“I beg your pardon?” her brother asked and turned to Adelia. “Why did you come here?”
Owen watched her stricken mien. He doubted she would say anything, but her expression softened.
“We came to ask you some questions. It’s important.”
“This couldn’t wait until morning?” he demanded.
“No,” Owen answered. “We can either talk here or at the police station.”
He watched the earl’s gaze shoot to Adelia, and something passed between them. They were hiding something.Had she known her brother was the murderer?He could not bear the thought. By the end of the night, he intended to know everything.
“Will you introduce us, Thomas?” This from Adelia, still looking with curiosity at the pretty woman who’d remained silent and watchful during the entire exchange.
Smythe sighed. “Miss Moore, this is my sister of whom I’ve made mention. Dilly, this is Miss Constance Moore.”
The aforementioned Miss Moore’s eyes widened, and she immediately stood and offered Adelia a deep curtsey.
“Ever so pleased,” she commented in an accent that betrayed her heritage as being from the country, possibly northern Yorkshire.
Adelia nodded and murmured something Owen couldn’t hear. Nor did he care about this inane chatter.
“And this odious creature is Lord Burnley,” Smythe said, his tone dripping with annoyance.
Again, the brown-haired miss curtsied and gave her evidently standard greeting, “Ever so pleased.”
Owen nodded to her, the politest thing he could do under the circumstances when he wanted to grab the earl by his ridiculous coat and bash him into the wall behind.
“Enough of this chit-chat, Smythe,” Owen growled. “Why are you hiding out in the East End?”
“I do not owe you any explanation on that account,” The earl protested.
“I think you do, but let us get to the heart of the matter, shall we? The perfume you gave Lady Adelia belonged to my sister.”
He watched Smythe for signs of guilt and treachery. Instead, he saw surprise. Then the earl frowned and shook his head. Finally, he said, “I believe you are mistaken.”
“We should not discuss this here,” Adelia insisted, grasping at Owen’s coat sleeve.
He glanced around at the interested faces blatantly staring. Clearly, they were providing entertainment. Moreover, Smythe had introduced them, giving their names out loud. Someone might have overheard who shouldn’t have, although Owen doubted those who wrote for London’s society pages would be loitering in such a hole. Nevertheless, it was possible their names could be sold to the newspaper, and it would be a whopping scandal, no doubt.
“I do not trust your brother to follow us home. For all I know, he will head for the coast.”
“That’s absurd.” Both Adelia and her brother spoke at once.
“We could go to my flat,” Miss Moore offered.
“Constance, no,” Smythe began, but she interrupted him.
“None ofmyneighbors will mind. It is only yours we must be wary of.”
“Very well,” the earl agreed after a pause, and he looked at Owen. “We shall go to Miss Moore’s home to speak further. It is around the corner. Do you agree?”
“Lead the way,” Owen said.
To his surprise, Smythe and his lady headed for the back door. Thus, for the first time in his life, and undoubtedly in Adelia’s as well, he stood in a fetid and filthy alley off of Whitechapel Road. Traversing it swiftly, trying not to breathe in the odor from the piles of detritus and mysterious greasy puddles, they came out at the corner and turned left.
True to the earl’s word, the flat was just around the corner on Osborn Street, within spitting distance of where Sophia died. Through a door with a broken pane, up one flight, the earl used a key to unlock the apartment door.
Owen glanced at Adelia, and she looked back at him, eyebrows raised. Apparently, this was entirely unknown to her. Smythe stood back and gestured for them to follow Miss Moore inside.
