“Describe to me the scene in Lady Eleanor’s bedchamber this morning,” Adrian told her once she was seated. “Before your attempt to clean it.”
“I’ve al…” She cleared her throat and sniffed, retrieved a handkerchief with which she dried her watery eyes. A deep inhalation disturbed the air with its long and uneven vibration. “I’ve already told the constable all I know.”
“Please repeat it for Mr. Croft’s reference.” Orendel sounded as though his very essence had been depleted and he was struggling to carry on.
Audrey clasped her hands tightly in her lap and twisted the handkerchief between her fingers. A quick nod preceded her account. “The vase had been knocked off the dresser, the bouquet of roses it held a mess on the floor. I…I didn’t know I was meant to leave it.” She clapped one hand over her mouth to stifle a sob, her tearful gaze going to Orendel. “I’m so incredibly sorry.”
The earl said nothing, his attention on a family portrait above the fireplace.
“It’s all right,” Adrian told her. “I was wondering…it looked as though part of the carpet was recently cleaned.”
“Yes.” She gulped down a breath and dabbed at her eyes.
“Any particular reason besides attempting to get the blood out?” He could easily imagine it – a distraught servant, frantically scrubbing away at those stains as if that could undo some of the damage.
“I meant to clean the blood too but decided to start near the wall. There was dirt there. Mud. Most likely because of the rain.”
Adrian nodded. It seemed his theory about an intruder could be correct.
“Someone must have entered through the window. It’s the only explanation and I…I left it open. I am to blame for what happened. I…” Her words became sobs, so pained and wretched they made her shake.
“Thank you for telling me this. I believe it may prove useful.”
“Do you honestly think what you’ve learned here will help?” Orendel asked as soon as the maid was gone.
“It tells us that it’s unlikely the killer is someone within your household.” Unless he’d been cunning enough to leave false clues. “I trust your daughter had a positive relationship with all the servants and the rest of the family.”
“As far as I know.”
“Then let’s proceed with the assumption that whoever did this came from elsewhere. A quick look outside might offer additional information.”
They headed into the garden and toward the wall leading up to Lady Eleanor’s bedchamber window. Adrian studied it, taking note of the mud coating the white cornerstone bricks.
There was no longer any doubt. This was how the killer had gained access. It hadn’t been hard. He’d simply used the edges provided by the cornerstones for leverage, and had then grabbed hold of the window edging. Getting back down would likely have proven more of a challenge.
He dropped his gaze and searched the ground until he discovered a flattened area in a nearby flowerbed.
“He either jumped or fell. See those indentations there.” Adrian frowned at the markings which had been firmly pressed into the sodden ground. “Looks like his hands and knees made contact. My guess is he hurt himself quite a bit from the impact.”
“So we could be looking for someone who’s limping?”
“It would be strange if we weren’t.”
Adrian scanned the rest of the ground, searching to see if there might be anything more – an item the killer had dropped, a torn piece of fabric or… He leaned forward, his breath nearly seizing in his lungs in response to the shimmering steel that gleamed between the trampled lavender.
Retrieving it, he turned to the earl whose face had gone pale. “Holy mother of God.”
An appropriate response, considering Adrian held the blade that was used to slaughter his daughter. Despite last night’s rain, her blood still lined parts of the edges.
Adrian frowned. “How could Bow Street have missed this?”
“It was still raining when they were here. The constable was also in a hurry to get the coroner started on his report. He said he’d return later when the weather was more conducive to an outdoor investigation. In my opinion, it proves I made the right decision, coming to you.”
Adrian couldn’t argue. It was the same kind of careless ineptitude he had experienced from the Bow Street Magistrate’s Court when Evie’s murder was being investigated. Newton would probably still be on the loose, free to kill again, had Adrian not interfered with Samantha’s help.
His frown deepened as irritation shoved its way into his chest, and tried not to think of how stupidly happy she had once made him. A lot had occurred since, none of it conducive to what he was meant to accomplish now.
Inhaling the smell of wet soil, he turned the blade over between his gloved hands. “It carries John Prosser’s signature. Excellent quality with what appears to be an incredibly fine bone handle. I’ll check to see where a hunting cutlass such as this one can be purchased and ifany of your daughter’s acquaintances might have owned one.”
