“A Weasel,” answered Wrexford. “Luckily for us, they are far cleverer creatures than mice.”
“Hawk—”
“He sensed you were straying into danger,” interjected the earl, “and followed you here. When he saw a light appear in the upper windows of the villa just after you entered the conservatory, he thought it best to come inform me.”
“Apparently, he and his brother fought tooth and claw to come along with Griffin and his men,” added Sheffield. “But Tyler convinced them that it might endanger your secret.”
“Griffin is here?” she asked.
“He and his men just arrived and are dealing with DeVere,” answered Sheffield. To the earl, he added, “In the commotion, I was able to spirit Lady Cordelia out of the villa. She insisted she was perfectly capable of finding a hackney, garbed as she was in men’s clothing.” He drew a breath. “And we both agreed you might need me.”
“What was Lady Cordelia doing here—” began Charlotte, and then fell silent on hearing the clatter of hobnailed boots on the stone stairs.
A long shadow fell across the room.
“Hmmph!”
Charlotte winced as heavy steps scraped across the tiles.
“More dead bodies, milord?” drawled Griffin. “I’ve discovered Sir Kelvin Hollister’s corpse in the conservatory. And now this.”
“Be grateful for the courage of Lady Julianna’s kidnap victim, else there would have been more.”
“Indeed.” The Runner turned from his examination of Lady Julianna and fixed Charlotte with a gimlet gaze. “Might someone explain to me what the devil is going on here?”
“It’s a long story and will have to wait until tomorrow,” shot back Wrexford. “Lady Charlotte is in a state of shock. I need to escort her home as soon as possible.”
“It was Lady Julianna who stabbed Sir Kelvin,” offered Charlotte, feeling the Runner deserved the skeletal facts. “They were behind the Bloody Butcher murders, but apparently they had a falling-out when Sir Kelvin lost his nerve about killing Lord Chittenden. She performed the grisly deed on her own, and then she murdered Westmorly when he tried to blackmail them over some incriminating evidence that he had overheard from Sir Kelvin. He, too, had to die because she feared he was about to crack under interrogation and ruin their momentous plan.”
“Whatplan?” demanded the Runner.
“You’ll have all the gory details in the morning,” interrupted the earl. Before the Runner could form another question, he added, “Trust me, Griffin. I shall make you look good to your superiors.”
The Runner considered the request. “Very well.” Another glance at Charlotte. “I’ll agree to wait—but only if you promise to meet me for breakfast at the Hanged Man before the magistrate makes his appearance at Bow Street.”
“And buy you enough shirred eggs, fried beefsteak, and broiled kidneys to sicken an ox,” muttered the earl.
Griffin’s mouth quirked at the corners. “But of course. A man in my position can’t live on patience alone.”
“I—and my purse—will be there,” said the earl as he helped Charlotte to her feet.
She didn’t need to pretend her legs were wobbly as aspic.
“Now, if you’ll excuse us . . .”
The Runner stepped aside to allow them to leave.
“This case gets more curious by the minute,” he growled to Sheffield, once they were alone. “Who is Lady Charlotte? And how is she involved in all this?”
“It’s a mystery to me,” answered Sheffield with a straight face. “I believe she’s a relative of Lady Peake and the late Lord Chittenden, but I really can’t say any more than that.”
“Hmmph.” Griffin stared into the murky stairwell. “You’ve no idea why she’s wearing men’s boots?”
“Was she?” Sheffield assumed a look of surprise. “I’m sure Wrexford will have an explanation.”
The Runner’s eyes narrowed. “I suppose you also didn’t notice that she’s the same height and build as Phoenix, that elusive imp who seems to know about every bloody crime in Town before it’s happened.”
Sheffield rolled his eyes. “Are you suggesting an aristocratic lady dresses as an urchin and possesses the eyes and ears to learn all the hidden secrets of London?” He made a face. “Ha, ha, ha—why, that’s absurd.”
