Page 64 of What Cannot Be Said

“I heard it from two different people. You’re saying it is true—the abigail is dead?”

He nodded. “Someone tried to grab Arabella, and the abigail was killed when she tried to stop him.”

“Dear God,” whispered Hero. “The poor young woman. And Arabella must be beyond traumatized.”

Sebastian pushed away from the mantel. “Surely the killer must realize by now that if those two children knew anything that could possibly help identify him, the information would already be in the hands of Bow Street. So why does he keep targeting them? Out of revenge, because of something he imagines Laura and all three children did to him and must be made to pay for? Because for some unknown reason he has a vendetta against the entire extended family? Or is it something else? Something I can’t even begin to fathom?”

“Could Arabella describe him?”

“As much as possible, given his mask. He sounds like the same man who attacked Percy on Wednesday. Tall, slim, young, very dark.”

Her lips parted as she drew a deep breath. “With that kind of a description, I’m surprised Bow Street hasn’t already moved to arrest Damion Pitcairn.”

“They probably would have—if they knew he was in any way involved with Emma. Although personally I can’t believe it of him. Apart from anything else, it’s all too clumsy by half for a man of his talents and intelligence.”

“So the man in the park is a hireling?”

“Presumably. Although, if true, it’s odd that the fellow is so well-dressed.”

“Well, anyone who looked like a footpad wouldn’t be allowed in the park, would he?”

“There is that,” he acknowledged. “And one of the men who attacked me the other night was dressed respectably.”

“What about Major Finch?” said Hero. “He’s dark haired, of above-average height, and well-dressed. And his skin has been darkened by his years on campaign. I know he’s not as young as Pitcairn, but I don’t think even Percy and Arabella would describe him as ‘old.’ ”

“As it happens, I was with Finch at the time of the attack.”

“Ah. Well, that’s lucky for the Major.”

“And perhaps a miscalculation on the killer’s part.”

Hero was silent for a moment. “You think someone is deliberately trying to set up either Pitcairn or Finch to take the blame for the deaths out at Richmond Park?”

“I certainly see it as a possibility.” He took a slow, deep swallow of his brandy. “But I’ll be damned if I can understand how that poor little chocolatier’s apprentice fits into any of this.”

“Until today, I half suspected her killing had nothing to do with what happened to Laura and Emma at all. But now—” She broke off as a knock sounded at the front door.

They heard voices, and a moment later Morey appeared at the entrance to the library. “I beg your pardon, but young Master Percy Priestly is here to see you, my lord. The lad is quite alone,” he added with emphasis.

Sebastian met his majordomo’s eye and gave a slow, meaningful nod. “Show him in. You know what to do after that.”

Percy came scooting into the room, his slightly crumpled hat clutched before him in both hands, one knee of his nankeens torn and dirty as if he’d taken a tumble, the expression on his face one of excitement at war with niggling apprehension. “I say, thank you awfully for agreeing to see me, my lord.” His head jerked around as he became aware of Hero, who had quietly gone to stand by the open windows overlooking the street. “Oh! And your ladyship, too,” he added apologetically, giving her a schoolboy’s bow. “I hope you don’t mind me intruding on you like this.”

“Not at all, Percy,” she said with a smile. “What brings you to see us today?”

The boy shifted his gaze back to Sebastian, dug the toe of one shoe into the carpet, and swallowed. “I guess I should tell you, right off, in case you’re wondering, sir, that Father doesn’t know I’m here.”

“I did rather suspect that.”

Percy’s irrepressible grin peeked. “I know he’s only trying to protect me, but the thing is, you see, I don’t want to be protected. This is the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me in my life, and it’s such an amazing opportunity. I’ve always been interested in murders, you know. There was a time I thought I’d like to grow up to be a Bow Street Runner. Except then my brother, Duncan—he’s such a stuffed shirt!—he said viscounts’ sons can’t be runners. And while I’m not convinced that’s true, I’m now thinking it would be much more grand to grow up to be like you. Jacob—he’s my groom, you know—he’s got a brother named Eddie who’s a Bow Street Runner, and he’s told me about all of your investigations, everything from the lady who was found floating out at Camlet Moat to those new Ratcliff Highway murders last year. Seems to me you get all the excitement of investigating murders but you don’t have to wear scruffy clothes—unless you’re going somewhere in disguise, of course—and you get to drive your curricle and that bang-up pair of chestnuts, and you don’t have to do what some magistrate or Home Secretary tells you to do, or anything.”

Sebastian exchanged a quick look with Hero, then was careful not to glance her way again. “Well, that certainly is one possibility for your future. But tell me this: What brings you here today?”

Percy’s brows drew together in a dark frown. “After what happened to Arabella in the park today, Papa says we’re not allowed to go anywhere anymore. And as soon as Aunt Laura and Emma are buried, he wants to leave for Priestly Priory and stay there until whoever’s doing this is caught.”

“I should think you’d enjoy the Priory at this time of year.”

“Oh, the Priory is grand, sure enough. But it’s nothing near as exciting as this.”

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