He raised himself out of his wheelchair and leaned heavily over the board. “Damn you. Damn you to hell, Madame Domino.” At that he swung his cane and upended the entire board, spilling all the pieces onto the expensive Aubusson-carpeted floor.
One of the many burly footmen Captain El stationed at all times in the many rooms in her House of Pleasure moved quickly to stand between the marquess and Charlotte.
Beneath her domino half-mask, she struggled to keep a smile from quirking across her lips. That would do nothing but accelerate the heat of the current situation. Instead, at the snap of the fingers of one of the guards near the old man, an entire circle of footmen marched into place around Charlotte and moved as one to escort her safely out of the chess room.
Once she was back in her rooms on the top floor of Goodrum’s and had poured a large globe of robust, dark red claret, there was a light tap at the door. “Come,” she said, confident that no harm would ever come to her there.
When the door opened, the woman she’d come to love and respect like a mother glided in quietly and stood with her head cocked to the side, watching Charlotte silently.
“What?”
Captain Eleanor Goodrum’s ready smile told her more than words would have. “You did well this evening. The marquess cannot always have his way.”
“But?”
“He is one of my more generous customers.” She paused a moment as if searching for a delicate way to explain what Charlotte already knew. Captain El’s full-skirted, dark red spangled gown glittered in the lumination of a gaslit wall sconce. The bodice above was of a nude-like sheer fabric with elaborate, strategically placed light-reflecting scarlet and gold embroidery.
Charlotte laughed. “Yes, of course, I’ll let the marquess win next week.”
2
APRIL 4, 1826
THAMES RIVER POLICE OFFICE
Col stretched out his boot-clad feet toward the fire in the coal grate in the office of the Thames River Police magistrate. Although the rain had mercifully held off, his race through the dank depths of the tunnel beneath the Thames had chilled him to his very innards.
Justice of the Peace Joseph Miller shook his head slowly in disgust and stared at the bloody queen holding court on Col’s handkerchief in the middle of his desk. Col had unfurled the chess piece he’d found with the body near Covent Garden.
The office of the river police had been investigating the two previous murders for months and had borrowed Col’s services from Bow Street after the discovery of the second body.
They’d tried to keep the gruesome details from the Fleet Street hounds, but it was only a matter of time before the whole city would be afire with rumors. However, the sad, ugly truth was that someone was picking off chess players when they left the coffee houses where the game was most popular, and dumping their bodies in and around the Thames.
Col had been prowling the neighborhood for weeks, looking for some bit of evidence to pick up the trail of the repeat murderer. This was the third attack where the body had been viciously slashed and a chess piece left as calling card.
An uneasy frisson niggled at the sensitive spot between his shoulder blades. The fact that the current holder of his missing journal pages was a chess mistress at Goodrum’s seemed an unlikely coincidence, considering his current case assignment. And he didn’t believe in coincidences. Fate was an unforgiving harpy you ignored at your own peril.
In exchange for the name Captain El Goodrum had given him she required a favor in return. That investigative favor also had a connection to the world of coffeehouse chess. Too many coincidences.
He hated to contemplate another visit to the formidable owner of Goodrum’s, but he was going to have to question her about the murders.
Magistrate Miller finally spoke. “We sent a squad of men to break up that disgusting cult in the tunnel, but everything had been cleared out before we got there.” He leaned closer to Col, and his red-rimmed gray eyes showed signs of sleep deprivation. “You know as well as I do, they’ll just move their little, um, game to another rat-hole.”
Col steepled his hands in front of his face and stared back at Miller. “We have to start thinking like chess players and anticipate their moves.”
The magistrate didn’t answer, but simply tipped back in his chair and gave him a long, assessing look. Finally, he thudded back to the floor and said, “I trust your instincts, Officer Colwyn. But make damned sure you know what you’re doing.”
Col picked up his hat and made to leave. “I’m no expert on the subject, sir, but I know someone who is.”
After he excused himself and headed back to his lodgings on Great Queen Street, he made a mental note to stop delaying the inevitable and purchase a chess board position for the next night at Goodrum’s.
* * *
April 5,1826
Goodrum’s House of Pleasure, London
Charlotte surveyed the hopefuls ensconced at the ten chess boards around the room, but her startled gaze stopped abruptly at the new challenger.
