She didn’t wait for the bell pull but hurried into the foyer to chase down Mr. Lockley, who had scarcely had a chance to see Owen out the door.
“Please have Henry ready my carriage at once.”
“Yes, my lady,” Mr. Lockley said and disappeared.
There would be no need for the insanity defense. Her brother was about to be entirely cleared. After she met with Mr. Brassel, she would request his consent to tell Owen and the Westings at dinner that night. Adelia didn’t see how she could go to dinner elsewise. It would be impossible to sit down at their table without the good news bubbling out of her.
Mr. Lockley appeared. “Your carriage is ready and out front, my lady. Where shall I instruct Henry to take you?”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
In less thanhalf an hour, her driver pulled up in front of Gray’s Inn. It was uncommonly short notice of the solicitor, expecting her to be free, but she supposed most men assumed women did little but sit home all day, perhaps doing needlepoint. Or, in her case, writing novels. The truth was, for her class, he was mainly correct.
Because of her destination, once again, she had not brought Penny along. She found something almost reverent about the Inns of Court and Mr. Brassel. In fact, the work of those at Gray’s Inn seemed as benign as the work of the Church, especially now that her solicitor had discovered an alibi for her brother.
As she stepped out of her carriage, she was hailed by Mr. Beaumont, of all people.
He approached her. “So glad you could make it, Lady Adelia,” he said, bowing low.
“I don’t understand. How did you know I was meeting with the solicitor?”
“I am the one who has determined an alibi for the earl,” Mr. Beaumont crowed. “It came clear to me when I considered the date. And recalling you’d told me the solicitor’s name, I came directly to speak with him. Mr. Brassel promised he would invite you over immediately to ease your mind at once.”
“He did just that,” she agreed. “Will you tell me what you told Mr. Brassel?”
“Oh, better than that, dear lady. I willshowyou. Come, this way.”
He had her arm before she knew it. Half a block farther along the road, a hackney stood waiting.
“But Mr. Brassel,” she said. “I believe I am to—”
“Yes, yes. He knows all about it. He will meet us there. In fact, he’s already on his way. Most exciting,” he added. With that, Mr. Beaumont yanked open the door and helped her inside.
Adelia knew as soon as the door of the hired hackney closed that she’d made a mistake. She sensed it by the way Mr. Beaumont drew down the cheap black shades on either side and sprawled slovenly against the squabs.
“Here we are at last,” he said.
“Yes,” she agreed. “I should have asked you exactly where we are going.”
“Why, to the East End, of course, the scene of the murder.”
Alarm skittered through her, and she banged on the roof to alert the driver to stop.
“What are you doing?” he asked, folding his hands on his lap as the carriage continued without slowing.
She banged again. “I have realized I should have taken my own carriage, so I can get home easily afterward. I have a dinner engagement. We should stop immediately and let me take my own ride.”
“Oh, no,” he said, his face a picture of concern, “that wouldn’t be safe at all. You didn’t bring anyone, it seems, no maid or other chaperone, and I couldn’t let an elegant lady such as yourself go alone to the East End.”
“No,” she said softly. “I didn’t bring anyone.”
Recalling the note, she asked, “You say Mr. Brassel is meeting us there?”
“Indubitably,” he said, and she felt a little better. Besides, it was not that late, although the sun was setting quickly.
“Very well.” Adelia tried to quell her burgeoning anxiety at being alone with him, despite how he had made no untoward advance. Instead, he remained leaning back in a relaxed manner, observing her. His expression was vaguely and unsettlingly smug.
“Will you tell me what you discovered while we travel?” she asked, hoping to stop him from staring.
