they were seated at the table, Amy calmly took her napkin, shook it out, and placed it in her lap. She took a sip of water, placed it carefully on the pristine white tablecloth, and looked across the table at Aunt Margaret. “I am going to jail.”
“What?” Aunt Margaret looked from her to William. “Whatever did those awful men say?”
“Actually, they didn’t say anything. They merely asked very pointed questions, all of them revolving around Mr. Harris.”
Aunt Margaret picked up the platter of roast beef and added two slices to her plate. “Mr. St. Vincent’s nephew?”
“Yes,” William said. “They appear to be trying to link the man with Amy.”
“They even knew we danced last night!” In truth, if Amy had been a weepy sort of woman, she would have excused herself from the table, hurried up the stairs, and had a good cry on her bed.
But she was not that woman. She was strong, she was determined, and if nothing else, she would solve this mystery, clear her name, and enjoy the respect on the detectives’ faces when she presented them with a solved case.
Once luncheon was finished, Aunt Margaret excused herself, leaving Amy and William enjoying their tea. It was only after her aunt had departed that Amy remember she wanted to ask her about Lord Pembroke, who seemed quite taken with Aunt Margaret. This murder business was interfering with her ability to satisfy her curiosity about important things.
“I believe we should be more focused on Miss Hemphill,” William said. “The fact that your aunt heard Miss Hemphill claiming remorse for something she did that ruined her life, and that she is in a family way, leads me in the direction of her being the guilty party.”
Amy agreed. “Yes, I think so, too. If she did kill Mr. St. Vincent in a fit of pique because he refused to marry her, ’twas a mistake, because she has no chance now of avoiding a scandal. ’Tis quite possible she told him about her condition, and when he refused to marry her, she killed him.”
William added, “Thus ruining her life, because there is no chance now of her reputation being salvaged. Had St. Vincent lived, she might have been able to convince him to do the right thing.”
Amy stirred the cream and sugar in her tea. “I had wondered whether we should visit with Miss Hemphill ourselves or give the information to the detectives. But I no longer trust them with this information. They will find some way to turn this into a condemnation of me.”
William offered her a sad smile. “I am afraid you are right. They are conducting this investigation with horse blinders on. They refuse to see anyone except you.”
“I shall bring the note to Miss Hemphill’s house and confront her with it. It sounds as though she is at a breaking point and might just confess.” Amy shook her head. “I do feel sorry for the girl. She made a mistake and might have compounded her error by committing murder. I can only hope the law goes easier on women than they do on men.”
“I am still curious as to how the detectives knew about Mr. Harris and his seeing you at the Pump House, proposing marriage, and dancing with you.”
“I would say they are either following me or him.”
“Either way, if Miss Hemphill is our guilty party, we must move quickly, or I am afraid you will receive another summons from the detectives with a directive to bring your barrister with you.”
* * *
Two o’clock the following day, William arrived at Winchester House to make a visit to Miss Hemphill. It had taken Amy some time to find Miss Hemphill’s direction. But apparently her driver was friends with a hackney driver who knew Miss Hemphill’s flat.
“Do you have the note that was sent about St. Vincent’s involvement in drugs?” William asked as the carriage rolled away from her townhouse. Unlike the previous few days, the weather was now soggy and chilly. Any hint of spring had vanished along with the sun and sweet-smelling flowers.
Amy patted her reticule. “Yes, I do.” She pulled her coat close against her body and shivered. “I will be quite pleased when the warmer weather arrives and then remains. This back-and-forth with a touch of spring and then a return to colder weather is depressing.”