Page 44 of Murder at the Dinner Party
It was met with a scowl. “Never again,” he growled. “Next time something like that’s required, I’ll do it.”
“But I can’t haulyouout of a window, can I?”
His jaw set firm as he indicated we should walk.
“You picked the window’s lock quickly,” I said.
“It wasn’t locked. It was just stuck.”
“How did you know I was in there?”
“I saw you through the window when I came outside to see if you’d managed to leave while I wasn’t looking. I heard the dowager and Lord Whitchurch’s voices and knew you’d probably heard them too. Was that the dowager’s bedchamber?”
“They must have moved her things to the ground floor for the duration of her London stay on account of her frailty. It was fortunate they did.”
He grunted. “It didn’t seem fortunate to me. If her bedchamber had been on one of the upper floors, you would never have been in that predicament.”
“I would never have found what I was looking for, either.”
“You got a photograph of Rupert?”
I shook my head. “There wasn’t a single photograph of him in any of the rooms, and I looked through all except for a few bedchambers. Don’t you think that odd?”
“Perhaps the current Lord and Lady Whitchurch don’t want any photos of him in their house. The dowager usually lives at their country manor, so perhaps they’re all there.”
“Or the family doesn’t want anyone recognizing him. Perhaps they removed all photographs of him when they discovered he’d become butler for the Campbells.”
Harry wasn’t convinced. Not that he said as much. He fell silent, sullenly and profoundly. Somehow, it made his anger seem even fiercer.
“I knew the dangers,” I told him. “But if it makes you feel better, go ahead and scold me. I won’t interrupt.”
He kept walking, not even muttering an oath under his breath. He continued to quietly seethe, his fists closed at his sides and the muscles in his jaw throbbing. He would give himself an ache if he kept clenching his teeth like that. I didn’t like seeing him so wound up, and I certainly didn’t like him being cross with me, so I attempted to lighten his mood.
“I’m glad I wore my prettiest undergarments.”
He stopped and grabbed me by the elbows. He’d been angry with me before, but this was different. This was unreasonable anger, far more than the situation warranted. “This is not a game, Cleo.”
“I know.” My voice sounded as frail as the dowager’s. I cleared my throat. “I know,” I said again.
He released me. “Then why are you making jokes?”
I brushed my sleeve, even though there was nothing to brush off. “Because I don’t like it when you’re cross with me, and I don’t know how else to make you stop.”
His anger cleared as rapidly as it had surfaced. He took a deep breath, then another and another. The third was more of a sigh. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.
I gave him a flat smile. “It’s all right. I forgive you.”
“I was just worried about you.”
“I know.”
“If you were caught…” He looked down at his feet and shook his head.
“My uncle would ensure I was released, if I were arrested. I doubt I would have been charged. If the dowager pushed for charges to be laid, I’d simply tell her what I’d found in her desk. She would have backed down then.”
“It’s not an arrest that worried me. It’s what Sir Ronald would do after you were released. He’d lock you away and stop us…stop you from investigating.”
“I’m not a heroine from a Brothers Grimm tale, Harry. If Uncle Ronald tried to lock me away, I’d simply leave.”
