One indestructible crime lord to hold the rest to account.
8
Dust motes caught in a thin ray of sunshine made Gabriella ponder the cleaning of the Bow Street offices in general. She’d never encountered any maids, yet the place didn’t strike her as filthy.
Briefly, she considered asking Kendrick about it, then dismissed the idea as unimportant. There were far more urgent matters for them to consider. Like figuring out who had killed Stewart Warren. The lack of results was not looking good. Her father had already voiced his disapproval. As the new chief magistrate, he needed a win as much as she and Kendrick, so they could all prove their worth and retain their positions.
While the tip they’d received about some abandoned crates had allowed them to seize a large shipment of smuggled goods, it wasn’t enough. Not when a murder remained unsolved.
She glanced across Kendrick’s desk to where he sat, slightly hunched while he scribbled away in his notebook. Everything was recorded in there, from crime scene evidence to seemingly mundane remarks made by anyone even remotely connected. This included his Runners, the coroner, potential witnesses, and the Crofts.
At present, she believed it had something to do with the shilling Doctor Fellowes had found in Mr. Warren’s mouth. The token left by the killer had to have some significance, but figuring out what it meant and how it might help them solve the case appeared to be driving Kendrick mad.
Gabriella sympathized. The poor man had been working incredibly hard on this, running all over town in order to question people. On top of the increased disappointment he had expressed on their poor progress, Mr. Croft’s refusal to help had come as a blow.
She propped her chin in her hand, her elbow perched on the chair’s armrest. They’d bloody well figure it out on their own. All she had to do was find the connection between that blasted shilling and Mr. Warren.
“What do you have so far?” she asked, increasingly impatient with sitting and waiting for something to happen.
It looked like Kendrick flinched in response to her voice, as though he’d forgotten about her presence. Wonderful. She tried not to think too much about that possibility even though the idea was already squeezing her heart.
Stupid. Completely and utterly—
“We know the coin was minted in 1815. Like all shillings, it’s made from silver with the likeness of George the Third on one side and the royal shield on the other.” He set his quill aside and scrubbed the back of his neck before meeting her gaze.
Her stomach clenched. There was something slightly alarming about being the subject of his undivided attention. It had sent her heart racing on numerous occasions during the past five months of their working together.
To say nothing about the effect of his touch. Even the slightest contact whenever he helped her into a carriage made her war with contradicting sensations. On one hand she wanted more. On the other she wanted to flee.
It was most perplexing. Especially when considering all the potentially tricky factors. Like their difference in age, which could span anything between one and two decades in her estimation. Besides this, there was the issue regarding their professional relationship. He was her superior and her father was his boss. But the greatest problem of all was that his only response toward her seemed to be irritation.
Annoyed with herself for letting her thoughts stray toward such pointless musings, she forced her mind back into sharp focus.
“There’s also the lettering.” The side bearing the king’s likeness read: GEOR:III D:G: BRITT:REX F:D:
“I’ve written down what it says on the coin along with the full unabbreviated version.” Kendrick glanced at his notes. “Georgius III Dei Gratia Britanniarum Rex Fidei Defensor”
George the Third by the Grace of God King of the Britains Defender of the Faith.
“The Latin on the reverse side is probably of greater significance to the killer,” Gabriella mused. “HONI·SOIT·Q MAL·Y·PENSE·”
Kendrick tilted his head, assessing her in a way that made her feel like squirming. “Shame on he who thinks evil of it.”
His whispered words floated around her, increasing her awareness of him and the fact that they were completely alone. Scandalously so, had she been ten years younger, but at eight and twenty, she’d been on the shelf too long for anyone to pay her close collaboration with Kendrick any mind.
The notion instantly banished all thought of any man making advances. She was simply too long in the tooth at this point. A somewhat depressing idea that made her feel horribly unattractive, which again, wasn’t helpful.
“While the killer may be trying to send a message about the death being justified, there’s another possibility too.” She’d thought of it last night while reading The Odyssey and pondering the symbolism contained within its pages. “What could the coin itself represent?”
Kendrick blinked. “I’ve no idea. I hadn’t considered it until now, but we definitely should. Maybe it has to do with something that’s known to cost that amount.”
“A yard of plain cotton does, so perhaps it’s in reference to the cravat that was stuffed into the victim’s mouth?”
“Wouldn’t that be repeating the statement?”
“Not if the killer works as a seamstress.”
“Speaking of occupations, it’s also the average rate of a prostitute.”
