Page 48 of Taken to the Grave
She cast a look back toward the stone arched gate. “Actually, Sir, I don’t think we did.”
Chapter
Fifteen
Pain seared Hugh’s scalp as the cloth came down onto the gash there. He winced and swore and ripped the alcohol-soaked cloth from Thornton’s hand.
“I can do this part myself,” Hugh said, carefully dabbing the back of his head, where his friend had just placed four sutures with far too much enthusiasm. Had Hugh been able to stitch up the gash he’d received at the Red Lotus himself, he would have done so. However, Thornton had been all too happy to assist.
“That lip could use a suture as well.”
“It is fine,” Hugh grumbled. He hadn’t even realized his lip had been split in the fisticuffs until he was on his way to Thornton House.
Thornton stepped away, his hands raised in concession. “Something tells me Audrey won’t think it isfinewhen it comes time in the wedding ceremony to kiss her groom.”
“I will be healed by then,” Hugh replied, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut about her accepting his proposal. Thornton would find any opportunity to rib him now.
The physician rolled down his sleeves. “Not rushing to use that special license, I see.”
“Finishing up this case first.” Hugh pulled away the cloth and sighed at the blood there.
“And things look to be going so well,” his friend said dryly.
Hugh lobbed the cloth at him and stood from the table in Thornton’s home surgery. “Thank you for your tender care, but I think I would have received better from Basil.”
Mentioning his valet made him think of Audrey. He wondered where she was now, and if her evening had gone any better than his own. He’d discovered the connection between Stromburg, Madame Lee, and Harlan Givens, and why they might have all been silenced, but there was still no proof of anything.
Hugh reached for his coat, the collar spotted with blood. Basil would have a fit of the vapors when he saw it.
“Can I be of any help?” Thornton asked before Hugh could reach the sliding pocket doors closing off the surgery. By the changed tone of his voice, the offer was genuine, and his apology clear.
Hugh’s muscles ached from exhaustion and from the scuffle he’d been in at the brothel. Bruised and tired, Hugh tossed aside his coat. “You could pour me a drink.”
Thornton did. A generous one, which Hugh forced himself to sip slowly after sitting in one of the club chairs before the hearth.
He’d informed him about the night’s events while Thornton had been sewing up his scalp, along with the discovery of Sir Gabriel’s niece’s body. Though he was in deep with the demimonde and other more risqué areas of society, Thornton had not heard of the Sanctuary.
He took a seat in the other club chair. “A sex society where women are only invited if they are willing to sleep with the members. And now, two such women that you know of have been strangled in the act.” Thornton swirled his whisky but looked too ill to sip it. “It makes me see red.”
“And those who speak of it have their throats cut and ears lopped off,” Hugh said, his whole skull throbbing dully.
“Why their ears?” Thornton asked.
Hugh shrugged. “Maybe because they heard things they weren’t supposed to.” He sipped slowly. “Just the left ears, mind you.”
That was important, he knew, and discovering the answer as to why would surely bring him more answers.
Thornton looked away from the flames in the hearth that he and Hugh had been staring absently at. “I’ve read that business is thin for Mr. Gye.”
“He could not expect to keep the discovery of three mutilated bodies a secret from the public forever. One of his workers was bound to feed the story to some rag for his own gain.”
And now, the backlash he’d feared had come to pass.
“Why wait?” Thornton asked, arching a brow.
“How do you mean?”
His friend shrugged. “Why would this anonymous worker wait until the third body turns up? Why not spill to the papers after the discovery of the first?”
