“You are most welcome.” Simon stood. “Sleep well. If you need anything during the night, my room is at the end of the hall.”
The woman shuffled from the kitchen. Simon leaned back in his chair, listening to the sounds of her footsteps on the stairs and her bedroom door closing. There was much to contemplate about the turn of events and it required another biscuit. Kate was ever more fascinating; she had more than average knowledge of the occult, just like Beatrice. But she was wildly different, as he had noted at Viscount Gillingham’s home. She was an extraordinary blend of unbendable and uncontrollable. Simon couldn’t imagine what horrifying emotions were embroiling Kate, but she was holding up far better than he would’ve suspected. The woman’s strength was remarkable. He hoped something good would come out of this affair for her, but it was hard to imagine it could.
Chapter Twelve
Kate rose after a restless night, shifting and sighing in the dark. A peculiar wall clock that appeared to have a glow told her it was after eight o’clock. Scandalously late to rise. She quickly found suitable clothes from the many outfits in the closet, all complete with dressmaker tags. She felt a little better that she wasn’t just the next in a line of occupants of these fashionable outfits.
Coming downstairs, Kate smelled coffee and porridge and turned into the kitchen. “Good morning, Mr. Archer. Oh.” Kate looked at a short, stocky man who was stirring a pot on the stove. She had seen him at Viscount Gillingham’s fighting alongside Simon but never spoken to him. “I’m sorry. I thought you were Mr. Archer.”
The man gave her an arched eyebrow. He seemed completely unfazed by the sight of a woman coming downstairs in the morning. Obviously he had spoken with Simon about the situation. Hopefully.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked. “I took the liberty of starting a bit of breakfast. My name is Nick Barker. I am Simon’s … colleague.”
“Have you seen Mr. Archer? Is he up?”
Nick tossed her a fine bone china cup. “He went out.”
“Without me?” She cursed under her breath, catching the cup easily.
Nick chuckled at some private thought. “He seemed anxious.” He jutted his chin at the coffeepot on the stove and continued stirring.
She poured a cup for herself. “So you cook as well?”
“As well?” Nick laughed, but without much humor. “Simon likes to trot out his old I’m a chef tale.”
Kate grinned uncomfortably as Nick continued to chortle.
“His concept of cooking is cultivating an extensive knowledge of the chefs in the finer clubs of London. Left to himself, Simon couldn’t toast a herring.”
Kate collected things to set the table. She noted Nick’s gruff glance as he watched her move easily around his kitchen.
“Make yourself at home,” he muttered.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Barker. Are you the type of bachelor who is offended by feminine assistance?”
“I’m not much offended by anything.” His tone was resistant nonetheless.
Just then, Kate heard the sound of the front door. She went quickly to find Simon tossing his hat onto a table.
“What did you find?” Kate exclaimed, her interest in his discoveries outweighing her annoyance at being excluded.
“I went to the Mercury and the Boulware again. I spoke to several servants and residents in hopes of further information on Colonel Hibbert or to find someone who had seen Imogen recently. There was one man at the Boulware who saw a rather large blond woman. He describes her almost like a man. Afterward he heard a disturbance in the colonel’s room.”
“A woman killed Hibbert?” Kate surmised. “A jealous quarrel? What about the werewolf?”
“The witness was drunk. His reliability is quite lacking.”
“What shall we do now?”
“Let’s go into the sitting room and discuss it.” Simon directed her into a sun-dappled room of very masculine style. The homey scent of leather and wood. Suitably disheveled. Books everywhere. Used dishes stacked in various spots. Small piles of burnt tobacco on corners of tables and desks where they were knocked from pipes and left.
“I apologize for the state of the house. I’ll bring coffee.” Simon stepped to the door of the parlor. “Nick! Coffee!”
A muffled rude word wafted from the back.
Simon began to tidy the room halfheartedly, taking small stacks of books and making large stacks of books, sweeping pipe ash from the desk onto the floor.
Kate parted the sheer curtains to peer out. She jumped when she saw a wiry orange cat sitting on the brick sill staring strangely back at her. “Mr. Archer, please. Cleaning seems pointless now. What is our next step?”
“Quite.” He dropped the stack of books he was carrying and brushed his hands on his trousers. “Something we should be aware of. It’s possible that the police may question us about Colonel Hibbert’s death.”