CHAPTER 1 #2
“I’ve no cause for complaint, milord,” answered McClellan dryly. “No one has tried to kill us lately.” A pause. “Though the lads do their best to slay any semblance of cleanliness to the floors and their clothing.”
“Tsk, tsk,” clucked the earl. “I would say no biscuits for the wicked—”
Hawk’s grimy face pinched in horror.
“Except I happen to be famished,” he finished.
“Now that we’ve performed all the necessary social graces,” said Charlotte to McClellan, “might you kindly fetch the refreshments, so His Lordship and I can get down to business.”
Assuming an air of innocence, Raven and Hawk fell in step behind the woman as she headed off for the kitchen.
The earl settled himself on the sofa, all well-tailored broad shoulders and long-legged elegance. The room suddenly felt much smaller as Charlotte took a seat in the facing armchair. He seemed to crowd out all else.
“This is a very pleasant room,” he remarked, looking around with an approving glance at the simple but tasteful furnishings.
“You were wise to make the decision to leave your old residence.” A tiny, tumbledown sliver of a house, it had been located in a far less savory part of London. “I trust you have no regrets?”
“No,” she replied a little testily, impatient to get to work.
In her profession, time was money. She needed to have a finished drawing of the murder to Mr. Fores as quickly as possible in order to best the competition.
“Now, might we put aside household matters and turn to what you know about the Bloody Butcher’s latest victim? ”
His mouth quirked in amusement. “Likely not enough to satisfy your artistic sensibility, but I shall try.” He shifted and recrossed his booted legs.
“To answer the question in your note, yes, I was present at the duke’s gathering.
However, I left early as Tyler and I were conducting a complex chemical experiment that required precise timing. ”
The earl was one of the country’s leading experts in chemistry, though his devil-may-care behavior and hair-trigger temper often overshadowed his intellectual accomplishments. Tyler, his nominal valet, had advanced scientific training and served as his laboratory assistant.
Charlotte blew out her breath. “Damnation, I was hoping you could confirm the ghoulish details. Raven and Hawk heard that the victim’s—”
“They heard right,” interrupted Wrexford. “Mr. Griffin had the same idea as you did. He came to see me early this morning to see if I had attended the soiree, and whether I had seen anything suspicious.”
Griffin, regarded to be the best of the Bow Street Runners, had been involved in investigating the earl when he had been a prime suspect in a murder. Despite a less than auspicious start, they had developed a grudging respect for each other.
“And did you?” she pressed.
“Alas, no. But I managed to squeeze some of the more intimate details of the crime out of him.” A wry smile. “If he knew I was passing them on to the infamous A. J. Quill, he’d likely slice off one of my bollocks.”
Charlotte winced. “So it’s really true.” She waited as McClellan entered and set the tea tray on the side table and discreetly withdrew. “Just, er, one is missing?”
The earl nodded in confirmation.
Taking a small notebook and pencil from the pocket sewn into her work gown, she looked up expectantly. “Did Mr. Griffin describe how the victim was situated when he was found, and what the state of his clothing looked like?”
“I thought you might inquire about that. The poor fellow was seated slumped, but still upright, on the bench in the Queen’s Alcove.
Death was caused by a single knife thrust to the heart.
The blade then sliced the fastenings on the left side of the trousers .
. .” Wrexford gave a short, succinct summary of the corpse’s condition.
For all the ghoulishness of the killer’s mutilation, it sounded as if he had performed the task with a certain civility, removing the trophy with surgical precision. No other damage or disfiguration had occurred.
From what Charlotte had heard about the previous deaths, it was the same modus operandi.
Though, she reminded herself as she finished jotting her notes, that didn’t necessarily mean it was the same killer.
Over the years, she had learned that criminals could be diabolically cunning.
Someone might be mimicking the Bloody Butcher to cover his own personal reasons for wanting the victim dead.
Whatever the motive—assuming a madman could be said to have rational thoughts—Charlotte had a feeling this was going to be a horribly difficult murder to solve.
That the victim was from the highest circle of Society could soon have the investigators caught up in a vortex of secrets and lies. Beneath their gilded smiles and polished manners, the wealthy hid a multitude of sins.
“What a coil,” muttered Charlotte as she rose and went to pour tea for him before it turned cold.
“Indeed,” agreed Wrexford. “Though you will likely make a fortune, given the rather sensational nature of his injuries.” He pulled a face. “Thank God I can’t be accused of having any connection to the fellow. I hadn’t yet made his acquaintance.”
She began adding sugar to his cup. “Is the identity of the victim known?”
“Yes. He’s a young gentleman from the North by the name of Lord Chittenden.”
The spoon slipped, sloshing hot tea over her fingers.
“A baron from the Lake District,” the earl went on. “Apparently, he had only recently come into the title . . .”
A strange buzzing rose in Charlotte’s ears, drowning out the rest of his words.
And then suddenly the room began to spin.