Page 15 of A Devil in Silk
Lord Tarrington stared at the shrouded body, but seemed more distraught at the thought of lost ticket sales. “Are you certain Lavinia is dead?” he asked the constable a third time, desperation clinging to every strained syllable. “What if she’s possessed by a spirit and trapped in a trance? What the devil am I supposed to do about the bookings?”
The constable gave a weary sigh. “The doctor thinks it’s poison, my lord. But we’ll wait for the coroner to arrive and conduct an inquest. He’ll be with us shortly. He’s just finishing up with a drowning victim found near Blackfriars.”
Bentley turned his attention to Miss Dalton as she thrust her black reticule at the sergeant. “By all means, look in my bag. I have no pockets, but you’re welcome to inspect my cloak.”
“I will need to check, ma’am.”
She opened her cloak without hesitation, but Bentley stepped forward, intercepting the sergeant with a scowl. “For heaven’s sake. Allow me to search her while you watch.”
The fellow moved aside but kept his hawk eyes fixed on them.
Bentley approached, his movements measured. He brushed back the edge of Miss Dalton’s cloak, his fingers grazing the heavy fabric. Their eyes met for a heartbeat too long, a look he usually avoided. Yet it made his chest tighten and his pulse race harder than a stiff brandy on an empty stomach, though he had no right to want what duty forbade.
He set his mind to the task. There were no hidden pockets. No false seams. No flask or vial, nothing to raise suspicion.
Bentley stepped back, forcing himself to look anywhere but at her mouth or the delicate line of her throat, annoyed with himself for noticing. “As the lady confirmed, she has no pockets.”
The sergeant shifted his stance. “I’ll need to make sure you’re not hiding anything beneath your skirts, ma’am. The doctor is certain someone added poison to the wine. A person could easily conceal a small vial behind a garter.”
Miss Dalton stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”
Bentley clenched his jaw. “You’ll not lay a hand on her person.”
“No, not me, my lord,” the sergeant said with a hint of apology. “I’ll send for a matron. It’s procedure in cases like these.”
Miss Dalton lifted her chin. “We’ve been here for hours already. I’ll not wait for a matron.”
Sergeant Brown nodded towards the stairs. “Perhaps one of the ladies being questioned might help. Someone of good reputation, to preserve propriety.”
“You mean the ladies who think I killed the medium just because I wear an eye patch? One of them might produce the vial they’ve been hiding and claim they found it tucked in the top of my stocking.”
“Then it will have to be a matron,” Sergeant Brown said. “Or we can return to the station-house and conduct the examination under supervision.”
“I shall save you the trouble.” Miss Dalton sounded defiant. “I shall hike my skirts and remove my stockings here.”
Bentley stared at her, stunned. “Here? I don’t think?—”
“I’ve done nothing wrong. And I’ll not wait another hour just so someone can whisper more lies behind my back. Shall I remove my eye patch, too, sergeant?”
Sergeant Brown cleared his throat. “That won’t be necessary, ma’am, but I will need a witness to confirm you’re not concealing a vial on your person. I’ve asked all the ladies present to do the same.”
To go to such lengths implied a member of the audience had murdered Miss Nightshade. The doctor was right. For the poison to act so swiftly, it must have been added to the wine.
“Hewill act as a witness.” Miss Dalton jabbed her finger at him. “Lord Rutland will watch me remove my stockings, and you can observe from the far corner. He’s a family friend. I’m sure you won’t question the word of a viscount.”
“Me?” Bentley’s throat tightened.
Had the woman taken leave of her senses? What did she want him to do? Kneel and watch her unsheathe her smooth white thighs? He’d rather not answer the sergeant’s questions while nursing a raging cockstand.
“As long as you’re comfortable with his lordship acting in the matron’s stead.” Sergeant Brown asked the constable and Lord Tarrington to leave the basement and wait upstairs. “This will take but a moment.”
Tarrington reminded them he owned the emporium, but the sergeant’s expression brooked no argument. Muttering something about refunds and ruined reputations, Tarrington followed the constable and mounted the stairs, the basement door clicking shut behind them.
A heavy silence followed.
Bentley didn’t move.
Miss Dalton didn’t speak as she removed her black satin shoes.
