I narrowed my eyes. “Don’t think you are going alone.”
He let out a laugh. “You can’t be serious. Mrs. Harper—”
But he stopped himself from saying more as the girl returned with our tea and scones.
“Here we are,” she said with a cheery smile, as she doled out our food and tea.
“Thank you,” I replied. The scones smelled heavenly, and my mouth began to water from the buttery aroma.
“Can I get you anything else?”
“No, we are very well,” Mr. Dorian said as he eyed the scones with a hungry gleam.
She gave a nod and turned on her heel, leaving us alone once more. Mr. Dorian offered me the plate of scones first, and I took one. It was still warm. Then he tore into his own and spread on it a thick layer of cream and jam. We were both silent for a long while as we ate.
“You can’t come with me,” he finally announced once his plate was nothing but crumbs.
I placed my half-finished scone down and daintily wiped my mouth with my napkin. “Why not? And don’t say because it’s too dangerous,” I added just as he began to speak. “It’s an auction in Belgravia.”
Mr. Dorian gave me a sour look. “And yet a man is dead possiblybecauseof this auction in Belgravia,” he countered. “If the murderer is connected and they learn that we are there looking for them, it certainly could become very dangerous indeed.”
I was unmoved by this explanation. “So then you’ve decided that Mrs. Pearson is no longer a suspect.”
“Don’t change the subject,” he scolded. “And no, I haven’t. But I agree that this is another angle that should be pursued.”
I preened a little. “Then I must insist that we pursue it together. We can use false names and go in disguises. Then no one will know who we are.”
Mr. Dorian scoffed. “No disguises.”
“Why not? Surely your friend Mrs. Langham can help with that,” I said innocently, unable to keep from baiting him.
A muscle in his jaw ticked as he held my gaze. “Perhaps she can,” he said.
It felt like a challenge. One I had no choice but to meet. “Excellent. Then it’s settled.”
He raised an eyebrow. “For now. And only if I can find a way in.”
“I’m sure you will,” I replied and took a bite of my scone. I should have felt victorious, but it was difficult not to sulk.
“Don’t you want to know what Mrs. Langham told me?” he asked after a moment.
No. I don’t ever want to hear that woman’s name again, I thought. But somehow I managed to restrain myself and gave him a sunny smile. “Of course.”
He was giving me one of those inscrutable looks again. “Adeline Brooks, the rumored Mrs. Pearson, is in London. And allegedly has been for over a week, in fact.”
My jaw dropped open. “So she was here before the murder took place.” Mr. Dorian nodded. He was obviously relishing in my reaction, but I didn’t care. If this was true, then she was another potential suspect—and the most likely culprit, according to Mr. Dorian. For the first time since the night of the murder, I felt something close to relief. Delia wouldn’t be the prime suspect anymore. “Does your brother know this?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Possibly. And if he doesn’t, he will very soon.”
“Do you mean … you’re going to tell him?” He had surprised me again.
Mr. Dorian took a sip of tea and nodded. “No sense in keeping this from him.”
“Thank you,” I murmured. Given their strained relationship, Inspector Dorian would likely not appreciate learning that his brother had been poking around his case, no matter what information he had uncovered. And I suspected this would lead to a quarrel.
“We all want justice to be served,” Mr. Dorian said with a shrug. He then reached for the last scone, but I batted his hand away. He gave me an incredulous look. “What on earth was that for?” I gestured to the window, where a young girl in very worn clothing stood on the pavement staring wistfully up at the tearoom’s sign. Mr. Dorian let out a mock sigh. “Fine. But you know it will do little good.”
“Perhaps. But it’s better than doing nothing.”
