William nodded. “Which could be why his name was not brought up when they questioned you. I did wonder about that at the time.”
As much as she would have liked to circle back to Mr. Miles as a suspect, there didn’t seem to be a strong reason for Miles to kill St. Vincent. If Mr. Miles lost his drug supplier, there would always be the chance that the new owner would not want to be involved with the drug trade. Miles would be taking a huge gamble by murdering her fiancé.
Ex-fiancé.
The situation had become frustrating. Her biggest fear was that if they could not come up with someone else, then the police would naturally turn back to her. Someone had killed Mr. St. Vincent. Someone in her garden. That was the main consideration. Had Mr. St. Vincent arrived with someone else, and had they gone to the garden together?
But she had questioned her staff, and they’d never mentioned anyone arriving with Mr. St. Vincent. Every time she answered one question, another came up. Solving a real-life murder mystery was harder than writing about one, where she could decide all the finer points to keep her readers guessing.
William sat up in his seat and peered out the window. “I say, isn’t that Lady Carlisle and Mrs. Miles?” He pointed to two women, one with her arms flying about as she spoke and one patiently listening, appearing to try to soothe the other woman. They were having their discussion in front of one of the fishmonger shops.
Amy scooted to the edge of the seat and looked. “Yes. That is definitely them.” She turned to William. “You must have your driver stop so we can offer our assistance.”
William tapped on the ceiling of the vehicle, and the carriage came to a stop about twenty feet in front of the women.
She and William both left the carriage and hurried toward them. Lady Carlisle appeared agitated and was perspiring quite heavily. Her face was pasty white, and she kept trying to loosen the hold Mrs. Miles had on her.
The older woman looked distraught, and relief flooded her face when she spotted Amy and William approaching them. “Oh, my dears, I am so very glad to see you. It seems Lady Carlisle has taken ill.”
Lady Carlisle ripped her arm away from Mrs. Miles, who was clinging to her as if she expected the woman to race down the street.
“Lady Carlisle, are you unwell?” Amy asked as she walked slowly to her. The woman did look more than a little out of sorts. Her eyes moved rapidly back and forth, almost as if she was consumed with fear and looking for a way to run.
“I am not unwell, Lady Amy. I will just continue with my walk. Thank you for your concern.” She took only a few steps and then stopped and gripped her middle, letting out a slight groan.
Amy touched her on the shoulder, and she jumped. “Lady Carlisle, we have Lord Wethington’s carriage with us. I think it would be best if we escorted you home.”
Lady Carlisle pulled away. “No. I will walk. But thank you.” She hurried away, leaving Mrs. Miles, Amy, and William staring after her.
“Should we insist?” Amy asked William.
“No. Something is troubling her, and she needs to walk it off.” He turned to Mrs. Miles. “May we offer you a ride home, Mrs. Miles?”
“No. Thank you very much, but my son, Richard, is visiting with Mr. Harris and will arrive shortly. I will just spend some time in the shops.” With a brief smile, she turned and headed to the millinery shop.
Amy and William looked at each other. “What the devil was that all about?” William asked.
“I assure you that I have no idea.” Amy stared at Mrs. Miles’s back as she disappeared into the store. After walking only a few steps, Amy gasped.
“What?”
She continued to watch where Lady Carlisle had run off to. “I knew there was something I was overlooking.”
“And
that is?”
“I have a strong suspicion that Lady Carlisle is not suffering from exhaustion due to too many dinner parties on behalf of her husband.”
“And?” William said.
“I’m beginning to think Lady Carlisle might be addicted to opium.”
CHAPTER 24
Amy growled in frustration as she attempted to adjust her dress with her bruises still not completely healed. It wasn’t so much the pain of movement, since that had ceased, but she still showed some fading black-and-blue marks on her arms that the dress didn’t cover. The garment was twisted about, and as much as she resisted having someone help her dress, she marched to her bedroom door, flung it open, and called for Lacey.
“What do you need, milady?” Lacey hurried into the room, took one look at the twisted mess Amy had made of her dress, and burst into laughter. “Oh, I am so sorry for laughing, but you look quite funny.”