Page 7 of Taken to the Grave
Audrey’s stomach cinched tight as she and Hugh exchanged a well-worn look. Her penchant for coming upon dead bodies was a regular source of banter between them, and the way he squinted at her now showed his exasperation.
“I am Viscount Neatham, a former principal officer at Bow Street,” he told the worker, who straightened a bit. “I will have a look, if you don’t object.”
The man hesitated, as if he did want to object, but under Hugh’s practiced stare, he crumbled. “This way, milord.”
He led Hugh behind the edge of the screen. Thornton followed, and Audrey stepped forward, too. But a small, gloved hand grasped her arm. “Where are you going?” Cassie hissed.
“Stay here with Sir and Ruth,” Audrey said, knowing she had but a moment before the worker returned to his post and tried to block her from entering.
She peeled her arm free from Cassie’s clutching grip and slipped behind the screen. The staging for the Cascade loomed before her, and in the shade from the screen and the surrounding trees, it appeared as it truly was—a hulking mechanism—rather than a magical vision.
“I’m sorry, milady,” the worker said as he was returning to his post. “It isn’t decent.”
Having no intention of turning around, she gave him an indulgent grin. “Thank you for your concern, but I won’t swoon. There is, however, a young lady out there who looks about to.”
She said a silent apology to Cassie for the small lie, but when the young man hurried past her to check on the fainting lady, she pressed forward, toward the collection of men near the base of the Cascade. Hugh saw her approach and arched a brow. But he said nothing as another Vauxhall employee crouched to pull back the red coat he’d shed to use as a cover for the body.
The first thing Audrey saw was the blood. A gaping wound on the side of the man’s head made no sense until she realized it was where an ear should have been. It was now gone. Removed? Her stomach churned, but she refused to cower. Bruises riddled the side of the man’s face that was visible, and another red gash looked to have been drawn across his neck. The man’s throat had been cut.
“Bloody hell,” Hugh cursed as he crouched next to the body. “No, no, no,” he continued to mutter. He whisked off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair.
Audrey stepped closer to him, her skin prickling with concern. “Do you know this man?”
“Yes.” His voice was barely a rasp. “This is Harlan Givens.”
The name was not familiar to her. Just then, someone appeared at her shoulder. Sir stared down at the man, his eyes like saucers. All color leeched from his face.
“Father?” Sir whispered.
Hugh quickly covered the man with the coat again and straightened his legs. “Sir?—”
But the boy staggered away and ran. He darted fast, into the trees.
“Thornton,” Hugh said, and with the single word, his friend hurried off after the boy.
Audrey’s skin flashed over with gooseflesh as she stared at the covered form. “This man is Sir’sfather?”
Hugh swore under his breath. “Yes. And he’s most certainly been murdered.”
Chapter
Three
Even after just one year away from Bow Street, the cold, cavernous gap separating Hugh from Bow Street Officers Tyne and Stevens when they arrived at the Cascade was unmistakable. He stood apart from the two men as they spoke to the four workers that had been with the body when Hugh and Audrey had entered behind the obscuring screen. Daylight had faded, and numerous lamps had been lit to illuminate the base of the Cascade. As word spread throughout the pleasure gardens of the body’s discovery, the crowds on the other side of the screen had more than doubled. The cumulative voices had risen to a near cacophony as Hugh and Audrey had waited, choosing to stay with the body of Harlan Givens.
Shortly after Sir had run off, and Thornton had given chase, Audrey asked Cassie and her maid to set out to search the grounds as well. She’d then whispered in Hugh’s ear a suggestion that he distract the workers. He’d known her intention, and even though a rock still sat in the pit of his stomach as he thought of what Sir had just seen, he’d gotten to work.
After drawing the four Vauxhall workers into a line for a discussion of the particulars regarding how and when the bodyhad been found, making sure to angle them away from the body itself, Audrey had crouched beside Givens. As Hugh collected information, such as who had found the body (a lamplighter in charge of checking the gas jets for the evening’s performance), when it had been found (just minutes before six o’clock), and whether any of them knew who Harlan Givens was or if they had seen him before at the pleasure gardens (a uniformnofrom all), she had hunched near the dead man’s form. The distraction only lasted a minute or two. One of the workers threw a glance over his shoulder and spotted her.
“What’s that in your hand, milady?” he’d asked.
When Audrey straightened up, she held a silver object in her ungloved hand. “This was sticking out of his pocket,” she’d said. “Perhaps he’d been drinking and then fell from the bridge?” She’d pointed to the bridge high above, spanning the scene’s waterfall.
Hugh suspected how much it pained her to sound so obtuse, but there were no other viable excuses for being found holding Harlan Givens’s flask.
The worker took it from her hand and placed it onto the ground, next to the body. Hugh noted the lack of blood pooled around it. A sliced throat would have made more of a mess, but there wasn’t much of anything near the body. He inferred that he’d been killed elsewhere and brought here, then.
“I doubt he fell. He’s lost his ear, you see. That’s the third one this month.”
