have a young person in the house and it shouldn’t take long. Larson,” she said, “show Mr. Whitby in.”
Larson gave a stiff bow of his head, and disappeared. A moment later a man of middling years in an immaculate navy frockcoat and dark trousers was striding into the room. Buttermilk let out a hiss, and then bolted back out past him.
Unfazed, Mr. Whitby gave Mrs. Bishop a neat bow. Tall and svelte, he looked about the parlor as if he were a wolf assessing prey, but as soon as his sharp gaze landed on Mrs. Bishop, his expression softened and filled with concern.
“My dear Mrs. Bishop.” He bent over and kissed the older woman’s hand. “You must forgive the tardiness of my visit. I came as soon as I heard.”
His words rolled off his tongue like liquid silver, but Mrs. Bishop didn’t seem to notice. “It has been so difficult since Thomas passed,” she said with a heavy sigh. “And now Caleb has been taken away from me, under the most ridiculous of pretenses... As if he could even hurt a fly!”
Mr. Whitby drew back, his expression dismayed, but his eyes flat and unreadable. “Horrible, horrible business. I have not yet had the time to call on the young Mr. Bishop, but rest assured, I shall go as soon as my schedule permits it.”
“He’s been waiting for you,” Tabby said, unable to stop herself. Regardless of how infuriating she might have found him, Caleb was innocent and rotting away in prison, the only thing giving him hope the promise of this illustrious family friend to swoop in and make everything right. And here the man was preening and posturing, claiming that he had not been able to spare one single moment to visit Caleb and put his mind at ease.
At her outburst, Mr. Whitby straightened and slid a cool gaze in her direction. “Indeed? And who might you be? I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“This is Miss Tabby Cooke,” Mrs. Bishop supplied. “An acquaintance of Caleb’s.”
“A pleasure,” he said with another neat bow. Turning his attention back to Mrs. Bishop, he took a seat with a smart flip of his tails. “You know that I will do everything possible to make sure your son is cleared of these most heinous charges.”
Mrs. Bishop’s shoulders slumped in obvious relief. Reaching forward, she took Mr. Whitby’s hand in hers, the crepe flowers at her breast rising and falling with her breath. “Oh, Mr. Whitby, you are indeed good to us. I knew that I could depend on you.”
“How generous of you,” Tabby murmured.
“I could not live with myself if I did not do everything in my power to see the family of my dearest friend and respected business associate cared for in their hour of need.”
Mrs. Bishop’s face shone with hope and gratitude. “You are too good to us,” she said again. “I hope that it will be soon? Every day that my boy is away from me is an eternity. I am so very lonely now that I find myself a widow in this twilight hour of my life.”
“Oh yes, soon. Very soon,” he said absently. Pulling out a silver watch, he looked at it with a frown and stood. “I’m afraid I must be off. I have pressing business, but rest assured I will be paying a visit to Caleb as soon as it is possible.”
After the door had closed behind him, Mrs. Bishop poured out fresh cups of tea, chattering happily about what a good friend Mr. Whitby had always been to the family, a residual glow of excitement on her cheeks. But Tabby wasn’t listening; she worried at her lip, suddenly finding she had lost her appetite. She sprang up. “Mrs. Bishop, you’ll excuse me but I must be going, as well.”
10
IN WHICH AN ENEMY IS MADE.
MR. WHITBY HAD barely reached the corner when Tabby slipped out the door and into the flow of pedestrians, trailing behind him as quiet and soft footed as a cat. As she wove between strolling couples and hackney carriages, she could occasionally catch snatches of the tune he whistled. He seemed to be in high spirits, considering how distraught he claimed to be over Caleb’s incarceration.
She hadn’t expected him to go directly to the jail, and he didn’t, instead heading in the opposite direction into the city, taking the broader streets lined with chestnut trees and tulip beds. It must have been very pressing business indeed.
They were just coming to the statehouse square when