Chapter 8
Dust motes caught in a thin ray of sunshine made Gabriella ponder the cleaning of the Bow Street offices in general. She’d never encountered any maids, yet the place didn’t strike her as filthy.
Briefly, she considered asking Kendrick about it, then dismissed the idea as unimportant.
There were far more urgent matters for them to consider.
Like figuring out who had killed Stewart Warren.
The lack of results was not looking good.
Her father had already voiced his disapproval.
As the new chief magistrate, he needed a win as much as she and Kendrick, so they could all prove their worth and retain their positions.
While the tip they’d received about some abandoned crates had allowed them to seize a large shipment of smuggled goods, it wasn’t enough. Not when a murder remained unsolved.
She glanced across Kendrick’s desk to where he sat, slightly hunched while he scribbled away in his notebook.
Everything was recorded in there, from crime scene evidence to seemingly mundane remarks made by anyone even remotely connected.
This included his Runners, the coroner, potential witnesses, and the Crofts.
At present, she believed it had something to do with the shilling Doctor Fellowes had found in Mr. Warren’s mouth. The token left by the killer had to have some significance, but figuring out what it meant and how it might help them solve the case appeared to be driving Kendrick mad.
Gabriella sympathized. The poor man had been working incredibly hard on this, running all over town in order to question people. On top of the increased disappointment he had expressed on their poor progress, Mr. Croft’s refusal to help had come as a blow.
She propped her chin in her hand, her elbow perched on the chair’s armrest. They’d bloody well figure it out on their own. All she had to do was find the connection between that blasted shilling and Mr. Warren.
“What do you have so far?” she asked, increasingly impatient with sitting and waiting for something to happen.
It looked like Kendrick flinched in response to her voice, as though he’d forgotten about her presence. Wonderful. She tried not to think too much about that possibility even though the idea was already squeezing her heart.
Stupid. Completely and utterly—
“We know the coin was minted in 1815. Like all shillings, it’s made from silver with the likeness of George the Third on one side and the royal shield on the other.” He set his quill aside and scrubbed the back of his neck before meeting her gaze.
Her stomach clenched. There was something slightly alarming about being the subject of his undivided attention. It had sent her heart racing on numerous occasions during the past five months of their working together.
To say nothing about the effect of his touch. Even the slightest contact whenever he helped her into a carriage made her war with contradicting sensations. On one hand she wanted more. On the other she wanted to flee.
It was most perplexing. Especially when considering all the potentially tricky factors.
Like their difference in age, which could span anything between one and two decades in her estimation.
Besides this, there was the issue regarding their professional relationship.
He was her superior and her father was his boss.
But the greatest problem of all was that his only response toward her seemed to be irritation.
Annoyed with herself for letting her thoughts stray toward such pointless musings, she forced her mind back into sharp focus.
“There’s also the lettering.” The side bearing the king’s likeness read: GEOR:III D:G: brITT:REX F:D:
“I’ve written down what it says on the coin along with the full unabbreviated version.” Kendrick glanced at his notes. “Georgius III Dei Gratia Britanniarum Rex Fidei Defensor”
George the Third by the Grace of God King of the Britains Defender of the Faith.
“The Latin on the reverse side is probably of greater significance to the killer,” Gabriella mused. “HONI·SOIT·Q MAL·Y·PENSE·”
Kendrick tilted his head, assessing her in a way that made her feel like squirming. “Shame on he who thinks evil of it.”
His whispered words floated around her, increasing her awareness of him and the fact that they were completely alone. Scandalously so, had she been ten years younger, but at eight and twenty, she’d been on the shelf too long for anyone to pay her close collaboration with Kendrick any mind.
The notion instantly banished all thought of any man making advances. She was simply too long in the tooth at this point. A somewhat depressing idea that made her feel horribly unattractive, which again, wasn’t helpful.
“While the killer may be trying to send a message about the death being justified, there’s another possibility too.” She’d thought of it last night while reading The Odyssey and pondering the symbolism contained within its pages. “What could the coin itself represent?”
