“Take notes too, will you?” Peter retreated until he’d reached the bedchamber door. He grabbed the handle. “And cover her with the blanket once you’re done. I’ll question the servants in the meantime.”
The parlor was made available for interviews, each servant introduced to Peter by the butler as he showed them into the room. Peter considered the latest arrival. Audrey was her name. Short in stature, with mousish features and lackluster hair, she’d been Lady Eleanor’s lady’s maid.
“I…I don’t…” Audrey gulped.
She dabbed at her watery eyes again. Her handkerchief looked heavy and wet. Peter handed her a fresh one and gave her a moment to try and collect herself. Not easy, he realized, since she’d been the one who’d discovered her mistress’s body when she’d gone to rouse her.
“Did you always wake her in the mornings?” Peter gently asked.
A nod accompanied trembling lips. “She was always so…active. Liked making the…the most of each day. Today… Oh dear. Please forgive me.”
“It’s quite all right,” Peter told her and waited once more for the woman’s tears to abate. “Take your time.”
She swallowed, licked her lips, and seemed tostraighten a bit. “We planned to visit St. Augustine with a few donations. My mistress…she was so very kind I…I don’t understand why anyone might have wanted to hurt her.”
“So you can think of no enemies?”
“None.”
“No hopeful suitors she might have spurned?”
Audrey shook her head. “She’s engaged to Mr. Benjamin Lawrence. They were supposed to marry three months ago, toward the end of April, but his horse-riding accident forced a postponement.”
Peter recalled news of the tragedy. The event had turned the young man into a cripple. He’d lost the use of his legs. “She still meant to go through with it, despite what happened?”
“Of course.” Additional tears slid down Audrey’s cheeks. “My mistress loved Mr. Lawrence and intended to stand by him. That’s the sort of person she was.”
And yet, the nature of her death suggested someone had loathed her beyond all reason. Peter made a few notes in his notebook, his pencil scratching the paper with quick and efficient strokes.
“Thank you, Audrey. That will be all for now.” He accompanied her to the door and called for the next servant.
Again, his thoughts wandered back to the murders that took place earlier in the year. Those women had all seemed like proper young ladies. Friends and family had vouched for them. Yet they’d each had a secret that had gotten them killed.
In all likelihood, Lady Eleanor had secrets too. If he was to figure out who killed her, he’d have to discover which of hers had led to her death.
There was no greater nuisance than murder.
It was hard to predict how one would play out. Killing Lady Eleanor had been messier than he’d intended. Perhaps because he’d allowed himself to get carried away.
His lips curled. At least he’d had the foresight to stash a change of clothes for himself at St. George’s burial ground. Returning home covered in blood would not have helped him get away with the crime. As he intended to do.
Hands shoved into the pockets of a clean pair of trousers, he stood by his bedchamber window and watched the London traffic go by.
He had no regrets. She’d deserved every part of what he’d done.
His attention focused on the carriages filling the street and on the people hurrying by. It was the busiest hour of the day, when men of consequence made their way to Parliament while those who belonged to the working class went off to start their jobs.
Bow Street would have its hands full this morning. He casually wondered if they were examining Lady Eleanor’s body right now and where the clues they discovered might lead them.
Spotting a young girl who carried a crate of eggs on her head, he tracked her as she walked along the opposite side of the street. A man coming the other way nudged her shoulder as he pushed past her, but failed to disrupt her stride.
She threw a quick glance toward him then stepped off the pavement and hurried between two carriages, making her way to this side of the street.
A couple of street urchins came from the left at a run, most likely fleeing someone whose pocket they’d picked. Leaping into the street at the same exact time as the girl with the eggs attempted to exit, they crashed into her, tripping before regaining their balance and sprinting onward while she was sent reeling.
Down went the crate and all of her eggs, straight into the gutter.
Not one person stopped to inquire about her wellbeing. She was invisible to the crowd – just another lowly individual doing her best to scrape by. Too much trouble for the middle or upper class to get involved with. Too time consuming for the rest.
