Page 55 of Murder at the Seven Dials
“I believe you.”
The actor seemed to lose his fury and stumbled back. “Why would someone do him in?”
It might not have anything to do with the letter Miss Lovejoy had received the night of her murder, but Hugh couldn’t rule it out.
“I don’t know. But if you think of anything, send word to me at Bow Street. I’ll see myself out,” Hugh said.
Porter sniffed and kept his head down. “The lady was right, then. The murderer can’t be the toff you arrested now, can it?”
Hugh held still, the brass knob of the door cold in his palm. Admitting the duchess was right, even to someone as inconsequential as a stage actor, churned his gut.
“Thank you for your time,” was all he said before closing the door behind him.
A stone tossed about in the pit of his stomach as he hailed a cab.
There was a push and pull happening within him, an undercurrent of unease. Following the duchess as she blazed ahead in her investigation was not only revealing his own mistakes with the arrest of Fournier, but also peeling back the scabs that had for so long formed a thick layer over an open wound. Every layer was a month, a season, a year he’d spent with his back turned on his past life. Now, the crust he’d built over that open wound was thinning. Self-preservation screamed at him to stop, to forget the duke and the duchess, to take the next assignment and move ever onward.
But at the same time, he couldn’t possibly leave Audrey Sinclair to do as she pleased on her mission. Even after seeing Bernadetto’s mutilated body, and then swooning at the horror of it, she had refused to back down. She was either absurdly brave, or asinine. Perhaps a bit of both. Either way, the danger was evident and seemed to be deepening with every passing day. A hot swell of agitation roiled inside him when he imagined what might have happened if she had gone to the theatre alone that morning…
The urge to go to Curzon Street and see if the duchess was there was both keen and grating. No, she would not stop. And because he would not have the death of the duchess on his conscience, Hugh would not either. Not even if it ended in his own self-destruction.
ChapterFifteen
There were many things Audrey envied about her sister-in-law, Lady Geneva Herrick: her beauty, elegance, kindness, and more recently, the fact that her husband was not being held for a gruesome murder. However, when Genie arrived minutes before Audrey was about to leave for a visit to the Brown Bear, she started to envy the woman’s cunning as well.
“Come with me,” Genie said the moment she entered the morning room at Violet House.
Audrey had been waiting for her carriage to be brought around and for a basket of food collected by their cook for Philip when Barton had allowed Genie inside.
“Go with you where?” Audrey asked, momentarily confused. “I’m on my way to Bow Street—”
She came forward and gripped Audrey’s forearms lightly. “This is more important.”
After an initial moment of astonishment, Audrey sighed and pulled free of Genie’s hands. “I haven’t seen him in two days.”
Though missing her husband wasn’t the only reason she was eager to visit the guarded upstairs tavern room. The theatre manager’s murder had been widely reported in the evening papers the day before, but Philip might not yet have learned of it. If he knew that another person had been killed, if he had any ideawhy, perhaps he would finally speak.
All day yesterday, Audrey had paced the many rooms at Violet House. She had insisted to Mr. Marsden that she wasn’t afraid, but even after a hot bath and a dram of whisky, images of Mr. Bernadetto’s body had stayed in the forefront of her mind. He was right there whenever she closed her eyes, and the wretched gurgling of his last breaths all too clear in her memory. How long would it take to forget?
“Michael was there yesterday. He says he’s refusing to see anyone,” Genie said gently.
Audrey grimaced and perched on a silk damask sofa. “He’ll see me.”
Genie followed her to the sofa and rested her lace-gloved hand on Audrey’s knee. “I can’t even imagine how horrible and terrifying this all is for you, but you’ll be of no use at Bow Street. However, if you come with me, you just might accomplish something to help Philip.”
Audrey turned to Genie, her interest sharpened. “Where are you going?”
She grinned. “A benefit luncheon—hosted by none other than Lady Wimbly.”
A few days ago, Audrey would have leaped at the chance. But now, her interest dulled, and her shoulders rounded. “I’ve already spoken to Lord Wimbly.”
“What?” Dismay flooded Genie’s smug expression. “When?”
Admitting she went to a gaming hell and known opium den was completely out of the question. Neither did her brother- and sister-in-law need to know that she had been with Officer Marsden the morning before when he came upon the grisly scene at the theatre. There had been no mention of her name in theTimesor any other publication, so Audrey was inclined to believe that Mr. Marsden had been determined to conceal her involvement—and perhaps even paid off the two street patrols that had certainly seen her.
“It doesn’t matter,” Audrey said now. “I’ve learned all there is to know about Wimbly’s relationship with Miss Lovejoy.”
Any hope that he would know more about the singer’s murder had fizzled out completely. There was no reason for her to speak to Lady Wimbly now.
