Wrexford flagged down a passing hackney. “What about the fragment you found?”
“Unlike me, it isn’t going to expire of hunger if it’s not fed in the next half hour,” retorted Henning as he slouched back against the squabs. “I’ll need to do a careful examination in my surgery, so stubble your nattering. I’ll have an answer for you later today.”
Tamping down his impatience—no mean feat as his temper was frayed and his clothes were reeking of death—Wrexford refrained from further comment. In any case, he needed some time to gather his thoughts and grab a few hours of sleep before facing Charlotte.
God only knew what reaction she would have to these new developments. A barrage of questions, to begin with.
For which he, as yet, had precious few answers.
“What’s your guess as to what the late Lord Chittenden was involved in?”
“I prefer not to guess, laddie. We are, after all, men of science, who ought to adhere to fact and evidence, not conjecture.” Henning closed his eyes. “But whatever it is, I have a suspicion that none of us are going to like it.”
* * *
Charlotte followed the boys up the stairs, unsure whether the clench in her chest was dread or elation. No matter which way it cut, knowledge was better than having her emotions trapped in a netherworld of doubts and suspicions.
Imagination could often be worse than the truth.
Or so she told herself. And yet, with each thud of her steps on the wooden treads, her heart kicked harder against her rib cage. The pain seemed to seep into her bones.
McClellan cracked open her door as they trooped by her bedchamber. “Do you wish for some tea and sustenance?” she asked, unruffled by the ungodly hour.
“No,” answered Charlotte, unable to contemplate any distraction. She quickly softened her curtness with a forced smile. “But thank you.”
To her credit, the maid simply nodded and drew the latch shut.
Raven had already lit the Argand lamp on her work desk. Hawk was beside his brother, both hands jammed in his jacket pockets.
Crackle, crackle.The whispery sound of paper twistingbetween his fingers sent another spurt of fear bubbling up in her chest.
“Please explain yourselves,” said Charlotte, after expelling a carefully controlled breath. Hoping against hope to hide from them how rattled she was by this crime, she added a light note. “Before I explode from curiosity.”
Raven’s dark lashes dipped to shadow his eyes.
Damnation—he didn’t look in the least fooled.
Hawk responded by brandishing a smudged piece of folded paper. “It’s all about the—”
His brother caught his hand and forced it down to the desktop. “Oiy, put a cork in it for now—we need to start from the beginning.”
The boy bit his lip in frustration, but remained silent.
“Don’t look so Friday-faced. You’ll soon get your chance to show how clever you are,” counseled Raven before turning to Charlotte. “We followed the order of the murders you wrote down for us and started in Seven Dials.”
Charlotte nodded. The first of the Bloody Butcher’s victims had been a shiftless vagrant known as Greybeard, who begged for coins at the monument—a stone pillar adorned with the circle of sundials—which had given the now-infamous slum area its name.
“Greybeard didn’t have a regular lair. He slept in whatever hidey-hole he could find at night, which is likely why nobody witnessed the crime,” continued Raven. “But on that night, some of the locals did recall seeing a few fancy coves pass through the alleyways near where the body was found.”
“Gentlemen who are cup-shot or feeling daring occasionally pass through the slums on their way home from the gaming hells,” mused Charlotte. “It doesn’t necessarily mean anything.” And yet she felt a prickling of gooseflesh rise at the nape of her neck.
“Aye, m’lady, I know that. Still, it seemed a useful bit of information to report back to you. But it turns out I had it argle-bargled.” Raven allowed a bemused grimace. “Much as I hate to admit it, Hawk’s fiddling around with all those disgusting bugs and bits of rock isn’t as daft as I thought.”
His brother grinned.
“It’s him who remembered to look for the little details, and . . .” Raven lifted his shoulders. “You go ahead and tell her.”
“It’s you and your drawings I learned from, m’lady,” said Hawk in a rush. “Y’know, look for the little details—you’re always saying it’s the small bits and bobs that help piece together the truth.”
