“Would you mind opening the door? We would like your assistance identifying a portrait,” Pippa said politely.
“What’s in it for me?”
Cull held a coin purse to the peephole and jingled its contents. “Yours if you open the door and talk to us.”
After a moment, the door creaked open.
Cull went in first, keeping Pippa behind him. She peered over his shoulder, taking in the single-room abode that made the Nest look as neat as a pin in comparison. Clothing, empty gin bottles, and assorted sundry were scattered about. The place reeked of cheap perfume and an earthy musk.
Miss Cunnyngham was a pretty, plump-cheeked woman with brassy curls. Her voluptuous figure was covered—barely—by a robe of gaudy apple-green sateen.
She held out a palm. “Payment first.”
Cull dropped the bag in her hand.
She counted the sum, then tossed it onto a table piled with wigs. She yanked on the belt of her robe, the panels parting like curtains. At the sight of the woman’s generous breasts and bushy sex, heat scalded Pippa’s cheeks.
She couldn’t help but peek at Cull. With a tug of possessiveness, she wondered what his reaction would be. Not that she could fault him for looking at another woman; Edwin often had. The one time she’d brought it up, Edwin had said dismissively,“You can’t blame a man for looking, my dear. And as an artist, it is my job to look.”
Moreover, Cull had told her more than once that he liked to…watch. At present, however, his expression was dour, without a spark of interest.
“One at a time or both at once?” Miss Cunnyngham drawled.
“For Christ’s sake, cover yourself,” Cull snapped. “We’re not here for that.”
Her forehead creasing, Miss Cunnyngham fastened her robe. “What’re you ’ere for then?”
Pippa took out the portrait of Julianna Hastings. “As I mentioned, we’re trying to identify the woman in this portrait.”
“Oh, you want ’elp with anactualportrait.” Miss Cunnyngham looked bemused.
“What did you think I meant?” Pippa asked, puzzled.
“Thought you were using slang, luvie. For the position where the woman is sitting upright, supported by a gent beneath ’er and another female—”
“Can you identify the painting?” Cull cut Miss Cunnyngham off. “We believe the lady attended a performance ofThe Grove of Love, which we’re told you had a part in.”
“I ’ad the starring role.” Miss Cunnyngham preened. “Played Rosalinda, the fair virgin who was sacrificed on the altar o’ Pan. The part left me sore for days. The actor who played Pan ’ad the biggest—”
“Just look at the portrait.” Cull scowled. “Do you know the lady or not?”
Peering at the portrait, the actress let out a snort. “Oh,her.I know that tart all right.”
Pippa’s pulse sped up. “How did you meet Lady Hastings?”
“I don’t know no Lady ’Astings,” Miss Cunnyngham said. “But I know the woman in the picture. ’Er name is Mary Brown, and she was one ’oity-toity bitch.”
Lady Fayne sat up in her chair. “Julianna Hastings has alook-alike?”
Even the indomitable lady appeared astonished.
After the interview with Miss Cunnyngham, Cull and Pippa had wanted to share the discovery straight away. It put everything they knew in a different light, and Cull’s mind spun with possibilities.
Had Lady Hastings been conspiring with Mary Brown? Was this part of the “solution” she’d referred to in her letter to Morton? What had the two women been up to? And perhaps the most disquieting question of all: whose body was buried in Lady Hastings’s casket?
“Both of you saw who we believed to be Julianna Hastings after her death.” Lady Fayne was obviously aboard the same train of reasoning. “Mr. Cullen, you discovered the body, and Pippa, you saw her remains at the funeral. Is there any chance that the dead woman was, in actuality, Mary Brown?”
“It is hard to say,” Cull said pensively. “At the time, there wasn’t a question in my mind that the woman was Julianna Hastings. Earlier that day, the larks had followed her from her residence. As Ollie has no memory of that night, however, we don’t know what happened in the hours leading up to her murder.”
