CHAPTER 23
“At least, it looks that way,” amended Raven quickly. “I can’t be sure, seeing as ye ordered us not te follow him into any building, and we kept our word.”
“Thank God,” rasped Charlotte, falling to her knees and enfolding him in a hard hug.
Much to the boy’s chagrin, noted Wrexford, as he uncocked the pistol’s hammer.
“Good God, this is blood!” she suddenly exclaimed, fingering a dark patch on the front of his coat.
“Don’t get all argy-bargy. It ain’t—it isn’t—mine,” protested Raven. “I’m trying te explain—”
“If the lad isn’t hurt, let him tell us what’s happened,” ordered Wrexford. To Raven he added, “As quickly as you can, but try not to leave out any important details.”
The boy squirmed free of Charlotte’s hold. “Me ’n Pudge were the ones keeping watch on White’s. Lord Kirkland left right after eight.”
Sheffield nodded in confirmation
“He didn’t hail a hackney but headed north on foot, by way of Dover Street.
At the corner of Hay Hill, another man came around the corner from Berkeley Street and hailed him.
They spoke fer a few moments—friendly-like as far as we could tell.
We didn’t want te get too close and give ourselves away. ”
“Wise thinking,” said Wrexford. “Go on.”
“They fell in step together and walked fer a bit before cutting through the passageway on the east side of Bruton Lane, which brought them to a cul de sac running along the back of two buildings on Hay’s Mews.”
The earl knew the place. Even Mayfair, with its elegant streets and thoroughfares, had a maze of twisting passageways threading through the neighborhood, which allowed for the coal mongers and nightsoil men to do their business without offending highborn sensibilities.
“Lord Kirkland and the other man entered the one on the right,” continued Raven.
“I found a place te hide behind some broken crates, while Pudge scarpered around te the front of the place te make sure they didn’t leave that way.
We weren’t there more than five minutes when the other man came out the back entrance, moving quick-like, but taking care te keep te the shadows.
He passed close te where I was crouched and tossed something into the jumble of crates, then disappeared around the corner. ”
“Did you see what he threw away?” asked Sheffield.
“O’course I did,” answered Raven as he drew a knife from inside his coat, dried blood still clinging to the blade.
Charlotte paled.
Thinking, no doubt, of how the boy had been within a hairsbreadth of the man who had wielded it, gauged Wrexford. But there wasn’t a moment to spare for sympathy. Time was of the essence.
“Where’s Pudge?” he demanded.
“I set him te watching the rear of the building while I came te fetch ye.”
Grabbing up the other pistol from its case, the earl looked to Sheffield. “Stay here. When Tyler returns tell—”
“Be damned with that!” cut in his friend, holding out his hand for one of the weapons. “I’m coming with you.”
“As am I,” said Charlotte.
A deciding argument would only waste precious seconds; Wrexford passed over a pistol. “I’ll allow you to lead us to the spot, Weasel, but after that you’re to come back here and wait for Tyler.”
“I ain’t!” responded the boy.
The earl caught him by the scruff of his coat. “Yes, you are. I’ll have your word on it, or in you go to the storage closet.” He swung Raven around. “As you see, it has a bloody big lock.”
Raven’s next words weren’t a promise.
“Very well, lad.” He took a step toward the heavy oak portal.
“Oiy, oiy! I swear to it.”
“Then let us fly.”
Following Raven’s lead, they scrambled out through the window and trooped swiftly and silently through the winding byways. On approaching the entrance to the cul de sac, the boy slowed and gave a low whistle.
An answering one cut through the gloom.
“That’s Pudge,” confirmed the boy. “This way.”
The urchin popped up from within the spiky silhouettes of broken slats. “Nuffink—nobuddy’s come or gone,” he reported.
Wrexford fished out a guinea from his pocket. “My thanks, lad.”
Pudge gave an awestruck grin. “Anytime, Yer Nibs.” The coin disappeared into his pocket, and in the next instant the wraith-like urchin was gone, too.
“There’s the entrance.” Raven pointed to a shadowed doorway.
“Wait here, lad.” The earl didn’t bother giving orders to Charlotte and Sheffield. He knew they would do whatever they damn well pleased.
He hurried across the uneven ground, unsurprised to hear the light-footed tread of steps behind him. On reaching the portal, he found it slightly ajar.
Drawing his pistol, he waited for the others to join him. “I’ll go first,” he whispered. “Mrs. Sloane, stay right behind me. Kit, cock your weapon and bring up the rear.”
The hinges creaked as the door swung open.
The dank scent of decay immediately assaulted his nostrils.
