Page 49 of Murder at the Seven Dials
Hugh considered his words carefully. The theory he’d been struck with in the duchess’s carriage was just that—a theory. But a strong and promising one.
“See if there are any rumors of men meeting other men at Jewell House.”
They passed under the light of a lamppost, and Sir’s expression pinched. “You mean like a molly house?”
Hugh slowed Sir’s step with a hand on his bony shoulder. “I don’t know if that’s what Jewell House is known for but be discreet. Not a word about the murder or the lord who was arrested.”
Understanding lit Sir’s eyes. He touched the side of his nose and bounded away, swiftly becoming another shadow in the night.
ChapterThirteen
The Theatre Royal, Drury Lane appeared a bit shabbier by the light of day. The façade needed a good scrubbing, especially near the sconces where soot blackened the limestone, and trash—crumbled playbills, broken glass bottles, a lady’s black glove—littered the street. The red silk tapestries that hung from the side of the building gave off a rich, lustrous quality at night, gleaming in the light cast from lampposts, but the weak early morning sunshine showed they were in fact thin and bleached to a salmon color.
Audrey waited for Carrigan to stop the carriage and open the door for her, her stomach in twists. Hugh Marsden had said he would meet her there, and with mounting concern, she realized she did not dread his presence. In fact, if she were being honest, she would have preferred it. The last time she’d been in the backrooms and corridors of the theatre she’d been completely out of her element; having him at her side had given her a sense of steadiness…even if he’d been an arrogant cad. Now, after his sobering reminder that the real murderer was still loose, a chill tracked up and down her spine when she considered entering the theatre alone.
Whether or not Mr. Marsden could be trusted remained to be seen. His reputation as a Bow Street officer was on the line with this case; he couldn’t possibly wish to be known as the man who’d arrested an innocent duke. However, his evident insult the evening before, when she’d accused him of only wanting what was best for himself, lingered in her mind. His honor did seem to mean something to him.
It was likely why he’d accepted the challenge for a duel from the newly titled Lord Neatham after Mr. Marsden was accused of ruining his sister—Mr. Marsden’s own half-sister, if the rumor of his status as a by-blow was correct. It sickened her to think of it. It would be the height of dishonor and depravity. Had he been guilty? Why else would the young woman have fled England, draped in shame?
Carrigan swung open the door and helped her to the curb. “The Runner’s here,” he said in his gruff tenor, cutting his eyes toward the opposite side of the street. Audrey released a breath, which was immediately followed by another twist of her stomach, this one quite different. It intensified as Hugh Marsden came around the rear of her carriage, his hands in his pockets. He wore a gray morning coat, black trousers and waistcoat, and a curiously well-tied cravat.
He and Carrigan exchanged a terse glance, and then the driver turned to Audrey. She read his expression easily; he was wary about this visit, and about her entering the theatre with Mr. Marsden. Society gossip wasn’t just for the lords and ladies; if anything, the servant class ran wild with more gossip than their employers. Carrigan glowered at Mr. Marsden as though he knew the scandal that the officer dragged behind him.
Audrey touched Carrigan’s meaty forearm to relay confidence. “I’ll return shortly.”
He only grunted, and she started toward the theatre’s front doors. Marsden fell into step beside her.
“He’s not fond of me,” he murmured.
“It is my endeavor he isn’t fond of,” she replied, then added, “Though I’m sure he also doesn’t like you.”
“Not many people do,” he conceded. “This way.”
He broke from the direction of the front doors and veered toward the side of the building.
“Where are you going?”
“The theatre is locked, but an alley door is open.”
Audrey increased her pace to keep up with his long strides. “You arrived early.”
“I like to be prepared.”
“Is that why you’ve been having me followed?” Audrey had seen the tall, slim man again the night before, cloaked well in the shadows of Curzon Street. She’d put out her light and peeled back the window drape, curious to see if Mr. Marsden had stayed to be sure she didn’t leave for the theatre right then. Admittedly, she’d considered it.
She wouldn’t have seen the man had a passing cab’s lantern not shaken light over him. He’d tried to slip behind a tree but too late.
“That has more to do with staying informed,” he replied lightly. “Don’t worry about the boy. Sir knows to keep his distance. Besides, he’s useful.”
They entered the alley and the stench of refuse and rotting food tickled her nostrils. “Boy? This was a man.”
Mr. Marsden drew to a halt. His pressing stare ground her heels to a stop as well. “When was this?”
“Last night.” Unease lifted the small hairs on her arms. “Shortly after you left.”
“This person was standing outside Violet House?”
Her breathing slowed. “Yes. And the night before too.”
