Page 29 of Murder at the Seven Dials
The faintest of fine lines surrounding Genie’s eyes appeared as she smiled. “You sound far too bitter for your age.”
“I wasn’t before yesterday morning,” she sighed, and Genie’s grin faded. “Thank you, but I think I’ll return to Violet House.”
It would also be better to take her leave before Michael returned from wherever he was—likely with Mr. Potridge and a barrister somewhere, doing whatever they could to release Philip. How smug Mr. Marsden would be to see her scampering home with her tail between her legs.
“You truly believe she was not Philip’s mistress?” Genie asked after they had been closed inside the coach.
Audrey nodded. “Truly.”
“And yet the Bow Street officer does not believe you.”
“He wishes to dismiss me and any possibility at all that Philip is innocent. He’s an arrogant, intractable, offensive man.”
Genie propped one thin brow. “My, he’s made an impression.”
When Audrey thought of the hot-tempered Bow Street officer, she fairly simmered. The cad had dared toblockMiss Lovejoy’s bedroom door as Audrey tried to leave. The outrage of it was still so fresh. As was his clean scent of oakmoss and vanilla. She’d stood close enough to trace it on the warm air between them. It had left her with a strange dizziness and racing pulse.
“What is this horrible officer’s name?” Genie asked.
Audrey gritted her teeth. “Mr. Marsden.”
Her sister-in-law sat taller. “Marsden?”
The note of surprise piqued Audrey’s attention. “Is the name familiar?”
She had no idea how it could be. Genie might come from reduced circumstances, but she was as blue-blooded as any other aristocrat, and they most certainly did not rub elbows with Bow Street Runners—unless absolutely necessary.
“It’s been some time since I last heard it, but yes. I don’t know why Michael didn’t mention he was the arresting officer. I’d completely forgotten about him...” Genie looked stunned as she tapped her fingers upon her lap, in thought.
Audrey leaned forward, suddenly furious with herself. Of course! The other night at the Brown Bear, Michael had said something to Mr. Marsden, that he’d known who he was. “How do you know of him?” she asked Genie now.
Disbelief filled her sister-in-law’s eyes. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the scandal? I know you’re no gossip, but there was no avoiding the talk when it all took place. It must have been, oh…let me see…five or six years ago? Yes, I was just about your age now, I recall.”
Six years ago, Audrey had been in Northumberland, confined to a small, dark room during the night and subjected to rigorous, endless fresh air activities during the day. Ice cold baths twice a week, and a regular application of leeches to her temples once a month—to draw out the demonic possession from which Audrey’s uncle and mother insisted plagued her.
“I was traveling the Continent with my aunt,” she whispered. The old lie had been unused for so long that it felt flimsy and fake on her tongue. Genie only nodded.
“Still, I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it when you returned. Lord Neatham, the Viscount Neatham? You must know what happened to him.”
A rumble of dread scaled her spine and shivered out, under her skin. It flashed from cold to searing, then back again.
“He was shot. In a duel,” Audrey said, knowing, but not reallyremembering. For as long as she could recall, the Viscount Neatham had had one functioning arm, while the other hung immobile and useless at his side. “It had something to do with his sister.”
A young woman Audrey had never met, and never would. The lady had fled London in a cloud of disgrace. She’d gone to America, some said. Others said France. By the time Audrey had returned to London herself, the scandal had been old news. More scandals occurred and the story was left behind, in the past.
“Ruined,” Genie whispered. “By the late viscount’s own ward. A young man living in his home.”
An icy finger stroked the nape of Audrey’s neck. “You don’t mean…?”
Genie nodded once. “Mr. Hugh Marsden.”
ChapterEight
The leaden sky hung low and threatening the following day as Hugh approached St. Giles-in-the-Fields. It had been a little over forty-eight hours since Miss Lovejoy had been found inside Jewell House, a few blocks over at the Seven Dials, and though her death was unquestionably murder, proper legal proceedings had to be maintained. The coroner’s inquest to be held that morning at the church would be nothing short of ritual and being the officer to find the body and make the arrest, Hugh had been called to attend. He and a dozen other men would be present for the formal inquest, where the coroner, Dr. Oppler, would inspect the body, listen to witnesses, and make his pronouncement regarding the manner of death.
It would be a waste of an hour. As Hugh hurried past the west end of the church, built of blocky Portland stone, and toward the smaller brick vestry house, he thought of the numerous other matters to see to, including what to do about the Marquess of Wimbly—the owner of the home in which Miss Lovejoy had been residing.
Bloody hell.