Wrexford stepped inside, crumbled mortar from the bricks crunching under his boots.
An air of abandonment pervaded the place.
The windows were tightly shuttered, allowing no light to dribble in, and the utter silence as he halted amplified the impression of emptiness.
Empty, save for a lingering aura of evil. The sensation was palpable, sharp as a knifepoint prickling against the back of his neck. He felt the tension in Charlotte as her shoulder brushed up against his.
Whatever reason had brought Kirkland to this spot, its malevolence still swirled, blacker than the shroud of shadows. Shifting his stance, Wrexford hit up against a hard object on the planked floor. A lantern, by the feel of glass and metal.
“Have you a match?” he whispered to Sheffield. Stealth seemed pointless.
A flare of phosphorous pierced the darkness. His friend quickly lit the wick, and with an oily sputter, a flame came to life, casting a weak aureole of light.
Nothing.
Wrexford ventured another step deeper into the murk and lifted the lantern higher.
Charlotte let out a shivering gasp.
Kirkland lay face up, his sightless eyes gleaming with a pale pearlescence in the fluttery light. His once-white cravat was now stained a rusty red, and dark-fingered rivulets were snaking out from the pool of viscous liquid forming beneath his ravaged neck.
“Ye god,” uttered Sheffield. “Another slashed throat.”
“Yes,” said the earl, “Our villain, whoever it may be, appears to have an unholy skill with a blade.”
Charlotte crouched down for a closer look. “Given his height and bulk, I don’t think it could have been Mrs. Ashton. She couldn’t have managed the reach and angle—not to speak of the fact that this sort of damage would require a goodly amount of strength.”
“You’re likely right. But perhaps it’s time we take the offensive and find out for sure.” Wrexford felt a sudden surge of fear as he glanced at the pooling blood. Charlotte was in mortal danger until the murderer was apprehended.
She looked up and met his gaze through the hazy light. “You’re suggesting we pay a call to her townhouse now?”
“Surprise is a weapon unto itself,” he replied. “If we can knock Mrs. Ashton off balance, she may make a fatal slip.”
Her expression turned troubled.
“It doesn’t matter who wielded the knife,” he explained.
“If the widow is conspiring with the murderer, then her own neck is in danger from the hangman’s noose.
By striking hard and fast, we may be able to frighten her into betraying her cohort by offering her a choice between life and a very unpleasant death. ”
“Choices, choices,” responded Charlotte in a tight voice. “Why is it that women are, more often than not, the ones caught between a rock and a stone? We seem to be damned if we do and damned if we don’t.”
Sheffield cleared his throat with an uncomfortable cough.
“With the rules of society weighted so heavily against us, it’s no wonder we are forced to rely on cunning and guile,” she added softly.
Wrexford eyed her intently, but said nothing.
“What about him?” ventured Sheffield after the silence stretched out for a moment longer. Kirkland’s gaping wound looked ghoulish in the sickly yellow light cast by the cheap oil lamp.
“Leave it to me,” said the earl curtly. He turned away and snuffed out the rancid-smelling flame. “Let’s be off.”
* * *
Charlotte wiped her palms on her rough wool breeches as she rose, and yet the residue of murder was not like blood or muck. It didn’t come off with a casual scrub. Rather, it seemed to seep beneath the skin.
In absentia luci, tenebrae vincunt. In the absence of light, darkness prevails.
Was violent death an insidious poison, she wondered, which over time would pollute the soul?
Perhaps that was a question whose complexities were best left to philosophers. For now, she simply wished to see justice done. If that was morally suspect, then so be it.
“Weasel,” summoned Wrexford in a low but commanding voice.
Raven darted out from the shadows.
“It’s time for you to return to my townhouse. Wait for Tyler and tell him he’s to send one of the footmen to Bow Street at first light with a note for Griffin—and only Griffin, understand?”
The boy gave a solemn nod.
“He should inform the Runner of Kirkland’s murder and give him the precise location of the body.
More importantly, he needs to tell Griffin I have an idea of how this all ties together and ask him to be patient.
I shall endeavor to meet with him as soon as possible.
” The earl paused. “Can you remember that, lad?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Raven.
“One last thing,” added Wrexford. “Griffin should have the corpse taken to Henning’s surgery. There may be some clue Henning can see.”
A weak scudding of moonlight caught the silent movement of the boy’s lips. Committing the words to memory, realized Charlotte. For all his fierce sense of independence, Raven always held himself a little straighter in the earl’s presence.
“Yes, sir,” repeated the boy.
“Then away with you.”
The shadows skirled, as if caught in a momentary gust of air, and then settled back into stillness.