William, Amy, and the dog returned to the carriage after Amy gave Miss Spencer and the maid a hearty hug, and he offered a huge thanks.
Miss Spencer’s final words to Amy were, “I want the entire story.”
They had traveled only about the length of a full street when they arrived at Amy’s house. Once William got her and the blasted dog inside, he would return home, order his valet to burn the shirt, jacket, and coat, and then pour himself a very large brandy.
Perhaps two.
Amy tiptoed up the back stairs, avoiding the boards that she knew from years of sneaking out of the house made noise. Perhaps William did have a point about Aunt Margaret’s supervision.
She kept Persephone’s mouth clamped shut with her hand wrapped around the dog’s nose. They were too close to safety to have the dog start barking again. Holding her breath, she stepped onto the second-floor landing. Everything was quiet.
She moved quickly past Michael’s room, Papa’s room, and Aunt Margaret’s. She breathed a sigh of relief and opened her door.
Aunt Margaret sat in a chair by the now-dying fire, sound asleep with a book in her lap. Keeping her eye on her aunt, Amy quickly divested herself of her clothing, pushed it all under her bed, and slipped on a nightgown. Easing the counterpane up, she climbed into the bed with a sigh of relief.
“Where were you?”
Amy almost jumped from the bed at the sound of Aunt Margaret’s voice. She placed her hand over her heart. “Good heavens, Aunt, you scared me to death.”
Aunt Margaret stood and walked toward her. “Is there something I should be concerned about? Do I need to begin wedding preparations?”
“Goodness, no! Why in heaven’s name is everyone suddenly talking about weddings? It’s making me itchy.”
Her aunt sat on the bed. “Perhaps because you were out of the house all night, and I have a strong suspicion that you were not alone.”
“Maybe.”
“Is this the murder investigation again?”
Amy nodded. “Yes. William and I returned to Mr. Harding’s house to look for a ledger or some sort of book. We learned that Mr. Harding carried such a thing with him in which he wrote information—probably payments—when he accepted money from his victims.”
“Did you find it?”
“Yes. We did find it, but unfortunately we were not the only people there looking for the book.”
Aunt Margaret groaned.
Amy shifted so that her head rested against the headboard. “There was another person in the library when William and I returned after finding Persephone, who had run off.”
“Were you seen?”
“Yes. The thief grabbed the ledger and then climbed out the window. William gave chase, but the burglar stumbled and dropped the book.”
“Did William manage to get the book back?”
“Yes.” There was no point in further distressing her aunt by telling her that William had been shot and that they had no intention of stopping their investigation. William was on the police detectives’ list of suspects, and it was up to him and Amy to clear his name.
Aunt Margaret sat and, taking several deep breaths, appeared to calm herself. “Now I will tell you why I spent the night in that chair.” She pointed across the room. “When I got home last evening from the Mallorys’ musicale, you father was in the library. He waved a letter at me and was quite upset by its contents.”
Amy did not have a good feeling about this.
“Since he thought you were already abed”—her aunt stopped and glared at her—“he said it could wait until this morning. I thought perhaps I would give you a warning about what the letter said.”
“Did he tell you what it was?”
“Yes.” She sighed and took Amy’s hand. “Mr. Gordon from your publisher, Chatto and Windus, wrote to your father and told him if you did not appear at the book fair as E. D. Burton, you would be in violation of your contract and they could sue you.”
Amy groaned and dropped her head in her hands. Good grief. Could this night get any worse? Then she said a quick prayer, not wanting to urge the good Lord into showing her how that could happen.
CHAPTER 18
William winced as he reached for the door handle of the building where Nick Smith had his offices. It had been three days since he’d been shot and the pain had lessened, but when he forgot about it and used his arm in a certain way, he was all too quickly reminded.
Thankfully, the wound had not become infected, and he’d managed to suffer through the Assembly on Saturday and church on Sunday, not wanting Mother to know he was not up to snuff. At least he’d had the pleasure of dancing with Amy, and they had managed to sneak in a few conversations about their investigation. He had also surreptitiously handed off the ledger to her when they left the Assembly.
Amy had sent a note around earlier this morning and told him she was working hard on trying to decipher the code Harding had used in his ledger. She’d confirmed what he’d thought when the unknown thief dropped the book: the name at the head of one section was smeared.
Soon they would have a list of Harding’s victims. In the meantime, William hoped Nick could help him locate Patrick Whitney.
His thoughts turned to the night they had gone to Harding’s house. Neither William nor Amy had gotten a good look at the individual they had chased and who had mostly likely shot at them. It was dark and the culprit had moved fast, never turning his head toward them.
From what William remembered, he’d seen a person a bit above medium height, of medium build, and wearing a hat so that no hair color was visible. One of the thousands of citizens of Bath. Or one of the unfortunate people being blackmailed and anxious to get the book before anyone else saw it.
Now William climbed the stairs to the second level, where Nick’s office was. The man was expecting him,
