I crossed my arms. “Like he was just as surprised and annoyed to see me as I was to see him?”
Delia choked out a laugh that nearly upset the tray. Thenshe sobered. “My God, you’re serious. Minnie, you can’t possibly think—”
But I was saved from whatever rubbish she was about to say when there was a scratch at the door and the same maid from earlier entered. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Harper, Miss Delia,” she said in an anxious rush. “But there is a gentleman downstairs. He’s come to call on the both of you. Mr. Morris asked me to see if you are at home.”
Delia and I exchanged matching looks of surprise. It was outside normal calling hours, and I couldn’t think of anyone in London who would call on me, especially here. Well, anyone except Mr. Dorian.
“Here is his card,” the maid continued, holding it out.
As I took it, I immediately noticed the fine quality of the cardstock. And a glance at the name revealed why.
“It’s Lord Linden,” I said as I handed Delia the card. This was surprising indeed.
“I suppose he has heard the news,” she replied cryptically. Then she lifted her eyes to mine. “Perhaps you should speak to him.”
It seemed unlikely that his lordship would have already spoken to the police. And I would not miss this chance to ask him some questions. “All right.” Then I turned to the maid. “Tell Morris I will see him.”
The girl gave a little curtsy. “Yes, ma’am.” And hurried from the room.
“How well did Charles know the baron?” I asked my sister.
“Quite well, I think. I believe they had known each other since school. Or at least since Cambridge.”
“Hmm. I wonder if either of them knew Oliver.” He had also attended Cambridge, and likely around the same time.
But Delia shook her head. “Charlie certainly didn’t. I told him about Oliver, and he would have mentioned knowing him. There was no reason to lie about it.”
I gave a bland smile in response. “Of course.” While I certainly didn’t think Charles was necessarily lying about knowing Oliver, it was possible that the man did possess a capacity to lie about very important things. And I should probably approach the baron with a healthy dose of skepticism as well. I rose from the bed. “I’ll come check on you after he leaves. And to make sure you’ve finished your soup,” I added archly.
Delia picked up the spoon with a heavy sigh. “Yes, yes. There won’t be a drop left.”
“Good,” I said, then kissed her forehead and left the room with a newfound determination thrumming in my veins.
It was time for the investigation to begin.
Chapter 11
Morris had ushered the baron into the drawing room, and as I walked down the hall, I was struck by a sense of déjà vu. Not a full day had passed, and here I was engaging with yet another male visitor—alone. But, of course, neither visit was anything close to romantic in nature. Mr. Dorian had stopped by merely to issue his warning, and the baron was likely here to pay his respects. I forced my brow to relax, as it seemed to automatically frown whenever I thought of Mr. Dorian, and stepped into the room.
Unlike that irritating man, I found Lord Linden reclining on the sofa looking a bit bored and not at all interested in his surroundings. Someone, possibly Morris, had had the good sense to open the curtains in this room, and the baron’s hair looked several shades lighter than it had the night of his party. It was more auburn than chestnut. He noticed my entrance and immediately rose and bowed over my hand, every bit the perfect gentleman—also very different behavior from Mr. Dorian.
Stop thinking about him.
“Mrs. Harper,” the baron said, entirely unaware of mythoughts, “thank you for seeing me. I’m so terribly sorry about Mr. Pearson. I came to offer my condolences.”
“That is very kind, my lord,” I said, with a polite smile. “Please, sit.”
He returned to his place on the sofa, while I took the chair across from him. “How is your sister? I’m sure she must be devastated,” he continued, his eyes full of what seemed like genuine sympathy.
“It has been a difficult time, yes. I will tell her you called. And may I also offer you my condolences? I understand Mr. Pearson was an old friend of yours.”
“We had known each other for many years, yes. He will be missed, indeed. The funeral will be held at St. Mark’s at the end of this week,” he continued. “I’ve taken the liberty of planning it since Charles’s sister does not live in town.”
“That is kind of you,” I said.
“It is the very least I can do for an old friend,” he replied with a solemn nod. “It is a private affair, but I can make sure that you and your sister are on the guest list.”
“Thank you. I’m not sure Delia will be well enough to attend, but I will.” It could also be an excellent opportunity to see who made up Charles Pearson’s circle. The murderer could be among them.
