Page 25 of A Devil in Silk
“The medium wrote that Miss Dalton seemed fragile when they met at the museum three days ago.” The inspector handed Mr Daventry the evidence for him to peruse. “Do you recall what you spoke about?”
Clara frowned. “Fragile? I met Miss Nightshade for the first time last night.” Had the medium assumed that being broken on the outside meant the cracks ran deep? Was Clara’s inner sorrow as plain as a branding mark?
Mr Daventry and the inspector shared a curious look.
“You were at the museum?” Inspector Mercer asked.
“At the British Museum, yes.” Conducting research for her list. “I passed pleasantries with a few people but went alone.”
Though she had promised to remain silent, Signora Conti said, “You want the truth. Look for the ripped pages. They will lead you to the real devil. Miss Dalton, she has suffered enough.”
Inspector Mercer’s gaze drifted to Clara’s blue eye patch. “You’re free to return home for the time being, Miss Dalton. Mr Daventry has agreed to act as surety while we gather more evidence.”
Clara released the breath she had been holding since the inspector knocked on her door this morning. “Will Mr Daventry be overseeing the investigation?” She would sleep easier knowing that were the case.
The inspector bristled. “We’ve agreed to work together to resolve the matter quickly. I ask that you remain in town until our enquiries are complete.”
“How long will that be?” She needed to leave London before Lord Rutland’s betrothal ball. She hoped never to see him again after that. Hoped these strange feelings dwindled and died.
Mr Daventry answered. “There were twelve people there that night, including Tarrington and Silas Scarth, who, as you know, is missing. But I’m confident we’ll have the villain in custody within the fortnight, if not sooner.”
“Is there anything we can do to help?” Lord Rutland said.
Clara felt the quiet pressure of his hands on the rail of her chair, the nearness unsettling, like a sudden thrum beneath her skin.
Inspector Mercer shook his head slowly. “Best leave this to the police, my lord. As you’re both suspects and witnesses, I wouldn’t want it said we’re biased. No. We’ll call on you when the time’s right.”
Everyone but the inspector left the office and gathered outside on the pavement. The midday sun shone brightly, but Clara’s thoughts were dark, tangled in the mystery that seemed to revolve around her.
Why was hers the only name left in Miss Nightshade’s journal?
Was someone trying to make her the scapegoat?
Lord Rutland turned to her. “I came with the inspector, but Rothley has agreed to take us all home.”
She sensed he wanted to speak privately, but she had enough troubles without battling her growing attraction to him. She had agreed to one outing, one that ended in disaster. There would be no more.
What about The Lantern Ring?her heart whispered.
Those stolen hours had been magical. A dream she would revisit when the chill of loneliness crept into her bones. But the memory was dangerous. A temptation she dared not feed when her future demanded cold resolve.
Thankfully, Mr Daventry insisted on escorting Clara, Olivia, and Signora Conti home, and they gratefully accepted. After brief farewells, the marquess and the viscount watched in silence as the carriage pulled away.
“There’s no need to take Miss Woolf home,” Clara informed him. “She’s spending the afternoon with me in Bedford Square.”
Mr Daventry nodded and exchanged the usual pleasantries, then gestured for Clara to remain in the carriage when they reached the house.
Once they were alone, his tone shifted. “I know what the inspector said, but it wouldn’t hurt to make a few discreet enquiries yourself.” He passed her a folded piece of paper. “Mr Scarth’s last known abode and the names of everyone in attendance last night.”
She looked at him, shock giving way to fear, then something close to excitement. “You want me to investigate Miss Nightshade’s death?” Such a task would focus her mind, settle these strange emotions.
“I’m sure you would rather not sit idly while someone tries to frame you for murder,” he added. “Why not seek answers and report your findings to me?”
“Will it not be dangerous?” she asked, though mentally added the task to her list of daring adventures. “And I assumed, based on the serious nature of the crime, you would send for my brother.”
“The marquess agreed there was little point dragging your brother back to town when his friends can handle matters. If they charge you, that would be a different affair.”
“Charge me?” She struggled to swallow. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”
