Page 55 of Who Cries for the Lost

Sebastian saw the big man’s eyes widen, his features going slack with surprise as he staggered back. Jerking the knife free, Sebastian spun around just as the Frenchman pushed away from the shop wall and charged.

“You son of a bitch,” swore Sebastian, slashing his knife’s sharp blade across the other man’s throat.

Without even waiting to see the man fall, Sebastian turned again to confront the hackney driver. But the jarvey was already whipping his horses, the carriage wheels rattling over the uneven paving stones as the hackney lumbered off.

The overgrown oaf was still on his feet, swaying. But as Sebastian watched, he took one step, two, after the departing hackney. Then, slowly, the big man sank to his knees, his mouth gaping open, one hand reaching out toward Sebastian before he pitched forward onto his face and didn’t move.

Sebastian turned back to where the Frenchman lay crumpled and still on the pavement. He realized the boy washing the greengrocer’s window had disappeared, while the housemaid and turbaned older woman were both screaming. Brushing one crooked elbow across his dripping face, Sebastian leaned back against the nearby shop wall and took a deep, shuddering breath.

“It’s not a sight one sees often on Oxford Street,” said Sir Henry Lovejoy, his chin sunk against his chest as he stared down at the two dead men sprawled at his feet, their blood splashed up on the shop wall, across the pavement, and into the street. “What an extraordinary amount of blood.”

“Yes,” said Sebastian.

Lovejoy looked over at him. “You’re not hurt?”

“No.”

“Phenomenal. You’re covered in blood.”

Sebastian dragged a splayed hand down over the splatters on his face, but he suspected it didn’t do any good. “Sorry. I didn’t have time to be neat about it.”

“No, of course not. Any idea as to who the men might be?”

Sebastian shook his head. “They’re the same two who jumped me in St. Giles earlier in the week, but I can’t say with any certainty exactly who they’re working for.”

“And you say the jarvey was in on it?”

“Little doubt about that.”

Lovejoy’s lips tightened. “I’ll give the lads your description of the hackney. If we can find it, the jarvey may be able to tell us something.”

“Maybe,” said Sebastian, although he doubted it. Professional assassins like Gabriel rarely left potential loose links alive.

Sebastian arrived back at Brook Street sometime later to find Aunt Henrietta’s ponderous landau drawn up at the kerb and the Dowager Duchess of Claiborne herself, magnificently gowned in purple satin with a towering puce-and-purple turban, just descending the front steps.

“Merciful heavens,” said the Dowager, groping for her quizzing glass as she looked him up and down. “Are you all right? What on earth has happened? Is all that blood yours?”

“None of it, actually.” Sebastian swiped one crooked arm again, uselessly, at the blood on his face. “Won’t you come in? Have a cup of tea?”

“I will come in for a moment, for what I have to tell you cannot be discussed on the doorstep,” she said, following him into the library. “But I’ve already had tea with Hero, thank you, and mustn’t stay.”

“Please, have a seat.”

She sank into one of the chairs beside the empty hearth. “This won’t take long. You’ll remember my telling you there was some sordid rumor about Miles Sedgewick from several years ago—something I couldn’t quite recall?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it came back to me when I saw Lady Brownfield at a rather boring soirée I attended last night. Her sister was Jane Stamford, you know—the current Marquis’s first wife. Now, do keep in mind that I have no idea how much of this is true, but the on-dit some seven years ago was that Miles seduced his brother’s wife.”

Sebastian stared at her. “He did?”

“Who knows? But there was definitely a rift between the brothers, complete with a most vulgar public quarrel. Then Stamford bought his brother a pair of colors and sent him off to war. And I have it on excellent authority that Stamford was heard to say that if he were lucky, Miles would somehow contrive to get himself killed.”

“Charming,” said Sebastian.

“I did say the entire family has always been a bit ‘off,’ did I not?” She paused, then added, “It was perhaps two months later that Lady Stamford died.”

“How?”

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