Chapter Thirty-Eight
Henry
She was a most frustrating woman, his Katherine.
And with a most nimble tongue. Whenever Henry tried to steer the conversation in the direction he wanted, she twisted it to an entirely different matter.
He understood that she didn’t want to be at this tavern eating dinner with him, but she needed some understanding, as well.
She should understand it was only natural for her father to want something in return for agreeing to his proposal.
And she damn well should understand Henry would sacrifice almost anything to marry her.
“And that’s when I had to put my foot down.” Mr. Smith mopped up the last of his stew with a torn piece of bread. “She could find as many costumes as she wanted in that attic. I wasn’t going to perform any scenes for the entertainment of that lot.”
“I believe Miss Walker thought you would find it entertaining, as well.” Katherine tapped her thumb against the rim of her wineglass and peered over her father’s shoulder at the small clock that rested on a shelf over the bar.
It was the fourth time that she’d done that.
Henry wondered what she thought was an appropriate hour for her to make her excuses and retire.
Mr. Smith snorted. “Not hardly. I was almost glad when that Taylor fellow was found dead. It put a stop to that idea of hers.”
“Father!”
“I said almost.” He sniffed. “No need to get superior. You know you also would have detested her latest entertainment.”
Katherine flushed and slid a side-long glance at Henry before staring back into her wine.
That flush was the same one that had heated her cheeks when he’d brought her to crisis in the folly. She must know there could be consequences for their actions. She must understand they had to marry. He pushed his empty bowl away. “I feel like taking a turn about the room. Miss Smith, might I—”
“Speaking of poor Mr. Taylor, do you think the murderer will ever be caught?” Katherine asked her father. “It is gruesome to think that it is someone we know.”
Mr. Smith leaned over the table and patted her hand. “Justice has a way of coming for everyone, my dear. In this world or the next.” He patted his breast pocket, then pulled open his jacket and dug about in the pockets of his waistcoat. “Drat. I hope I haven’t left it behind.”
“What did you forget to pack now?” Katherine gave her father an indulgent smile. A smile Henry hoped she would turn on him if only she’d give him a moment to explain.
“My pipe.” Mr. Smith frowned. He muttered as he searched every possible pocket. “…not the only one. But I’m not turning back for it.”
Henry jerked his glance from Katherine’s face. “What was that? What did you say?”
Smith rubbed his jaw. “You must have seen it, too. It’s a distinctive carriage. It had that worn panel over the left front wheel. We passed it coming here. The driver must have turned back to Perrin Manor on instruction from the occupant.”
Henry tapped his fingers on the table. Why would any guest return to Perrin Manor? Yes, an item could have been forgotten in packing, but it could have been sent for. Everyone had been most eager to leave that cursed house. It would take a strong reason to make someone return.
Not unless they had to. Not unless whatever had been left had been incriminating.
He jolted upright, his hip knocking into the table.
Katherine grabbed for her glass.
“I must leave.” Henry threw some coin down, enough to cover all their meals.
“Good gad, man,” Smith said. “Where’s the fire?”
“Back at Perrin Manor.” He strode for the coat rack and shrugged on his overcoat.
“No time to explain. We’ll speak later.” He hurried from the tavern at a veritable run.
The stables where he kept his horse was three blocks away.
And Perrin Manor was over thirty miles. He’d push his horse as fast as he could, but it was night and there were limits.
He wouldn’t get there in time.
But he had to try.