Page 33 of One Last Whisper

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I stay with Oliver until he is calm. Then, I give him some assignments that should occupy him for the next hour or two and return to the parlor. I feel a touch of guilt at this, but I must know. This could be the best opportunity I'll have to find an answer to this mystery.

The parlor is in chaos when I arrive. Theresa stands in the corner, wringing her hands and casting anxious glances at Lady Cordelia. The lady herself is still as a statue, skin porcelain-white, eyes frozen as she listens to the two men argue.

“I will not be accused of murder in my own house!”

“Then perhaps you should step outside, my lord,” Hargreaves suggests thinly.

Lord Edmund turns the color of a ripe tomato. His hands clench into fists, and for a moment, I fear he may actually strike the inspector. Hargreaves notices this too. He glances at lord Edmund’s hands and smiles softly.

Lord Edmund takes a deep breath and unfolds his hands. In a barely controlled voice, he says, “Am I under arrest, Inspector Hargreaves?”

Hargreaves frowns. Reluctantly, he replies. “No, my lord.”

“Then I will kindly ask that any further conversation with me or my household take place by appointment and at my office in Clifton rather than the home I share with my wife and nephew.” Without waiting for a response, he walks to the door and holds it open. “If you please, Inspector.”

“I was dropped off,” Hargreaves informs him. “May I wait for the car to return?”

“You may wait on the porch.”

Hargreaves stares at him for a long moment. The earl meets his eyes without wavering. Finally, Hargreaves chuckles. “Very well, lord Edmund. Once more, you have won. I will wait outside.”

He tips his hat to Lady Cordelia and Theresa. When he meets my eyes, he says, “Perhaps Miss Mary would like to keep me company. I would like to follow up on Oliver’s condition, and since I’m not to be allowed to see him, she can bring me up to speed.”

I look at Lord Edmund. His lip is curled in disgust, but at the inspector, not at me. “Whatever makes you feel good about yourself, Jacob,” he sneers.

Without another word, he storms from the house. Theresa looks at me curiously. I shake my head slightly to let her know I have no idea what’s going on.

“Theresa?” Lady Cordelia says in a thready voice. “I am feeling unwell. Will you prepare me some tea and biscuits please?”

“At once, my lady,” Theresa says, hurrying to the kitchen.

Lady Cordelia follows, seeming to glide through the air like a…

Like a ghost.

I shiver and meet the inspector’s eyes. He gestures with his head for me to follow him outside.

I join him on the porch and shiver in the frosty late morning air. It is sunny outside, but it is not warm.

“Here,” he wraps his jacket around me. “I’m naturally warm-blooded. You mind if I smoke?”

I shake my head. His coat smells like cigarettes. It’s a comforting smell. I don’t smoke myself, and I refuse the cigarette he offers, but Sean smokes, or did until I implored him to quit recently. This reminds me of him.

“So how is he?” Hargreaves asks.

For a moment, I don’t know what he means. Then I remember. “Oh. Oliver’s…” I hesitate, unsure how much I should share, but that hesitation makes a lie impossible, so I say, “He’s not well, I’m afraid. He was laid up in bed with a cough all day yesterday. He’s better this morning, but it’s hard to tell if he’ll stay that way or not.”

Hargreaves curses. “They need to send him south to Lady Cordelia’s family. Somewhere, it's warmer and not windy all thetime. If they won't do that, they should at least have a doctor look at him."

“Does he not have a doctor?”

“Not one he sees often enough. He needs full-time care. He can recover from this, but not if he’s not given proper care.”

“What is his affliction?” I ask.

“Weak lungs. Truly, that’s what it is. He’s not ill, and he’s not got asthma. He was born hard. His mother…”

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