Wrexford felt his gut tighten. He feared that Charlotte’s sense of honor and loyalty might hurt her in ways she hadn’t imagined.
“Did you ask Chittenden about the marks?” inquired Sheffield.
The earl shook off his brooding and forced himself to focus on Jeannette’s answer.
She lifted her bare shoulders in a shrug. “Aye, but he mumbled some humble-bumble that made no sense te me. Don’t see how hurtin’ yerself can bring ye te some higher plane o’ knowledge.” A wry grimace. “But then, I ain’t got a fancy brainbox like you educated gentlemen.”
Pain.For some, it was a way of exploring the dark side of one’s nature.
The earl rose abruptly. “Thank you.” He gave a tug to the silken bellpull, then placed a few more coins on the bedcover-ing. “Don’t tell anyone else about what we’ve discussed. If there’s a dangerous killer on the loose, he won’t hesitate to strike again.”
Her eyes widened. Lifting a hand to her mouth, she made a quick pantomime of turning a key. “Oiy, me lips are locked right and tight, milord.”
Matron Plum appeared a moment later. She led them through a side corridor and down a dark stairwell to an iron-studded door that opened into an unlit alleyway next to the mews.
Wrexford and his friend stepped out into the fog-misted night. Without a word, the woman drew it shut, and through the thick oak, the earl heard the rasp of the bolts being thrown back in place.
The air felt cold as ice against his face after the warmth of the brothel. He started walking.
“I can think of several establishments where Chittenden might have acquired such marks,” murmured Sheffield after they had traversed a connecting passageway and emerged on the adjoining street.
“As can I,” growled Wrexford. London catered to all manner of vices and obsessions. “None of them are pretty.”
They walked on in silence for several strides. “I can make some inquiries, if you like,” added his friend. “Not that I’m familiar with the world of pleasure and pain, but I know of one or two people who would be willing to talk.”
Already the ripples were spreading, churning up waves in an ever-widening circle.
“My thanks, Kit. We can’t afford to overlook that possibility,” he replied. “But there’s also Westmorly and the gambling debts. We need to know more about those, too.” As for his own next steps . . . a sudden thought came to mind, spurring Wrexford to quicken his pace.
“I’ll set both inquiries into motion tonight,” promised Sheffield as he hurried to catch up. “Where are you racing off to?”
“I want to pay a visit to the morgue. But first, I need to rouse Henning. If anyone can make a corpse talk, it’s him.”
* * *
“Bloody,bloodyhell.” Slapping down her pen in frustration, Charlotte gave up trying to sketch a satire on the Prince Regent and his latest peccadillo. Lust and gluttony seemed such paltry sins compared to murder.
She rose and began to pace the perimeter of her workroom. Shadows stirred, their dark shapes dancing just out of reach of the flickering lamplight. The draperies were closed, but still she could sense the black-fingered gloom of the moonless night pressing against the windowpanes.
Pausing, Charlotte peeked through the folds of fabric, trying to spot any sign of movement in the street. Yet another sign her wits were out of kilter. It was far too early for the boys to be returning. As for dawn, it seemed an eternity away.
She resumed her pacing, suddenly aware of how impatient she was to show Wrexford the tobacco flakes. In the meantime,theremustbe some other lead to follow. But another turn around the small space only exacerbated the sense that she was spinning in circles.
As she came to an abrupt halt and stared at the fast-dying coals of the banked fire, Charlotte fisted her hands and felt a clench of impotent fury take hold of her. Shehatedfeeling so helpless. A passive bystander, while the earl and the boys were out searching for clues.
In her previous home, a ramshackle structure squeezed up against the stews, she had been a nameless nobody, free to come and go as she pleased. The move to a nicer neighborhood had not come without consequences.
There were times when she questioned whether she had made the right decision.
Charlotte repressed a grimace, reminding herself of the aphorisms learned in long-ago schoolroom lessons.Virtus tentamine gaudet—strength rejoices in the challenge. At the time, such pompous platitudes had made three unruly adolescents snicker behind the tutor’s back. Strange how they had stuck with her over the years, providing unexpected steel for the spirit in times of doubt.
She wondered if Nicky was lying on his miserable cot, using them as a talisman to keep the blackness at bay.
A gust of wind rattled the glass. The shadows shivered and slipped deeper into the dark corners of the room.
“I’ll go mad if I stay in here any longer,” whispered Charlotte. She drew in a ragged breath—and then spun around to blow out the desk lamp’s flame.
Within minutes, she had stripped off her skirts and donned her urchin’s garb. After penciling a quick note so McClellan and the boys wouldn’t worry if they discovered her absence, Charlotte tucked her boots under her arm and tiptoed for the stairs.