Kendrick blinked. “I’ve no idea. I hadn’t considered it until now, but we definitely should. Maybe it has to do with something that’s known to cost that amount.”
“A yard of plain cotton does, so perhaps it’s in reference to the cravat that was stuffed into the victim’s mouth?”
“Wouldn’t that be repeating the statement?”
“Not if the killer works as a seamstress.”
“Speaking of occupations, it’s also the average rate of a prostitute.”
Gabriella deliberately held his gaze while fighting a rush of discomfort, until her cheeks grew so hot she was forced to look away. She cleared her throat. “Isn’t the name derived from Old English?”
“It is,” Kendrick confirmed, his voice soft and pensive. “It comes from scilling, which means cutting or slice.”
“Perhaps a metaphor then for the way in which the murder was carried out?”
“Or…”
When Kendrick said nothing more, Gabriella raised her gaze to his. His brow was furrowed as he stared straight past her, a distant look in his eyes that actually caused her to send a glance over her shoulder.
Finding nothing unusual there, she returned her attention to the chief constable. “What is it?”
He slid his gaze to hers and something inside her shifted, like a misaligned piece falling into place, informing her that whatever revelation he’d had just now would set them on the right course.
“I can’t believe I didn’t think of this sooner,” he said. “It seems so obvious now.”
She straightened her spine, edged forward in her seat. “What does?”
He huffed a breath. “Ever heard of taking the King’s Shilling?”
It was her turn to blink. “As in agreeing to serve in the Royal Navy or British Army?”
“Exactly.” Excitement lit Kendrick’s face. “If the shilling is symbolic, as you suggested, then there’s a chance it represents who Mr. Warren was.”
Her lips parted in surprise as the words settled. If his reasoning was correct, it could help them discover additional clues. No wonder Kendrick’s eyes gleamed like waves of sun-kissed blue.
Indeed, he was already pushing out of his chair and pocketing his notebook.
“Coming?” he asked as he grabbed the silver case that held his cheroots.
Gabriella leapt to her feet and snatched her pelisse from a hook on the wall. She stuffed her arms into the sleeves and retrieved her discarded bonnet next, following Kendrick into the hallway while setting it on her head. She began tying the ribbon. “Where are we going?”
“To the Royal Artillery Barracks in Woolwich,” he replied. “They’ll have records of soldiers who were stationed in London.”
And since they knew the victim’s name, finding Mr. Warren’s record ought to be simple enough.
More importantly, it would give them information about his next of kin and men he’d served with.
All of which would hopefully help them figure out why he’d been murdered.
An answer that would make it easier for them the catch his killer.
* * *
One thing Peter had not considered when he’d set off with Miss Hastings alone was the duration of their journey. The barracks at Woolwich were roughly eighteen miles away, which meant it would take an estimated two hours to get there. Without contemplating traffic.
The carriage continued onto Upper Thames Street and slowed.
At this unfortunate hour — the social hour — ladies and gentlemen alike would be making calls or going for strolls or finding some other means by which to congest London streets.
Especially after the previous day’s rain and the sunshine now spilling from a cloudless sky.
Yes, the air was cold, but it was also invigorating.
The silence he and Miss Hastings had settled into since departing Bow Street was starting to grow uncomfortable. A problem that made him all the more aware of her presence.
Bringing a book along might have been wise.
At least then he’d have had an excuse not to interact.
Instead, he’d been sitting on the bench across from her for a good twenty minutes or more without being able to come up with anything even remotely interesting to say.
Reiterating his thoughts on the case seemed foolish.
No more so than your attraction toward her.
An inconvenience he could not seem to control.
What he could do, however, was try to discover the answers to all the questions he had about her.
Perhaps then he could at least find some peace in knowing the finer details about her past, her interests, and all the things that made her the woman who sent his pulse racing.
Squashing the discomfort that started to rise at the prospect of making his interest known, he removed his attention from the view so he could face her more fully. And was startled to find her watching him.