The two gentlemen waiting at the front parlor were Detective Inspector Morse and Sergeant Browning. The former was a middle-aged man with light brown hair and gray eyes. A thin layer of moustache lined his upper lip, which seemed to be used to smiling quite generously. He was obviously older than Sergeant Browning who looked to be only in his mid-twenties. The sergeant, though taller than the detective, lacked the confidence that his older partner must have mastered through years working as a police. Although what the younger officer might have lacked in apparent confidence, he paid for with the amount of physical strength his tall and well-built body implied.

The pair of officers got up from their seats when their hosts entered the room. They waited for the door to close before formally introducing themselves to the older Rochford first then to the younger. Nicholas raised a brow and turned to his father for an explanation.

The explanation, however, was supplied by Detective Morse. “We managed to coax the division to pass on the case of Mr. Hawthorne to our people,” he elaborated in a low voice. “We will take over the investigation. But I am surprised to see you already up and about, Mr. Flanagan.”

“I am glad to hear that,” Bennett replied, sighing in relief.

Good, because he could worry less that their cover might get blown. Now that people in the service, who were hand-picked by the Prince Regent to participate in the operation, were handling investigations regarding Matthew Hawthorne’s death, Nick felt more at ease. “I cannot stress enough how important it is to exercise, Detective Morse. I’m afraid that lying in bed for two whole days made me and my muscles bored,” Nick mentioned as an answer to the detective’s question. “Is there anything I could get you? Tea perhaps?”

The two officers nodded in unison, but it was only Detective Morse who answered, “Tea would be great, but if you can fetch your cook for us, that would be even better. Thank you, James.” He turned to Mr. Bennett. “Tests made on the body came back this morning. Our laboratory partners had been up all night.”

Mr. Bennett nodded. “And the most probable cause of death is?”

“Poison, Mr. Bennett,” the detective readily supplied. 

Nick, who was half-way across the room and was on his way back to the conversation after ordering tea and his cook to come to the front parlor, stopped in his tracks. Instead of joining the other gentlemen, he retreated and leaned against the wall beside the door, with his arms crossed about his chest. Though he did not voice his concern, he hoped the tests on the body would show that Matthew died of other reasons. Any other reason would do except for poisoning, which would place Claire in a more awkward position. 

As if on cue, the lady in question burst through the door. Her attention went straight to the three gentlemen in the middle of the room. [i]"I do hope I'm not interrupting, but I wanted to know if everything was all right. Is this about Nicholas?"[/i] 

Detective Morse first met Nick’s eyes behind Claire, then with very little hesitation or regard to her gentle upbringing, blurted out, [i]"No, Mrs. Rochfoard, this is actually pertaining to you."[/i]

Nick cleared his throat and pushed himself off his spot on against the wall. “Claire, I would like to introduce you to Detective Morse and Sergeant Browning,” he said walking up to her. He was once again dressed as a gentleman – with his jaw free from stubbles, and his hair, though still wet from his most recent trip to the washroom, was presentable. If one didn’t know he was still recovering from a gunshot wound, one would not suspect it. There was nothing in his movement but the casual grace of a gentleman, even his expression was very similar to the one he wore the night they first met. 

He held his wife’s gaze a moment longer, then he placed his hand at the small of her back and led her to the sofa. “Please, gentlemen. Let us all have a seat.”

Everyone obliged. The detective and the sergeant sat on an opposite sofa, while Mr. Bennett took a winged chair. Nick and Claire sat beside each other. “Everything is going to be alright,” he explained in a soft voice, his blue eyes staring into hers with reassurance. Then his hand found hers and entwined their fingers together. “Remember Matthew Hawthorne? He passed away last night, dear.” He didn’t know how Claire would take it, but just the same, he held her hand firmly. Were they close friends or did she only befriended Matthew’s wife? 

“We are here to try and learn as much information as we can, Mrs. Rochford, regarding the circumstances preceding Mr. Hawthorne’s death. Do you confirm meeting with Mr. Hawthorne yesterday? Until what time did you stay? How did he seem to you, did he seem ill? Was there anything worth noting that he mentioned to his wife while you were there? Tell me everything there is to know about your visit.”

“Isn’t this a bit overwhelming, detective?” cut in Nick.

Detective Morse smiled a wry smile, regarding Nick for a short moment. “Unfortunately, we don’t have the luxury of time, Mr. Rochford. And I believe I missed out the sandwiches. Please do tell us about the sandwiches you brought with you. Mrs. Hawthorne swore that it came from the kitchen of this house.”