“Marietta, if you please.”
She retrieved the draft and stowed it in her reticule. It felt very strange to be carrying three hundred pounds in her bag.
“And with that, gentlemen, we bid you a good afternoon. Perhaps it is time to start a new business or to read through your law texts again.”
He motioned to Marietta and she scampered out of the office, her reticule clutched against her chest in a parody of Mr. Hackenstay holding his globe earlier, the man’s pistol gripped tightly in her fingertips.
She didn’t know how Noble removed himself from the office without leaving himself open to retaliation, but he emerged with a pistol in each hand and nudged her toward the door.
As soon as they stepped onto the sidewalk, he stowed the three pistols and set a brisk pace. He didn’t slow until they were three blocks away in two different directions. She could see him looking behind but her mind was frozen. As soon as he shortened his steps, she snapped back to the scene of the bustling streets and the busier areas near the Thames. They stepped onto Blackfriars and a wave of something rocketed through her.
“You just threatened them with a gun. I thinkIjust threatened them with a gun. We got the money back. They actually returned it.” She took another shaky step. “I feel so…vibrant.”
His eyes were cynical. “Delayed emotion. Don’t do anything stupid because of it.”
But not even his words could bring her down. She barely noticed as they cashed the draft and made their way back home. Home. As if she would ever have a real one. But this one at least had rosemary and dill bread, incredible stews and a man who could right her wrongs—and that was well more than she’d had a week past.
Her calves twinged a bit as they made their way to another section of town after a quick stop to eat. She was used to a lot of walking, but they’d been briskly striding across the entire midsection of London today.
She followed Noble into a plain building and down a hall to a door labeled records. Noble pushed inside and a lanky man with large glasses looked up.
“Mr. Noble!”
“Good afternoon, Anthony. Are you busy?”
Anthony pushed aside his papers and spread his hands. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for information on the Middlesex murderer case.”
Anthony’s sharp eyes looked to her and then back to Noble. “I see. There’s not much. It has boggled the minds of everyone around here. Was a relief to most that they think they have the culprit in custody.”
“I figured as much. What do you have? Any previous suspects?”
Anthony motioned to the two chairs in front of his desk and tapped his pen on the oak surface. “There were three. The first victim’s husband was a suspect at first, until he was accounted for by twenty different witnesses. Attended some business function during the time of her murder. The blame quickly moved to his business partner, who was not at the function. That thread of inquiry was destroyed, though, by the timing of the next victim. The business partner was in Cornwall—and his story is solid. There were two men in the parish area who were questioned but not held. Joshua Dawkins and a street urchin. Dawkins is one you might want to check out. The Runners have all been leery of him. Described as a suspicious man.”
“If there were two people in the area, why did they not get the same treatment as my—as Kenneth Winters?” Marietta couldn’t help but ask.
Noble didn’t glare at her this time, but she detected something close to a sigh in his expression. Anthony gave her a measuring glance, though his eyes were still friendly. She had the impression of a quick mind hidden behind a nonthreatening air.
“They were much more desperate the third time.”
Noble motioned with his hand to continue, and Anthony didn’t wait for her response. “The second victim, anonymous, contained no identifiable links to the first. The parish patrollers who found the body quit the next day. I heard it was gruesome.”
“Which is why the second victim hasn’t been identified?”
Anthony nodded. “There are artist sketches at Coroner’s Court of the faces after they were cleaned. May want to have a look and see if you can obtain copies. They have sketches of the first two.”
“And the new victim?”
“That one too, I’m sure. I heard they rushed the body through.”
“Suspicious.”
Anthony tilted his head. “Or frightened.”
“Who was the first victim?”
“Mrs. Amanda Sinclair.”
