Persephone was on her good behavior and walked alongside them, sniffing the ground, but otherwise not pulling and making the walk difficult. They chatted amicably, taking a complete circle around the park, stopping to speak with several others who were enjoying the lovely day.
“Would you care to ride over to Sally Lunn’s and get one of her famous buns? It’s been a while since I’ve had one,” William said as they headed toward the waiting carriage.
“Yes, I believe I would. I haven’t had one of Sally Lunn’s buns in ages. I always think of that poem: No more I heed the muffin’s zest / The Yorkshire cake or bun, / Sweet Muse of Pastry! teach me how / To make a Sally Lunn.”
“I thought there was a great deal more to the rhyme.” William assisted her into the carriage.
Amy laughed. “There is. But I only remember the first four lines and the last four: But heed thou well to lift thy thought / To me thy power divine; / Then to oven’s glowing mouth / The wondrous work consign.”
“Then we shall make a visit to Sally Lunn’s and enjoy one of her famous buns that no one has the recipe for.” He settled across from her. “One thing I want to tell you before I forget.” William held on to the strap as the carriage moved forward. “It’s been a pleasant day, and not one where a discussion on murder and mayhem seems appropriate.”
“I agree. It was rather nice to keep all of that at bay.” She studied his suddenly serious demeanor.
“I made it to my club yesterday for a short time. And I happened upon the man who told me about the argument between Mr. Harris and your fiancé.”
“Ex-fiancé.”
“The gentleman, Mr. Roswell, had apparently been with a friend when they witnessed the argument. His friend heard more than Ros
well had and related to him recently that Mr. Harris and Mr. St. Vincent were arguing about the uncle cutting off the nephew’s funds. Mr. St. Vincent was heard to say Harris would get nothing until St. Vincent died.”
The carriage hit a deep rut in the road and swayed a bit, and both Amy and William grabbed on to the strap, their fearful eyes meeting. Amy held her breath and clutched Persephone, but the carriage continued on just fine.
William let out a breath and continued. “Mr. Harris then remarked something to the effect that Mr. St. Vincent’s death might not be so very far off.”
Amy licked her suddenly dry lips. “And Mr. St. Vincent was murdered the following week.”
CHAPTER 23
Monday afternoon Amy climbed out of William’s carriage and tugged on the hem of her jacket. “I’m not absolutely certain we can fool this man. We don’t really know much about shipping products.”
William took her elbow and escorted her to the front door of the RSV Worldwide Shipping Company. He studied the plaque on the door and shook his head. “Not a very innovative name.”
“It’s St. Vincent’s initials,” Amy pointed out. “Personally, I always thought shipping companies should have exotic names, like the East India Tea Company.”
They had made an appointment with Mr. Harris to purportedly learn about shipping. The excuse they were using was that Amy wanted to make some investments and that William had advised her that shipping and railroads were the best investments.
Since they knew Mr. Harris had a need for cash to prop up the newly inherited business, it was assured that he would be delighted to see them.
Even though she and St. Vincent had been betrothed, she’d never been to his place of business. It was an older brick building, in somewhat good repair. The front area was dedicated to an office, with a large area in back that was most likely used to store products that arrived from his ships.
A man sitting at an older wooden desk rose as they entered the office. He was in his midtwenties, with the popular moustache and beard found on so many men. Although, with his young age and light hair color, it didn’t look quite so manly.
He smiled, walked around the desk, and extended his hand to William. “Good day. I am Mr. Haverstock, Mr. Harris’s clerk. I assume you are Lady Amy Lovell and Lord Wethington?”
William took the man’s hand, and they shook. “Yes, we are. I believe we are expected?”
“Yes. Mr. Harris is awaiting you. If you will follow me, I will escort you to his office.”
He led them down a narrow hallway, not very well lit. Amy found herself reaching for William’s hand as he walked in front of her. Goodness, she had to get over this nervous reaction she had been having to things ever since the carriage accident. She had never been of a timorous nature, and it didn’t sit well with her.
Mr. Harris stood as they entered the room. He smiled brightly, no doubt gleeful at the idea of getting his hands on her money after all, and without having to subject himself to marrying an unfortunate woman who had no other prospects.
His office was much more opulent than the clerk’s space. But that was to be expected. No doubt St. Vincent had decorated his office with the idea of impressing potential clients with his wealth.
Which, of course, didn’t exist.
“I have heard rumors that you were involved in a carriage accident on the way home from the Assembly Rooms.” Mr. Harris waved them to chairs in front of his desk, then took the fine leather one behind it.