“Yes. Something in the sister’s letter upset the girl. She intended to discuss the matter with Lady Styles.”
“And I’m thinking there should be a second note as well,” O’Malley said. “The desk clerk said a boy delivered a message for Brigid Dowling.”
“Did the clerk know the sender or its contents?”
“Brigid read it at the desk, looking tickled pink, he said. ‘A lady’ was sending a carriage to pick her up at two.”
“The supposed writer was Lady Styles, I’d wager.” Tennant explained what he’d learned at Marlborough House about the death of Lizzie Dowling on the Isle of Wight.
“Puts the sister’s death in a new light,” O’Malley said. “No jury will return an open verdict on this girl’s demise.”
“Did the desk clerk see Brigid Dowling get into the hackney?”
“That he did not, but I was just getting ’round to someone who did. A sweeper lad with sharp eyes on him saw her get into the cab with a ginger-bearded fella.”
“Well, well. Any other details?”
“Tall and thin, the lad said, and he dressed like a toff in a gent’s boots and a bowler hat. Waiting in a cab at the door for a good quarter hour.”
“Someone went to considerable trouble to silence a servant girl,” Tennant said.
“A callous brute of a man, slaughtering the cabbie to cover his tracks. Curdles the blood, it does.”
“Callous and well-informed about the girl’s movements,” Tennant said.
“Narrows our list of suspects, I’m thinking.”
“To those who knew where to find Brigid Dowling on Tuesday afternoon.”
O’Malley buckled the carpetbag. “Is it Doctor Lewis who’ll be doing the postmortem?”
“I sent her a message to meet us at Horseferry Road.”
Here it is, nearly Christmas,Tennant thought.I should have called at the clinic to say goodbye.A few more hours wouldn’t have mattered to the chase, although it had seemed urgent at the time.
He regretted it now.
Julia’s cab slowed to a stop in front of the Horseferry Road mortuary. She spotted Tennant pacing the pavement, his back to her.
She exited the hansom, dropping her half-crown fare. It lodged in a crevice between two cobbles. By the time she retrieved it and paid the driver, Tennant was only a few steps away. He looked thinner than she remembered and had a strained look around his eyes.The chase has taken a toll.Her glance fell to the sling and his bandaged right hand.
“I got in the way of Romilly’s knife,” Tennant said, smiling. “Nothing serious.”
“By the size of that bandage, that’s more than a scratch. Well, a proper handshake is out of the question, so …”
She brushed his cheeks in French fashion, then held her gaze steady before stepping back. “Thank goodness. Home, safe and …” Her voice caught. “Safe and mostly sound.” She smiled and tried to keep her tone light, adding, “Although you’re a shockingly bad correspondent.”
“I’m sorry,” Tennant said. “The post …”
“We were worried.”
Julia hooked her arm around his left elbow, and they mounted the steps. “Your note mentionedtwopostmortems. Isn’t the commissioner piling it on your first day back?”
“The two deaths entangle Marlborough House and Osborne House in murder.”
Julia stopped at the top of the steps. “What do you mean?”
“Someone murdered Lizzie Dowling’s sister.”
