Page 60 of Murder at the Dinner Party
“I don’t mind if there’s a valid reason and the person ordering me about isn’t worrying over nothing.”
“Nothing!” He huffed a humorless laugh and shook his head. Thankfully, he didn’t say another word until we reached the Whitchurches’ house.
While we didn’t quite have to muscle our way inside, the footman was very reluctant to let us in. He called the butler and the butler threatened to telephone the police.
I told him to go right ahead. “They’ll be very interested in what we have to say.”
The butler’s lips thinned before he agreed to show us through to the drawing room.
“We’d rather wait in the dining room,” I said.
He baulked. “Why?”
I strode past him and headed up the stairs. “Please inform Lord and Lady Whitchurch that we’re waiting for them.”
Harry and I were both studying the portrait of the late Lord Whitchurch and the dowager hanging above the fireplace when the current Lord and Lady Whitchurch entered. It was clear that his anger hadn’t dissipated in our absence. He opened his mouth and looked like he would blast us for wasting his time, so I cut him off before he could begin.
“Please don’t bother asking us what the meaning of this is or telling us we’re barking up the wrong tree then ordering us out.” I removed the tiepin and watch from my bag. I opened my palm to display them.
Lady Whitchurch looked at the pieces. “I don’t understand.”
It was Lord Whitchurch’s reaction that interested me more. His gaze lifted to the portrait. His wife’s followed it. She gasped and clutched her throat.
“Where did you get that?” Lord Whitchurch demanded.
“These were in Mr. Hardy’s possession.” I turned to look at the portrait of the previous Lord Whitchurch wearing the same tiepin. “It’s a distinctive piece. There can be no doubt it belonged to your father.”
“Thisis your proof that Hardy was blackmailing me, Miss Fox?”
I arched my brows. “How else did these get into his possession?”
“He stole them.” He went to take the tiepin off me, but I closed my hand into a fist and tucked both items back into my bag.
“Unlikely.”
He scoffed. “It’s time you left. This is over. You have nothing, Miss Fox.”
“I have enough to interest Scotland Yard, my lord.”
He looked uncertain whether to believe me or not. Or perhaps he was weighing up if he had enough influence to stop the Yard paying renewed attention to the case.
I pressed home my advantage. “Who are you protecting, my lord? Yourself? Your wife?”
“My wife is innocent! She was as much a victim of Rupert as Charlotte was.”
Lady Whitchurch pressed a handkerchief to her chin, but it continued to tremble. “Stop it,” she whispered.
Her husband didn’t hear her and barreled on. “You need to leave, Miss Fox. NOW!”
His wife jumped with fright.
Lord Whitchurch finally took notice of her. “Sit down, my dear.” He drew out a dining chair and gently steered her to it. “You’ve upset my wife, Miss Fox. You need to leave before you make it worse.”
“No, Arthur,” Lady Whitchurch said. “It’s time for this to end. Stop protecting her. She doesn’t deserve your loyalty.”
“My dear, you don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I do. I know this is her fault. Isn’t that what the Campbells’ butler told you? I know she’s not innocent. She’s a mean, horrid woman, and Ihateher for how she treats us. How she treatsyou.”
