‘Don’t keep me in suspense. What did you learn from Sarah Bright’s parents?’
Hannah took a moment to organise her thoughts. ‘Several things. Sarah visited them shortly before her death. Apparently, she wanted to tell them about an exciting job prospect. She had an interview for a new position in a different house.’
‘Whose house?’
Hannah scrunched her nose and shook her head.
‘She didn’t say.’ Philippa homed in on the biggest problem.
‘No. She didn’t. But she was excited about the opportunity.’
Philippa sat forward, her teacup halfway to her crimson lips. ‘So perhaps Lord Bradford is not our most likely candidate for the killer. Drat. I was hoping he was guilty of something more nefarious than an obnoxiously large moustache.’
Hannah frowned. ‘This is serious, Philippa.’
‘Yes, and so is that moustache. A serious disaster.’
Hannah rolled her eyes, but Philippa only shrugged, brushing off Hannah’s attempt to criticise her.
‘You said you learned several things. What else?’ Philippa asked.
Hannah sighed. ‘Sarah always wore a necklace her mother gave her. It would have been worth a significant sum. She said Sarah was never without it. A gold chain with a flower pendant. A lily. But when they found her body, there was no necklace recovered.’
‘Mm. Well. I suppose if we find some nobleman wandering around wearing a lady’s necklace, we’ll have our man.’
Philippa was right. It was damn little to go on. Hannah controlled her frustration. ‘I was thinking the killer may have sold it. We could look at the pawnbrokers near Bethnal Green. I know it isn’t very helpful, but sometimes even the smallest piece of evidence is important.’
Philippa rolled her eyes. ‘I suppose.’
Hannah’s tea cooled on the table. She couldn’t avoid her poor behaviour from the previous night any longer. ‘Philippa, I have more to share. I don’t think it will improve your mood.’
Philippa raised an eyebrow. ‘Does this have something to do with a certain duke?’
Hannah squirmed.
Philippa snorted. ‘I’m intrigued. Do continue.’
There was a knock on the door, and Stokes entered. His posture was so rigid Hannah wondered if he was physically capable of bending over. ‘Your Grace, there is a guest at the door.’
Hannah sat up straight. Philippa sipped her tea. The clock ticked away several seconds. Sometimes, Philippa liked to make Stokes wait for her reply.
Stokes hated this particular game. He lifted his chin a fraction higher.
‘Who is the guest, Stokes?’ Philippa finally asked.
‘Lieutenant General Killian, Duke of Covington, madam.’
‘Speak of the Devil.’ Philippa smiled.
Panic surged through Hannah. She stood up, then abruptly sat back down. ‘Dear God. What is he doing here? Philippa, what ishedoinghere?’
Philippa pursed her perfectly pigmented lips and carefully placed her tea on the table. ‘I’ve no idea. But there is one way to find out. Show him in, Stokes. And have Cook send up more tea and some refreshments.’
Stokes stood frozen. This was his retaliation. If she made him wait, he would do the same for her. It was all rather petty, but Hannah guessed they both enjoyed themselves on some level, or one of them would have quit the game by now.
‘Show him in, Stokes.’ Philippa shouted across the room, then continued in a normal tone to Hannah, ‘Poor old dear must be going deaf. It’s common in one so decrepit. Such a shame.’
‘It’s just, shrill tones are often difficult to discern, Your Grace.’ Stokes nodded once before slowly turning and walking out of the sitting room.
