Page 20 of A Murder in Bloomsbury

A ripple of uneasy laughter broke the tension. Lady Havers smiled thinly and reached for her teacup, signaling a temporary retreat.

I said nothing. I could not defend Everthorne with any conviction—I had met him once, briefly, over a grave, and I did not yet know whether his grief was genuine or calculated. But neither could I join the attack. Something in his manner at Highgate had struck me as authentic—the rawness of a man standing before an obligation he could not discharge.

Linnet caught my eye from across the room. She had been watching the exchange with the fierce concentration she brought to everything, reading lips and expressions with equal fluency. Now she signed, small and quick so that only I could see, “They are afraid.”

She was right. Fear wore many masks. When something dreadful happened, people often sought refuge in gossip, as though discussing a thing made it less capable of touching them.

I lifted my teacup and changed the subject to the Royal Academy's spring exhibition, and the evening limped onward. But beneath the chatter and the clink of porcelain, Lady Havers's words hung in the air like smoke.

The gentlemen soon joined us. Apparently, the port had palled beside the prospect of intellectual conversation in the drawing room. Little did they know what they were walking into.

Sir Isaac Blount entered first, settling into the chair nearest Mrs. Fitzwilliam with the ease of long acquaintance. Behind him came Mr. Ellsworth and Mr. Mainwaring. Peregrine drifted in last, pausing in the doorway long enough to survey the room with the practiced eye of a man assessing whether the drawing room had improved or deteriorated since the ladies had claimed it.

"The atmosphere in here is rather charged," he murmured, accepting a cup of coffee from the tray. "I do hope we haven't missed anything edifying."

Lady Havers pounced before they had fairly seated themselves.

“Mr. Mainwaring, what a fortunate coincidence. We were just discussing the unfortunate situation that occurred at Everthorne Manor some years ago." She tilted her head with predatory sweetness. "You were there, were you not?"

Mainwaring's smile faltered. "I beg your pardon?"

"The house party. The young lady who was—" She let the sentence trail off with an eloquent pause. "Well. You take my meaning."

"I was there, yes," he said cautiously. "Along with dozens of others."

"As was half the county, if memory serves," Peregrine said, brushing a speck of non-existent dust from his trousers. "House parties in those days were rather indiscriminate affairs. One practically tripped over earls in the corridors."

But Lady Havers was not about to be deterred. “Then you must have a view on the matter, Mainwaring. Do share."

Mainwaring opened his mouth, but Mrs. Fitzwilliam cut across him with the briskness of a woman rescuing a drowning man from his own flailing. "I believe that topic has been thoroughly exhausted for one evening." She fixed Lady Havers with a look that would have wilted hardier souls. "Mr. Ellsworth, I should like to hear more about the drainage situation. You mentioned a report from the Board of Health?"

A groan circled the room. Mr. Ellsworth, oblivious to the collective dismay, brightened at once and launched into a detailed account of effluent management in the eastern parishes.

The conversation continued for another hour, but I barely heard a word of it. My mind was turning over what had just occurred—not Lady Havers's gossip, which was precisely what I had come to expect from her, but Mainwaring's reaction. The way his hand had tightened on his glass. The careful neutrality of his answer. He had been at that house party. He knew something. And I intended to find out what.

As the guests began to take their leave, Peregrine paused beside me as he collected his hat. "A word of caution, my dear,” he said, so quietly that only I could hear. "The events of that house party were buried for a reason. People who dig up hornets' nests tend to get stung. I would hate for you to get hurt.” He smiled, tipped his hat to Miriam, and disappeared into the night.

I had never been very good about listening to reason.

So, I caught Mainwaring near the hall and asked, quietly, whether he might stay behind for a few moments. I had a matter I wished to discuss. He agreed with a readiness that suggested he thought himself the object of flattering attention.

He was not entirely wrong. I was interested in him—though not in the way he imagined.

When the last carriage had rattled away and the hall had fallen silent, Mainwaring remained by the fireplace, wine glass in hand, a look of self-satisfied expectation firmly in place. Miriam closed the drawing room door and settled herself in the chair beside it—not quite standing guard, but making her presence as chaperone unmistakable. Mainwaring glanced at her with poorly concealed disappointment.

"Now then, Lady Larkspur," he said, adjusting his cuffs. "What did you wish to discuss?"

I sat down and gestured for him to do the same. "The gentleman who accompanied you to my salon the other evening. I do not believe we were introduced."

For the first time, genuine surprise crossed his face. "No one of consequence. Merely a socially minded friend with an interest in reform."

"A friend without a name?"

His mouth twitched. "A friend who values his privacy."

"As do many people, I suppose."

"Quite."