I nodded to Evans, confident he’d do as I asked. He might not want to admit it, but he wanted to solve Perrin’s murder as much as I did. “Coming, Constable.” I jabbed my walking stick into the earth as I made my way to the house.
Bruises or marks might not tell us much more about Perrin’s murder, but then again, they might. No detail should be overlooked.
Wealth. Pleasure. Power. Honor– or as was more accurately described, the pursuit of recognition. These were the fourworldly pursuits Aquinas identified as the typical substitutes man made for God. If one desired them too greatly, they became false gods, and man might do anything to worship them, including murder.
Perrin had desired them all. He’d cheated or deceived the wrong person in order to achieve them. Someone who had wanted that false god even more than Perrin had.
And it had gotten him killed.
Chapter Nineteen
Henry
“You’re not trulygoing to look at Perrin’s body?” Miss Smith clutched her elbows. “Lady Mary must have been jesting.”
Henry arched an eyebrow. “I don’t think even Lady Mary would joke about that.” Besides, he was curious what the constable had seen that he hadn’t on that night. “Stay here.”
He descended the steps and pulled open the door. He had to stoop inside the hut, wondering why the builders hadn’t added a couple more inches to the ceiling. But this structure wasn’t built to linger inside. Blocks of ice were stacked within, and along the far wall, the blocks were stacked to form a bed of sorts. Perrin lay atop, a blanket covering his form.
The light from the open door wavered. “Do you see anything?” Miss Smith asked.
“I might if you didn’t block the light.” He should have thought to bring his own lamp.
“Oh.” She hurried down the steps and to his side. “Sorry.”
“I didn’t mean for you to join me down here.” He pressed his lips flat.
Miss Smith circled to his other side, her gaze fixed on the blanket-covered form. She stood closer than was proper, her skirts brushing his legs, her bosom grazing his arm.
The lady was trepidatious, of course. Her body instinctively sought out a live body as comfort against the one who was dead.He understood it, and he would be lying if he said his own body didn’t appreciate her nearness.
But this was a nasty business. “Go back to the house. I need to lift the blanket.”
She shook her head. “I want to see. I don’t remember striking him, but my memories of the event are a bit muddled. I want to know what I did.”
Henry grasped her shoulders and turned her to face him. He put his finger under her chin, turning her head from Perrin’s body and raising it to his. “Whether you struck him or not, you didn’t kill him. Poison did. There’s no need for you to see him.”
She swallowed. “I know. And when I was outside, there was nothing I wanted to see less, but now that I’m here, I don’t think I can leave without seeing him. I know it doesn’t make sense, but if you’re going to look at Perrin’s face for bruises, I feel that I should, too.”
He examined her. Miss Smith may look like a typical society miss, one whose biggest concern was the latest fashion, but she had a spine made of steel. He’d been impressed with her composure after learning what had occurred between her and Perrin before he died, and he was even more impressed now.
Her father might plant him a facer if he learned that Henry had allowed his daughter to examine Perrin’s body, but from the determined glint in her eyes, he knew it was the right thing to do. And it wasn’t as though she hadn’t already seen the body.
Henry shuffled forward, a crick starting to form in his neck. Miss Smith matched him step for step, keeping close. He reached for the top of the blanket. “Are you ready?”
She nodded, her gaze again fixed to Perrin’s form.
He pulled back the blanket, his shoulders lowering an inch. The face wasn’t as bad as he’d feared. The skin was grey in this low light, and there was a purple bruise along one cheek that Henry didn’t remember seeing before, but the ice had done itsjob. There was no decay as yet, and only the faintest cloying scent reached his nose.
“That seems a large bruise.” Miss Smith held out her right hand. “Wouldn’t I also have a mark if I’d struck him that hard?”
If she’d struck him that hard, she’d most likely have a broken bone. He tried to picture the woman beside him winding up to sock an overly-familiar Perrin, and his lips twitched.
“You didn’t cause that bruise.” Henry lowered the blanket to Perrin’s hips, wondering if the earl had anything of import in his pockets and why he hadn’t thought to check them before. “Perrin most likely obtained the bruise falling down the stairs.” He quickly stifled his disgust and swept his fingers in the body’s jacket pockets, then moved to the waistcoat.
Nothing. “I’m certain Lady Mary will be disappointed, but there’s nothing to learn here. Perhaps a doctor or coroner can discover something new, but we can’t. We should leave.”
A tremor shook Miss Smith’s body, and she ran her hands up and down her arms. “Are you certain? I don’t want to have to come back.”
