She waved off the magistrate’s attempt to demur. “It appears that the crime touches our friends, and thus our family, Mr. Whalley. We are all now part of the investigation.”Like it or not, she added to herself.
Wrexford’s expression was impossible to decipher.
“Please come with me,” continued Charlotte. “I’ll return shortly,” she said to the others. “And then let us discuss how to break the terrible news to Cordelia.”
A whisper of wind stirred outside . . . and then a rustle of silk.
“What news?” came a voice from the terrace.
CHAPTER 4
When Sheffield didn’t answer right away, Cordelia appeared from behind one of the flower-filled marble urns flanking the open French doors and stepped into the room, her eyes narrowing in a question.
Wrexford avoided meeting her gaze. The ties of friendship that bound them all together were stronger than ever. But as of today, they had rewoven themselves in a slightly altered way, and he was intent on not inadvertently tugging at one of the new threads before it had settled into place.
“Good heavens, surely it’s notthatbad,” said Cordelia with a tentative attempt at humor.
“I fear it is,” said Sheffield. He moved to her side and clasped her hand in his. “A body has been discovered beneath the bridge at King’s Crossing.” He hesitated before adding, “These men here have come to inform us that the poor fellow appears to be the victim of foul play.”
“But what does that have to do—” Cordelia froze. “Dear God. Is it O-Oliver?”
“The only thing in his pockets was an invitation to the wedding,” said Sheffield.
“Then itmustbe him,” she responded in a tightly controlled voice.
“Forgive me, milady—” began Goffe.
“Mrs. Sheffield,” corrected Cordelia. Although aristocratic protocol allowed her to retain her title of Lady Cordelia even though Sheffield was, as a younger son of nobility, a mere “Mister,” she was quite adamant about not doing so.
The coroner bobbed his head in acknowledgment and swallowed hard. “Might I inquire as to whether your cousin had any distinctive mark on his body—a birthmark or a scar that might confirm his identity?”
Cordelia shook her head. “Not that I know of. His eyes are blue—a very bright shade of sapphire—if that helps at all.”
A look of puzzlement flitted across Goffe’s face. “Y-You are quite sure that your cousin doesn’t have a distinctive burn mark on his left forearm?”
Wrexford saw her suddenly clutch Sheffield’s arm, her expression wavering between shock and relief. “That’s not Oliver! It’s Jasper Milton, a dear friend of mine from childhood who was equally close with Oliver. The three of us were inseparable!”
She drew in a shaky breath. “I remember the day the accident occurred—Jasper was tinkering with an experimental steam engine that he and Oliver had constructed when the firebox cracked, and he was hit with an exploding chunk of red-hot coal.”
Goffe gave an apologetic look at Sheffield. “I am sorry, but I must ask your wife a very indelicate question—”
“My wife is not prone to swoons or tears, Mr. Goffe. She is, in fact, tough as nails,” replied Sheffield with a note of pride. “Whatever it is you wish to know, go ahead and ask her directly.”
The coroner cleared his throat with an uncertain cough but did as he was instructed. “Mrs. Sheffield, could you perchance describe the scar? I ask because such details will help make a conclusive identification.”
“I appreciate your professionalism, sir.” Cordelia extended her bare forearm.
The watered silk sash of her wedding dress shimmered in the sunlight as she moved, noted Wrexford, its flickering hues of blue and violet accentuating the paleness of her flesh.
“It’s located here.” Cordelia tapped at a spot just below her elbow. “And is shaped like a starburst, approximately two inches wide and three inches high . . .” Her forefinger traced a jagged outline.
“Thank you,” said Goffe. “Given the eye color and the scar, I think there is little doubt that the victim is Mr. Milton.”
Sheffield murmured a thanks, then whispered something to Cordelia which drew a grateful nod.
“If you will excuse us, my wife and are going to take a walk in the gardens.”
Wrexford waited until they had disappeared from the terrace, before ringing the silver bell on the side table to summon the housekeeper. “Mrs. Meadows will show you to your rooms and arrange for a meal to be served,” he said to Goffe and Whalley. “Let us plan to leave at first light with Henning to confirm that Milton was the victim of foul play.”
