She let out a deep breath. “With her end.”
“End of what?”
How to get her point across without having to deal with another hysterical female? “I am sorry to say Miss Hemphill is no longer with us.”
“She moved out?”
Bloody hell! Amy never cursed, but this was too much. Well, there was nothing to be done about it. “Miss Hemphill is dead, Mrs. Hubbard.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so, girl?” She hung her coat on a hook by the door. “Where’s Sally?”
Well, then. Apparently they were not to be subjected to another overwrought outburst. Perhaps Mrs. Hubbard was not unfamiliar with tenants turning up their toes on the premises. The life of a landlady, perhaps.
“Sally was a bit emotional at the death of Miss Hemphill, and Lord Wethington suggested she take a short break from her duties to have a cup of tea.”
Mrs. Hubbard raised her brows. “And will his lordship offer some blunt for the time Sally’s been sitting on her arse instead of working?”
“If you require compensation for the young lady’s time, I will be happy to reimburse you. She was quite distraught.”
Mrs. Hubbard picked up her basket and huffed. “She is always distraught.” She walked a few steps and turned. “Did you notify the police?”
“Yes, ma’am. They are upstairs right now.”
The woman shook her head and continued down the corridor to what Amy assumed was the kitchen.
Remembering what she had come downstairs for, Amy followed the woman as she lumbered away. “Mrs. Hubbard?”
“Yes.” She didn’t stop.
“The police need more light upstairs. Do you have an oil lamp or more candles?”
The landlady placed her basket on the long wooden table and glared at the maid. “Sally, it’s time to return to your work. I ain’t paying you to sit around and ‘recover’ from the shock of a dead body.”
Sally hopped up. “Yes, Mrs. Hubbard. I am well now.”
“Then get that oil lamp from the drawing room and give it to her ladyship, here.”
Amy followed the maid back to the drawing room, took the lamp from her hand, and returned upstairs.
“It’s about time,” Detective Marsh said as she joined the detectives and William in Miss Hemphill’s room. She was becoming weary of everyone snapping at her as if she were a servant. She handed the lamp to Carson and backed up to stand alongside William.
“I assume you wish us to remain here to speak with you?”
Detective Marsh glanced over his shoulder. “You assume correctly. As soon as we’re finished with our examination, we will have some questions for you and your cohort here.” He gestured toward William. “Right now you can wait downstairs.”
She would have preferred to remain while they did their examination, hopefully listening to their comments, but considering she and William were now loosely involved in another suspicious death, she didn’t want to antagonize the men.
Amy and William sat in the drawing room, making mundane conversation, since there really wasn’t much to say until they could speak with the detectives.
“You don’t suppose they will accuse me of this death, too, do you?” Amy asked as William stood and wandered the room, touching various objects.
Detective Marsh entered the room, his partner right behind him. “Not exactly accuse you, Lady Amy, but Carson and I are very interested in knowing why you and his lordship here discovered another dead body.”
William joined her again on the settee. He reached over and took her hand, which Marsh noted in his book.
Detective Carson started. “What is the chit’s name, and how do you know the victim?”
“Miss Eva Hemphill and I met at a sewing circle.” There was no reason to admit she barely knew the woman and hadn’t been able to speak with her even once.