would not be put off. “And?”
“She was keeping company with another gentleman.”
This caught George’s attention. He leaned forward in eagerness. “Who?”
Charles gazed down at his hands. “I’m afraid I don’t know. We had plans for Tuesday evening and Mary sent round a note to cancel. Since I was left at loose ends, I decided to visit a friend who lived near her home. After dining, I drove down her street.”
He examined our expectant faces and scowled. “It was on my way home.” He straightened his back and placed his hands on his knees. “The point is I drove down her street and saw a man leave her house and rush to a waiting carriage.”
He shrugged. “Looking back at the situation, it may have been perfectly innocent, but it didn’t feel that way. His was the only carriage nearby, so she wasn’t entertaining a group. She had every right to see whom she pleased, but it was just the two of them alone in her home, and I suppose I felt slighted she put me off for another man.”
“What night did you say?” George’s voice was thick with tension.
“Tuesday.”
“Oh, dear. Her body was discovered on Wednesday according to the paper.” I glanced at George. “Might she have been murdered Tuesday?”
George raised his hands in a helpless gesture. “It’s possible. A neighbor found her early Wednesday morning. He was walking to his place of business and noticed her door open. When she didn’t answer his knock, he stepped inside. I haven’t heard a more specific time of death yet.”
Charles gave him a quizzical glance. “Why would you? Have you some interest in the matter—aside from your concern about me, which I greatly appreciate of course.”
George took a sip of tea, then carefully placed his cup on the table in front of him, clearly considering how much he could reveal. “There’s a rather sensitive side to this case and I’ve been asked to lend a hand, but rest assured if I must choose between working on this case or mounting a defense for you, I would certainly choose in favor of you.”
“You can’t do both?” Charles’s confusion showed in his blank expression.
“Not out in the open I can’t.” George gave him a reassuring smile. “Behind the scenes I may be able to get away with a great deal. My preference, however, is to eliminate all suspicion of you in this matter, so let’s get back to the man you saw leaving her house. Did you tell Delaney about him? Were you able to provide any sort of description?”
“I did, but I couldn’t tell him any more than I’ve already told you. It was drizzling that evening. The man carried an umbrella that hid his face from my view. All I could really say is he was tall, not really lean or stout. His clothes were dark. No markings on the carriage, so it was probably hired. There was really nothing to identify him.” His brows drew together in frustration. “My memory is unreliable at best, but I can’t think of anything else I might have seen from that distance.”
“What of your coachman?” I asked. “Would Delaney not take his word that you simply drove past?”
“I took the chaise and drove myself.” Charles shook his head. “Just me and the horse and he’s not talking.”
“Well, Delaney must have given your story some credence, since he didn’t arrest you,” I said, hoping to ease his despair.
“They are just beginning their investigation,” George said. “The police will canvass the neighborhood, and with any luck, someone else will have seen the man. If not, depending on the coroner’s determination of the time of death, Evingdon may well have placed himself on the spot at exactly the wrong time, and with no witness to provide an alibi for him.” He shifted his gaze to Charles. “There were no other witnesses, were there? You saw no one else on the street?”
“No. Perhaps a neighbor saw something from a window, but I am aware I’m not off the hook even if neighbors confirm the existence of another man at Mrs. Archer’s home. I only hope you will come to my defense if I find myself arrested for murder.”
“I hope it won’t come to that,” George said. “But you should be prepared for the possibility. And of course, I will defend you.”
I studied George’s face for signs of false bravado, but though he frowned, his jaw was set with determination. I still had trouble seeing Charles as a murderer, but neither did I have George’s confidence.
“First,” he said, “I need to find how far the police have progressed in the investigation, see if they’ve left any clues dangling that I can examine. And since that will keep me sufficiently busy, I may have to hand my task over to Lady Harleigh.”
I held back a gasp. “You mean . . .” My heavens. Was he going to let me read Mary’s notes?
George’s eyes glittered with amusement. “If you don’t find the task too arduous?”
“I believe I’m up to it,” I said, fighting against my urge to jump up and dance a jig. The thought that George would trust me with such a responsibility sent a thrill of exhilaration rushing through my veins.
“Does this task involve those unknown suspects you mentioned earlier?” Charles’s normally open expression had tightened into severe lines and angles. “If it helps to uncover the monster who murdered Mrs. Archer, I must take part in this as well.”
I glanced at George. His hand rose to stroke his chin as he gazed off to the distance. I could empathize with Charles’s need to fight this battle himself, or at least take part in it, but really this wasn’t my decision. “We’re talking about something that’s potentially evidence. If I were your defense counsellor, I would be granted access to that evidence.”
“If I am charged, you will certainly be the man I ask to defend me.” His expression was hopeful.
George’s gaze drifted off. “It’s a bit sketchy in a legal sense, but I’m willing to give it a go.” He turned to me. “From what I’ve been told, there’s a vast amount of information to review. You may need some assistance.”
Having ascertained Charles was under no immediate threat of arrest, the three of us agreed to meet at my home the next morning to begin digging into Mary’s poison-pen notes. George and I took our leave and climbed back into the carriage, headed for home.
I stared at George’s profile as he gazed out the window at the blur of pedestrians and shops we passed. Pondering the best way to help his friend, I’d imagine. Meanwhile, I pondered Charles’s story. Driving past Mary’s house after she’d broken an engagement with him felt like an intrusion on her privacy. She had the right to break an engagement, and he had no right to snoop.
Her house was located on Baker Street, however, which would take one from Marylebone to Grosvenor Square, and from there to Piccadilly and Charles’s home. So, if the friend he visited lived in Marylebone, it would be a logical route for him to take. If that’s where his friend lived. Why hadn’t I asked?
Even more curious was that he passed Mary’s house at precisely the time a man rushed away from her door. But the vague description he provided of the man could also describe Charles. If he were concocting a story, wouldn’t he have described the man as short, or round, or thin? I had to remind
