The Sign of Death by Callie Hutton (i like reading .TXT) 📕

Amy nodded and grinned. Yes. There really weren’t too many words to cover what they’d just experienced.

It had taken William two days to get the key he needed from the managing agent to search Harding’s flat. Once he received the key, he’d sent a note around to Amy that he would arrive at two o’clock to escort her to the building.

It had been a trying two days with his mother settling in. As much as he loved her, he could see where this new arrangement could be difficult. For him. She had pestered him for hours after he returned from escorting Amy to her home Monday afternoon.

With a pounding headache and his third glass of after-dinner brandy, he’d finally suggested that she retire for the evening because she needed her rest after her journey.

Thank goodness she had agreed, because he’d been about to pull all his hair out. He’d tried very hard to impress upon her that he and Amy were merely friends, that they attended the same church and the same book club.

Nothing more.

Until she learned—he still hadn’t figured out how, but his mother was quite clever—that he had escorted Amy to several Assembly dances. Then the questions, innuendos, and hints—the devil take it, they weren’t hints but flat-out statements—had begun all over again.

Aside from that, however, his mother had been a help. True to her nature, she’d formed an instant bond with Mrs. Pringle and coerced Cook into making healthier dishes. That was both good and bad. He enjoyed his unhealthy food.

The maids seemed a bit busier, but they all adored his mother. She had a way about her that made people do what she wanted and think it was their own idea. She’d been counting the linens and silverware and sent word to an agency to send over a footman, a lady’s maid for herself (since her maid, she explained, had decided to stay in London), and another maid of all work.

If only he could find other ways for her to occupy her time once the house was running to her satisfaction. He knew without a doubt what—and who—her next project would be.

But now he was free of the endless suggestions and on his way to hopefully find his files and any other items that might be of interest. The day was warm for early February, with a bright-blue sky. Not too common, especially in winter.

Amy’s maid Lacey opened the door and moved back so he could step in. Amy stood behind the maid, her coat and hat on, ready to go.

“Good afternoon, my lady.”

“Good afternoon to you, my lord.”

He took her arm, and they made their way down the stairs. Once they were on their way, he said, “I don’t think we will have a problem.” He patted his jacket pocket. “I got the key from the managing agent’s office. And since we have permission to be in the flat, we will not have to hurry through our search. We can take our time and hopefully find the missing files.”

“Aside from your business arrangement, how well did you know Mr. Harding?” Amy asked.

“Quite well, I thought. But now it seems I didn’t know him at all. I had no idea he was cheating me until recently. We had dinner on occasion to discuss business matters, and he was a member of my club, so we saw each other there sometimes.”

Amy looked out the window, her lips pursed in thought. “How did you first come to employ him?”

William leaned back and rested his foot on his knee. “About three years ago, I had been handling all my own businesses and felt the need to have help. Instead of hiring someone to do so full-time, I decided a man of business would suit me better. I asked around, and a few men suggested Harding. I interviewed him, determined we could work well together, and hired him.

“It appeared to be a fine arrangement because I do like to keep my fingers in the pie, so to speak.”

Amy turned from the window and studied him. “But not enough to figure out he was stealing from you.”

“Yes. I agree. I think what happened was I grew complacent, trusting more than I should. It has only been in the last year or so that I haven’t been diligent enough. Since it was my money, I should never have turned it all over to him. You can be sure I will not do so again with my next man.”

The carriage rolled up to a very elegant-looking building. “You own an interest in this?” Amy asked, her admiring gaze making him smile.

“Yes. It’s one of my investments. I also hold an interest in two restaurants—both in London—a hotel in Bristol, a small bank here in town, and a small printing company. Although Harding advised against it, I also put some of my money into a couple of industrial ventures in the United States.”

Amy appeared dutifully impressed. “My goodness. You are quite busy.”

“Too busy, apparently. I left too much to Harding.” The carriage stopped, and the driver opened the door. They approached the building and found the entrance unlocked. William rattled the doorknob. “I shall have the managing agency put a lock on this door.”

Inside, Amy took in the well-kept entrance hall. The wooden floor was polished to a high gleam. A gas chandelier hung over the space, highlighting a wooden-framed mirror and two plants alongside a small table that appeared to hold mail for the tenants.

“Harding’s flat is on the first floor.” They made their way upstairs, and William stopped at the first door, which bore the number 1. “This is it.” He withdrew a key from his pocket and slid it into the lock. It turned easily, and they entered the flat.

“I wonder if the police have searched here yet.” Amy wandered around, looking at some of Harding’s knickknacks, which William felt were far too many for a man to have.

“I’m not sure the police have yet decided