Page 69 of Solving Sophronia

He curled his lip and snorted—in the most gentlemanly way possible. “As a member myself, I am inclined to disbelieve the theory.”

If one could kill with a pretentious tone, then he was the murderer for certain.

“Of course it is not a gentleman,” Prissy said. She fluttered her lashes at Lord Everleigh. “Such an accusation is completely preposterous.”

Mimi watched the conversation in silence. But Sophie knew her grandmother was listening closely to the man’s answers.

“And did you attend the hunting club’s lecture last Monday, my lord?” Sophie asked.

“I?” He blinked and gave a patronizing smile, as if indulging her game of detective. “I did indeed, as I believe I mentioned to you at the ball.”

“Do you remember how the lecture began?” Sophie asked, remembering their earlier conversation had been interrupted. “What picture did Mr. Baldwin show?”

“Oh, really, Sophie,” Prissy said. “Are you interrogating Lord Everleigh now?”

His smile remained, but his eyes seemed sharper, almost challenging. “Lord Baldwin’s picture was of an enormous lion attacking his horse.”

Sophie nodded and could think of no further questions. His answer was correct, but the longer she spoke with him, the less she trusted Lord Everleigh. Arrogance did not make one a murderer, however. And she had to admit it was because of her injured pride that she hoped to find fault in him. Sophie scratched Dorrit’s ears, looking away as if enjoying the view of the park.

Lord Everleigh, on the other hand, was not finished with the conversation. “It was fascinating, really, reading about it all in the paper. That detective and his wild theories.” He smirked. “They seem very farfetched, don’t you agree?”

Sophie’s defensiveness rose in a spike. She sat forward.

“Detective Graham strikes me as a very intelligent man,” Mimi said, her tone meant not only to censure Lord Everleigh but to placate her granddaughter’s temper as well. She patted Sophie’s hand.

“Wearing a costume, a fake mustache, and pretending to be Serbian nobility?” The odious man snorted again, this time sounding much less gentlemanly. “Hardly signs of an intelligent person.”

Prissy giggled. “You are so right, my lord.”

Sophie could not remain silent. “A police investigation is more difficult than one might assume from reading a newspaper article, Lord Everleigh. Detective Graham’s theories about the case are extremely well-founded. But then, I did watch how he arrived at them.”

“You really think two people were killed in a crowded building with no one noticing?” He shook his head. “And then that the bodies were dropped through a window in broad daylight and taken to Spitalfields in a Bluebird Furniture wagon?” Lord Everleigh laughed. “Ridiculous.”

“Utterly ridiculous,” Prissy agreed. She laughed as well.

“It is not the most...” Sophie’s words trailed off. She’d not written about the Bluebird Furniture wagon in her notebook, nor had she drawn it because she hadn’t seen it. She knew for certain it had not been in the article. There was only one way Lord Everleigh could know that detail.

She could feel the blood drain from her face as the realization came. Lord Everleigh was the murderer. Another piece of the puzzle moved into place—his accomplice. Martha had said the man had spoken strangely, slowly. Sophie had assumed she was describing a speech impediment, but why not a foreign accent? Hans Hofman could be his partner.

Sophie sat completely still. Now that she knew the truth, she must get word to the police. But how could she do so without alerting Lord Everleigh to her suspicion?

“It is not only preposterous but shows a sort of unhinged mind. I believe I’ll recommend to the commissioner that Detective Jonathan Graham’s suitability as a representative of the Crown be evaluated,” Lord Everleigh said.

Sophie realized after a moment that he was studying her, waiting for a reaction. “It is very warm today.” She attempted a smile. “I think perhaps we should return home.”

Lord Everleigh held her gaze, and his eyes hardened. “Warm? I believe it likely to rain.” He spoke over his shoulder without taking his eyes off her. “Duncan, stop the carriage, and close the top.”

The coachman climbed down and closed the roof of the carriage, avoiding any glance at the ladies.

“Rain, I hardly think so,” Prissy said. “The sky is clear.”

“Exquisitely so,” Mimi agreed, frowning at the closed roof.

“Lady Priscilla, you may be right after all,” Lord Everleigh said. He leaned through the window as the driver fastened the last latch. “Duncan, let us take the longer route today.”

“Yes, my lord.” The carriage driver climbed back into his seat and urged the horses forward.

Lord Everleigh sat back and gave Sophie another smile, but instead of lazy arrogance, his look was pure evil.He knows.

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