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Wadding the makeshift necklace into his fist, Alexander rose to his feet and brushed the gravel off his knees. His hat, he realized, must have fallen off his head in the hackney. “I thank you, Dr. Thorndike,” he said.

The doctor stood to face him. “I pray you have success locating the boy, Lord Bloxley.”

“You know me?” Had he introduced himself to the man? Alexander’s head was throbbing, and in a situation such as this, surely social protocols were superfluous.

“We have not met before, my lord, but I make it a point to be aware of those peers willing to use their seats in Parliament to effect some good.”

Alexander acknowledged the man’s compliment with a chagrined look. “You have not witnessed that today, I fear.”

“Perhaps not. But I have no doubt you will do all in your power to honor Miss Brown’s last wish.”

Alexander nodded and then grimaced.

“Your head?” the doctor guessed. “I failed to ask if you were hurt during the accident. Is that your only injury?”

“Yes. It seems to think it was meant to be a drum, but I imagine it will return to being a properly functioning head before too long.”

“Rest is your greatest ally, my lord.”

“I daresay,” Alexander said. He glanced at the string escaping his fingers. “Although not high on my priorities at the moment.”

The doctor’s expression showed concern. “And yet it likely should be.” His gaze shifted to something over Alexander’s shoulder. “The magistrate has left the fishmonger with the hackney driver and is coming to speak with us. If you are willing to accept my professional opinion, I would suggest that you defer your conversation with him, along with your search for the boy, until tomorrow. Both would benefit from your feeling more yourself.”

It was hard to argue with a man of Dr. Thorndike’s renown, especially when it was becoming more and more difficult to ignore the pain in his head.

“There’s been a death, I hear.” The magistrate’s booming voice sounded in Alexander’s ear, and he winced at the man’s dispassionate statement. “Most unfortunate, I must say.” The portly gentleman tugged his coat straight and offered Alexander a deferential nod before moving closer to the shawl-covered body. His jowls hung low as he flicked back the corner of her shawl and peered at Miss Brown’s inert form. “Do we have a name?”

“According to one of the onlookers, her name is Mary Brown, Mr.—?” Alexander gave the man a questioning look.

“Hounslow.” The magistrate puffed up his chest slightly. “Bartholomew Hounslow.”

“Mr. Hounslow”—Alexander inclined his head to acknowledge the introduction—“I am Lord Bloxley, and this is Dr. Jacob Thorndike.”

The magistrate took a half step back at the mention of Alexander’s title, looking suddenly a little less sure of himself. “Honored to make your acquaintance, my lord.” He bowed his head again, this time a little lower. “Dr. Thorndike.”

“Lord Bloxley was in the hackney when the accident occurred,” Dr. Thorndike said. “Although his first concern was for Miss Brown, he has sustained a serious head injury, and as a physician, I would request that you limit your questioning at this time and allow him to return to his residence to recover.”

Alexander was unused to having anyone else make demands, suggestions, or anything of the like on his behalf, but the doctor was doing such a fine job that he saw no need to intervene.

“Of course. Of course.” The magistrate’s heavy cheeks floated up and down as he puffed out air. “Where were you headed when the accident occurred, my lord?”

“To my residence,” Alexander said. “Claremont House on Park Street.”

“Of course.”

It seemed to Alexander that Mr. Hounslow’s choice of vocabulary was somewhat lacking. He hoped it was not a reflection of his intelligence. “The driver picked me up outside White’s.”

“Yes. Of c—”

“Other than that, there is little I can tell you,” Alexander said, cutting off his empty expression. “I was unaware of Miss Brown’s presence in the road until the accident had already occurred.”

The magistrate turned to view the shadowy corner behind him. “It’s a bad stretch of road, this. Drivers won’t take the time to slow their horses, even though they can’t see what’s comin’ round the bend.” He rubbed his chin. “The fishmonger said she was crossin’ the street when the carriage came.”

Alexander closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. How could he feel so numb while experiencing such pain? One minute he’d been leaving his club, focused on little more than returning to Claremont House in time for his mother’s musical evening, the next he was kneeling in the dirt with a hammering ache in his head, promising the impossible to a dying woman. And now the poor flower seller was gone, her life snuffed out in an instant. If he could only think clearly, perhaps he could make sense of it all.

“You know where to find the earl should you need him?” Dr. Thorndike was speaking to the magistrate.

“Yes, sir,” Mr. Hounslow said.