The Body at the Tower - By Y. S. Lee Page 0,67
were occupied with small matters, it was easier to pretend their thoughts were, too.
“We might be jumping to conclusions about Harkness,” said Mary at last, when it seemed that James intended to stare into his teacup for ever. “As you said before, Reid might have filched the envelope from his desk.”
He nodded slightly. “But if Harkness is truly innocent, I don’t understand why he hasn’t reported the thefts. Or sacked Keenan and Reid. He’s involved with them, and it seems personal.”
“Well, he does seem to feel a sense of responsibility towards the men. Towards Mark Quinn, for example – trying to teach as well as employ.”
“True.” James crumbled a scone with his long fingers. “So perhaps he’s trying to lay a trap for them, or persuade them to give up their bad ways?”
“Possibly. All I’m saying is, why not try to learn more about their connection before assuming the worst? If you report your suspicions to the police and Harkness turns out to be blameless, you’ll never forgive yourself.”
“Neither will he,” he said with the faintest of smiles. The clock on the mantel chimed six o’clock in silvery tones. Both looked at it, then at each other, with surprise. “I’m dining at Harkness’s home tonight. I might learn something there.” He drained his teacup, set it down decisively, and flashed her a charming grin. “Care to join me?”
“Wearing your nightshirt?” she laughed.
“Oh, you won’t need it.”
“I beg your pardon?!” She felt the blush wash over her in a swift, comprehensive wave.
“Tut tut, Miss Quinn – not as pure of mind as a young lady ought to be.”
“You must be terribly disappointed.”
He laughed aloud at that, a sound of pure joy. “Never less so in my life.”
Another great roll of warmth rippled through her body and she couldn’t stop smiling. “Go on, then – how am I to join you this evening?”
“As Mark Quinn, of course. I’m surprised you had to ask.”
Twenty-one
Leighton Crescent, Tufnell Park
The Harkness home was a broad, blocky villa in Tufnell Park, part of a tightly packed estate built a decade before. Viewed together, the houses reminded Mary of nothing so much as a row of false teeth plonked into a field. Or perhaps that was simply her jaundiced eye. Despite tonight’s promise of adventure and discovery, she was exhausted. And even after a large dose of willow-bark powder, her headache continued to swell, pounding against her temples in time with her footsteps. Her mouth was dry and thick. Either she was falling ill, or these were the after-effects of too much drink. Perhaps there was something to Harkness’s teetotalling gospel, after all.
She pulled her cap lower over her eyes and considered the house before her. Despite the lingering dusk, for it was not yet eight o’clock, the house was brightly lit, as for a party. A neat row of carriages lined the street just outside. The first-floor curtains were still open, and ladies and gentlemen in evening dress paraded back and forth in the large windows. As she strolled past the house, a fourth carriage drew up and disgorged a stout mother-and-daughter pair. They were quite spectacularly alike, from their bulging eyes to their jewelled silk slippers. Although the evening was far from cold, each had a stole wrapped about her neck, the fur slightly wilted now in the humid evening.
The mother frowned at the house. “Well, I suppose it’s not a bad size – but my dear! The location!”
Mary paused to watch as a footman opened the door to them. The hall blazed with gaslight and she received a fleeting impression of plenty of highly polished ornaments before the door closed once again. Quickening her pace now, she walked to the corner of the road and turned into the back alley. Even if she hadn’t known which house was Harkness’s, it would have been evident from the extraordinary level of light and noise emanating from its grounds.
The hum of conversation floated out of the first-floor windows, punctuated by barks of masculine amusement and the occasional bright squeal. At times, this was nearly drowned out by the clatter and half-panicked exclamations of servants on the lower levels. As Mary stopped to listen again, there came a smash of crockery and a cry of dismay, followed by ugly haranguing and then, perhaps inevitably, the wail of a slapped woman. Nearer her, the stable was alive with the whickering of horses and the rustle of hay, and even the quiet whistling of a man at work. He had by