Something shattered behind him, it sounded like glass, and then someone else was beside him. “No, Ida. Go back to the bedroom and lock the door. You mustn’t—”
“Shut up, Simon.”
A shout of pure pain filled the air as the eyes in front of him widened. The grip on Simon’s wrist loosened and vanished. Hands clutched Simon’s arms and pulled him back out of harm’s way. He reached out, tried to stop the attacker from falling over the railing, but it was too late. A thud let him know when the man hit the floor in the foyer.
Simon barreled down the stairs, half slipping and stumbling in his haste to reach his attacker. “Please be alive,” he murmured. Light flickered as an oil lamp was lit. “Please, please, please…”
A pair of empty eyes stared up at him. Blood pooled beneath the man’s head. The knife he’d been holding was lying some distance away near the wall.
“Christ.” Simon raised his gaze and stared up at Ida. Miranda stood beside her, the oil lamp she held raised high in the air. “He’s dead. We can’t question him.”
“I’m sorry, but I had to save you. If I hadn’t forced his hand away, he would have taken you down with him, or stabbed you, or…” Ida’s voice broke. “I couldn’t let him win.”
“Of course not.” Simon nodded. “You did the right thing.”
In her hand, she still held the oil lamp she’d used, the glass shade now broken after she’d smashed it. Simon could see the imprint it had made on the back of the intruder’s hand when she’d pushed the cut glass down into his flesh.
Crouching, Simon pulled back the black scarf covering the man’s face. “Bloody hell.”
“What is it?” Ida asked as she and Miranda descended the stairs.
He glanced at her in dismay. “It’s the same man who attacked you in the alley. I recognize him.”
Wide eyed with shock, Ida approached until she stood at Simon’s shoulder. “You’re right.”
Grimly, Simon started riffling through the man’s pockets in the hope of learning something more. He pulled out a pocket watch, a small collection of coins, and a folded piece of paper.
Standing, he unfolded the paper, moved closer to the lamp light, and read, “Number Five Bedford Street.” Simon met Ida’s gaze. “The paper came from the Shadwell Gun Works. It bears the company address right there at the top. I don’t need to check it against the note we received from Murdoch to know it won’t match. This writing’s different, and judging from the messy scrawl, I’d say our villain wrote it so he would not forget the address.”
“So he worked there too?” Ida asked.
“That would be my guess.”
“I’ll go put some tea on,” Miranda said. “I believe we can all use a cup.”
Simon thanked her, waited until she was gone, and turned to Ida. “I have to inform Bow Street of the break in and of this man’s death. Will you be all right here by yourself for a while until I return?”
“Yes.” She dropped her gaze to the floor. “I’ll stay in the kitchen with Miranda.”
Simon nodded. “You should probably get dressed first. And so should I for that matter.”
“Of course.”
They returned upstairs together. After helping Ida button her gown, Simon put on his jacket and went to collect Ida’s pistol from her nightstand. “Promise me you will keep this with you at all times?”
“I promise.”
He held her gaze for a moment, then quickly kissed her.
“Good girl.” Grabbing an extra blanket from the wardrobe, he followed her downstairs where he unfolded the blanket and spread it over the dead man’s body so it covered his face. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Lock the door behind me.”
Once outside, Simon waited until he heard the lock click into place before heading down the street. He wanted the intruder gone from his house as soon as possible, and then he wanted to get back to the investigation so he could figure out who’d hired him.
Chapter Fifteen
It was dawn before the last constable left the house. Simon had brought four with him when he returned. The chief magistrate arrived later and went over everyone’s statement until Ida started losing her patience. She was relieved to have them all gone again so she and Simon could get back to bed.
“It’s a good thing I’m meeting with Mr. St. John the day after tomorrow,” Simon said when they were back in their bedchamber with the door locked. To Ida’s surprise, he’d sent for Blayne, who’d promised to stay downstairs and keep watch while they slept. “Hopefully, he will be able to identify the intruder and let me know if he’s ever seen Kirksdale, Elmwood, or my uncle conversing with him.”
