Wolf took another sip of his coffee. ‘What can you tell me about the night Florence died?’
‘Why, nothing,’ said Urmston. ‘I was out on the terrace and came in only when I heard your mother shrieking. I rushed into the hall and there you were, crouched over Florence’s body.’
‘And you thought I had killed her.’
‘Never!’
Wolf looked at him steadily. ‘You said I had allowed my temper to get the better of me.’
‘Did I? I was upset. Upon reflection I realised you were innocent.’
‘And the reward for my capture?’
‘That was Sawston’s doing. If I had gone to see him immediately I might have prevented that, but I had business in Newmarket. By the time I returned to Arrandale a week later, my uncle had offered a reward for your capture.’ Urmston leaned forward, saying in an urgent under-voice, ‘Trust me, Arrandale, I only want to help you. If there is anything I can do, you only have to ask it.’
‘Thank you.’
Wolf rose, but his companion put a hand on his arm.
‘At least tell me where you are staying!’
Wolf looked down at him.
‘If you need to contact me, a message for Mr Peregrine at the Running Man in Bench Lane will reach me.’
With that he turned on his heel and walked out.
* * *
Wolf went quickly back to his lodgings, packed up his bags and paid his shot. He was taking no chances, he did not believe that Urmston hadjust happenedto bump into him. He hailed a cab, then another to take him across town, making sure he was not followed before he set about finding himself fresh rooms. By the time he had secured new lodgings in Half Moon Street the day was well advanced. He remembered Mrs Graham’s invitation to call and take pot luck at any time and he decided to do that. After all, he needed to see Grace, to find out if she had been able to discover anything about Annie Meesden. Not just need, he admitted. He wanted to see her.
* * *
His welcome at Hans Place was as warm as ever. Mrs Graham ordered another place to be laid at the dinner table and invited him to sit down and take a glass of wine.
‘Grace is still in her room, but I expect her any moment.’
Wolf nodded and studied his wine rather than face the twinkle in his hostess’s eye. He felt a spurt of irritation. The lady knew what he was; she could not possibly condone any connection between him and her niece. Even if everything went his way and it was proven that he was neither a thief nor a murderer, he was no match for Grace Duncombe. She was too good, too sweet.
She came into the room at that moment and the sight of her in a simple cream dress with her golden hair glowing like a halo about her head confirmed his thoughts. She was virtue incarnate. He rose and braced himself to greet her. Confound it, why could she not remain by the door and give him a cool and distant nod? But it seemed any reservations she had about him had been swept away. She was positively glowing with excitement and came forward, holding out her hand to him as if they were the best of friends.
‘Good evening, sir.’ Her soft musical voice had an added note, as if it incorporated her smile. ‘Has my aunt told you about my visit to Mrs Payne?’
He kissed her fingers with punctilious politeness, but for the life of him he could not let her go. Instead he held on to her hand as he raised his head and looked at her. There was a faint blush on her cheek, but it could not be because of him. Rather, it was because she was happy. It radiated from her. With an effort he released her and moved away.
‘She has told me nothing, so you had best sit down and do so.’
He had not intended to be so curt, but the sunshine in her smile was destroying the armour he had put around his heart. Desperately he tried to shore it up. He could not afford distractions and Grace Duncombe was most definitely a distraction. She sank down on to a sofa and folded her hands in her lap, apparently not offended by his abrupt manners.
‘It was not very successful,’ she admitted. ‘When I called upon the lady yesterday she told me very much the same as she had written to you, that I should talk to her son and not bother her with matters of staff. However, I managed to speak to one of the housemaids.’
‘Grace took Nelson to Green Park where a maid walks Mrs Payne’s lapdog every morning,’ put in Mrs Graham. ‘Once the dogs were acquainted the maid could hardly avoid speaking to her. Was that not ingenious?’
‘It was, if it persuaded the maid to talk to you.’
‘It did.’ Grace sat forward, her eyes shining. ‘She told me the dresser was turned off two years ago, but Mrs Payne still sends sewing work out to her.’
‘And you have her direction?’
