I glanced back. “Then enlighten me. Please.”
Delia let out a sigh. “I love him. I won’t deny it. And tonight wasn’t the first time I’ve been to his flat.” Then she paused as she finished the last button. “But we are—that is, we were to be married,” she said thickly.
I took a moment to choose my words as I turned to face her. “You were engaged?”
Delia’s cheeks turned red, and she looked away. “Not yet. Not properly, anyway. But we talked about it, quite often.”
“I see.”
Delia wiped her cheeks and let out a strangled laugh. “You could at leasttryto sound like you believe me.”
I huffed. “Well, if it wasn’t likethat, then why were you really there?”
She was quiet for a moment. “It started with my reading with Madame Fontaine.”
I recalled the look on Delia’s face back at the baron’s mansion. She had been so distraught before she hid it all behind a smile. “She said something to you about Charles?”
She nodded. “That he couldn’t marry me because he was already married. I went there to confront him. And instead I found him like … like that.”
Delia looked absolutely wretched, and my heart tugged in my chest. But we couldn’t waste any more time. “I’m truly sorry, my dear. I can’t imagine how awful it was, but right now we need to alert the police and return to the flat.”
“All right,” she said, then paused as she appeared to remember something. “Charlie has a telephone.”
“He does?” This was surprising and seemed the height of excess to me. I certainly didn’t know anyone who had a telephone in their home.
Delia nodded. “He said he used it for work.”
I frowned at this explanation, given that earlier she had described his work as little more than a lark, but the sooner we made the call, the better it would be for Delia.
My hair was a fright, but I fixed it in a semblance of a Psyche knot, then took her hand and led her from the room. No one would be awake now, and it was easy enough to retrieve my coat and slip out the back entrance. Delia led the way through Portman Square. It was as silent as a graveyard at this hour, and I pulled my coat closer to me. We slunk through Portman Close as Delia led us to George Street in Marylebone.
“His flat is over there. On the third floor,” she said and pointed to an elegant brick building. “There’s a servant’s entrance around the back. He made sure it was unlocked so I could …”
I hid my disapproval behind a short nod. “Fine. Let’s go.”
Delia lowered her eyes and we crossed the street. The servant’s entrance was still unlocked, and she led the way upthe darkened staircase to the third floor. The hall was empty, the only sound the low hiss of gas from the wall sconces. Delia stopped in front of the door closest to the servants’ stairwell, marked with the number eight, and looked at me over her shoulder.
“This is it,” she rasped, clearly hesitant to enter.
“It’s all right,” I murmured with a hand on her shoulder. “I’m here.”
She took a breath and opened the door. The gaslight was still on, and as we entered, I was immediately struck by how handsomely decorated the entryway was. The walls were lined with framed pictures of all shapes and sizes, while a cabinet displayed a variety of artifacts. Under any other circumstances, I would have loved to pore over everything. But, of course, now was not the time.
“The telephone is just over there,” she said, pointing to a contraption on top of a small table.
It reminded me of a candlestick standing on a wooden base. I gingerly removed the black conical piece, which I supposed one spoke into, then hesitated. “Do you know how to use it?”
Delia took it from me. She held up the cone to her ear and pressed a button at the top of the candlestick, waited a moment, and began to speak into it. “Scotland Yard, please. Thank you.”
Well, I had gotten thatallwrong.
Delia then held out the contraption to me with a pleading look. “Can you speak to them?” she asked, pressing the earpiece into my hand before I could respond. “Just hold it like this,” she explained, drawing my hand up to my ear. “And speak here.”
I gingerly pressed the earpiece to my ear, but all I could here was a dull crackling sound. “It will take a moment,” she added when she saw my look of confusion.
Then I heard a tinny voice that sounded like someone whispering down the end of a long hallway. “Scotland Yard. What is the purpose of your call?”
“Hello, yes,” I began. “I need to report a murder. Well, a body,” I added with a wince. “I’m not sure if they were murdered or not.”
