Page 2 of In the Midnight Hour

A third retainer entered the bedchamber. This man, with his somber dark gray costume, neatly combed gray hair, and authoritative demeanor, had to be the butler. He registered North’s presence with a start. “Who are you?”

“I’m Northwood from number twelve across the square. You must be the butler.”

“Maberly, at your service, my lord,” he replied with a nod. “Pardon me, but why are you here?”

“Amos ran outside and shrieked for the watch,” the housekeeper said with great irritation. “I could hear him up here.”

“Yes, I heard him as well,” Maberly murmured.

“I encountered his lordship,” Amos explained eagerly. “He offered to help. His brother’s the coroner.”

“That’s very kind of him,” Maberly said. “However, I’ve already sent Samuel to summon Dr. Ellingham.”

North acknowledged it was more appropriate to ask for a physician to assess the situation before the coroner was notified. If the man had died of natural causes, there would be no need to alert Harry at all.

The housekeeper pursed her thin lips and narrowed her gray-blue eyes at the footman. “Amos, what did you hope to accomplish with such behavior?”

“I was only trying to help,” the footman answered meekly, his shoulders drooping. The lad was probably twenty—or close to.

“Take yourself off now,” the housekeeper said gruffly, but she also sent the young footman a nod that seemed tinged with a motherly fondness.

North took stock of the room. The bed was neatly made, and the chamber was bright for this hour of the day, yet the curtains were still drawn. The light came from the fire in the hearth, which was rather large for having just been kindled. Perhaps Sir Radnor preferred it to be stoked all night. How exhausting for some poor servant.

“Is the carpet coming clean, Mrs. Babcock?” the butler asked the housekeeper.

She’d gone back to scrubbing whilst North glanced about.

“Somewhat. Thankfully, this carpet has a great deal of brown.” She tossed the cloth into the dirty bucket and used the side of the bed to push up to her feet.

“You cleaned away all the blood?” North asked. Before becoming the coroner recently, his brother Harry had been a principal officer at Bow Street, where he’d often been frustrated by people ruining evidence. It made his investigations far more difficult.

“Of course,” she replied as if North were daft. “Just from the carpet. I didn’t clean his head.” Mrs. Babcock made a face. “It was difficult enough to touch him. I’ll be glad when Dr. Ellingham arrives and takes care of the body.” Her gaze fell on the finial atop the bedpost closest to where Sir Radnor lay. “There’s blood there too.”

As she bent to pick up the cloth again, North stepped forward. “Stop! You shouldn’t be cleaning. Not until an officer from Marlborough Street or even Bow Street has investigated. You assume this was an accident, but an inquest must determine that. Unless… Were you here when it happened?”

The housekeeper’s brows pinched together as her eyes narrowed briefly. “I was not. But it doesn’t take a Bow Street Runner to conclude that Sir Radnor tripped as he fell out of bed in a drunken stupor.”

“I hardly think Sir Radnor’s state signifies,” Maberly said crossly, perhaps attempting to protect his employer’s dignity.

“This isn’t the first time he’s fallen at night,” Mrs. Babcock snapped back.

“It is, however, the first time he’s been discovered dead,” North noted without a hint of sarcasm.

The housekeeper inclined her head toward the bedside table, upon which sat a lamp, an empty decanter, an empty tumbler, and a book. “Sir Radnor drank that entire decanter of port last night, in addition to what he imbibed at dinner and with Lady Cartwright.”

Lady Cartwright? North knew that name, but not the woman behind it. She lived next door at number twenty-five, according to Mrs. Lambton.

North looked at Maberly. “Is it true that Sir Radnor drank that much last night?”

The butler appeared uncertain, his brow pleating. “I’d have to ask his valet, but he doesn’t rise until later, particularly on mornings after Sir Radnor has been up late, as is typical when he entertains.”

“The entire household must be interviewed,” North said, knowing that was what Harry would do.

“That decanter was full yesterday afternoon. I brought it here myself,” Mrs. Babcock said. “Sir Radnor doesn’t like if it drops below half, so I refilled it.”

North envisioned a drunken Sir Radnor falling out of bed and hitting his head on the floor. The carpet would have cushioned his fall, however. He recalled the blood on the finial that he’d stopped Mrs. Babcock from cleaning.

Stepping toward the bedpost, he glanced at the housekeeper, who was partially blocking his way, along with the buckets and Sir Radnor. “I’d like to look at the finial.”