His shoulders relaxed slightly, but she realized how tense he still looked. Nothing like the arrogant, supremely confident man she’d first met. Oh, it was still there, waiting to be unleashed, but something had muted him.
He looked at her through his hanging locks. “I thought you might be angry.”
“I might. But there is little doubt nothing in the house would still be there if you hadn’t taken action. There still mightn’t.”
She was once again glad she’d moved her important items, and Kenny’s as well.
“The locks will be changed as soon as the locksmith can do so.”
“Thank you.”
His eyes followed her mouth as she formed the words. She ran her fingers over her lips. Confusing thoughts to want his lips on hers and to be scared at the same time that everything in her life was falling apart. Comfort and desire.
“The carriage driver is in the next house on the right. He knows where to go. For your safety, you won’t. Tell him to come talk to me and I will send you on your way.”
Gabriel waited no more than a few minutes after the carriage wheels clicked down the street to grab his top hat and set off. He arrived at Alcroft’s house half an hour later.
Alcroft’s face lit in surprise as he greeted him in the drawing room. “Gabriel.” He looked him over. “You look terrible.”
“Why, thank you, John. I appreciate that.”
Alcroft motioned him toward his study and closed the door behind them. “I take it you don’t want the servants overhearing.”
“Even servants as well behaved as yours have ears and mouths.”
Alcroft leaned forward. “What has happened? I heard there was another murder.”
“The first victim of the Middlesex murderer was Amanda Forester.”
Alcroft blinked. “Lady Dentry’s old crony?”
“Yes. And the second victim was Celeste Fomme.”
His friend did nothing for a second, and then looked at his desk. “She was a tyrant, but dead? And in that…way?”
“Yes. I’m sorry.”
Alcroft moved a piece of paper across the surface and then another, as if trying to find the answers in the parchment. “You have more to tell.”
“I saw the sketches of the other two victims. With those two identified, the third was Jane Moreton. Abigail Winstead was murdered last night.”
Alcroft looked up. “No.”
“Yes.”
His friend looked at a portrait on the wall. “I spoke to Abigail recently, you know. She thought she was being stalked. I didn’t believe her.”
This was news to Gabriel. “You spoke with her? Has anyone reported her missing?”
“Doubtful. I thought she had already left. She said she was leaving for the country. That the city wasn’t safe. I thought she had gone. We are hardly friends. She came to me because she thought I could help.” He crushed a paper beneath his fist. “I ran a report for her, but I didn’t believe her. I should have done something.”
Gabriel kept his tongue. Ladies like Abigail were overly dramatic and given to fits. It was hardly surprising that Alcroft hadn’t taken her seriously. That wouldn’t make his friend feel much better, though. He knew that firsthand. “Did she say anything? Any idea who was stalking her?”
“Some Dentry servant.” He shoved his fingers through his hair, and Gabriel was glad the action took his eyes away from him, or else Alcroft would have seen his stiffening, the fear in his eyes that he quickly masked.
“Did she say whom?”
“Yes. John, Joseph, Jacob—Jacob! Jacob…” His lips pinched together. “I have the report synopsis. Worley? Yes, I think that was it. A footman.”
