Page 10 of A Whisper at Midnight

“You didn’t want to leave?” Tilda asked.

“I did, but also didn’t want to abandon Sir Godfrey. We went upstairs to a quieter room and drank port. I left about an hour after I arrived. Thankfully, I did not encounter Chambers again.”

“Teague will want to hear about this encounter,” Tilda said. “Did you go straight home after leaving the club?”

Hadrian narrowed his eyes at her. “Do you think I may have gone somewhere else?”

“I think you should have an alibi,” she replied evenly.

Her words chilled Hadrian. “You can’t think I would kill Chambers.”

“I don’t, but you have a motive.”

Alarm pricked Hadrian’s neck, making him feel hot and agitated. “What would that be?"

“Jealousy. Revenge. Anger after the way Chambers treated you at the club.”

“I’ve been treated worse,” Hadrian replied with a snort. “And I am not jealous, nor do I have any reason to seek revenge.”

Tilda again looked at him with sympathy, but he didn’t like it. “Chambers stole your fiancée. You caught them in a compromising position.”

“Yes, but in the end, everything worked out as it should,” he said coolly. Tilda was right that it wasn’t easy to revisit this. In fact, he preferred not to.

“You weren’t … heartbroken?” Tilda asked, her brow creasing. “Forgive me, I assumed you were marrying her because you loved her.”

Hadrian exhaled. “Must we delve into the specifics? I was not heartbroken. I was relieved. After I was done being angry. It was an embarrassing situation.” Now more than ever, Hadrian couldn’t understand why Beryl would choose Chambers over him.

“I understand. I won’t pry any further, but Teague might, so you should be prepared for that.”

Hadrian shook out his shoulders in an effort to clear his agitation. “Aren’t we supposed to be fetching tea for Beryl?”

“Yes, let us speak with the cook.” She preceded him into the kitchen where three women stood around a table. Two were in their forties, one of whom wore an apron, whilst the third, garbed in a dark-blue gown, was young—younger than Tilda.

The woman with the apron looked toward Hadrian and Tilda first, then the other two followed suit. “Can I help you?” the woman in the apron asked.

“That’s Miss Wren,” the young woman said. A white cap sat atop her dark-brown hair, and Hadrian assumed she was the maid.

The other two women reacted faintly to this revelation, as if they knew of Tilda but hadn’t yet met her.

“Good morning, Clara,” Tilda said with a brief smile as she walked toward them. Hadrian followed her. “I’m sorry about Mr. Chambers.”

The maid looked down, and the other two exchanged glances. There seemed to be a wealth of communication in what they didn’t say.

When no one said anything in response, Tilda said, “Mrs. Chambers would like tea.”

“I’ll take it up,” the woman in the apron said. She fetched a pot from the warming stove.

The other older woman—she looked to be the eldest of the three, perhaps nearing fifty—also wore a white cap, which covered her severely styled gray-and-sable hair. Her brown eyes were sharp and assessing as they surveyed Hadrian and Tilda. “I am Mrs. Blank, the housekeeper. This is Mrs. Dunning, our cook.” She pinned her attention on Tilda. “I believe you met Clara yesterday.”

“I did,” Tilda said with a nod. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintances as well. This is Lord Ravenhurst.”

All three retainers showed a reaction—including the cook who’d just picked up the tray—but the young maid’s was by far the most revealing. Her jaw dropped before she snapped it closed and averted her eyes.

“Have you heard his name before?” Tilda asked.

Hadrian wasn’t at all surprised that she’d noticed the maid’s reaction, nor that she’d questioned her about it.

Clara nodded, but it was the housekeeper, Mrs. Blank, who spoke. “We know who his lordship is.” She cast an enigmatic look toward Hadrian that piqued his curiosity. What did they know?