An Artless Demise

by Anna Lee Huber

  While donning my hat and gloves, I listened idly as Gage asked the butler for the constable’s direction, and then conferred with Dr. Woods on another point. Shaking the good doctor’s hand after we descended the stairs to the pavement, we parted ways. But instead of assisting me into our conveyance, Gage signaled to the coachman to swing around and follow us down the street.

  “Where are we going?” I questioned him, clinging to his side as my breath fogged in the cold morning air. The city was still cloaked in twilight, sunrise not beginning for another hour.

  “To examine the place where young Newbury was attacked. It’s too bad even the taverns are shuttered at this hour, or else we might have had multiple witnesses in such a location,” he remarked as we passed by an eating house. When I didn’t respond, he looked down at me. “I thought you would be eager to accompany me.” His eyes scoured my features, undoubtedly noting my nose growing red. “Oh, I am bird-witted! It cannot be good for you to be out in such cold.”

  I smiled at his concern. “I am quite well, thank you. I can’t say I enjoy promenading in the freezing cold darkness. And when I’m tottering around, as round as a barrel, I would be very cross at you for such a thing. But just now I’m not complaining.” I arched my chin, staring straight ahead. “Besides, you need my sharp eye.” At just that moment, the wind blew in our direction, and I lifted my hand to cover my face as I caught a whiff of something foul amid the comparatively milder stenches of horses and manure. “And nose.”

  Our steps slowed as we reached the mouth of the stable yard Lord Newbury mentioned. It was little more than a narrow alley which cut between two blocks of houses in the direction of Farm Street. There was a dark stain on the pavement where David Newbury must have lain, and I felt a pang at the evidence. Dr. Woods had good reason not to offer the Newburys false hope. If David survived, it would be a miracle.

  The area around the stain was clear of debris, but I pointed deeper into the shadowy recesses of the yard. “There’s a pool of vomit not far inside,” I remarked, struggling to control my own gag reflex. Thank heavens I hadn’t consumed anything in our haste to reach the Newburys’ townhouse.

  “I wonder if it’s from David Newbury or the killer,” Gage ruminated as he moved forward to confirm my assertions. “If Newbury was slightly boozy, then his casting up his accounts might have afforded the killer an opportunity.”

  I turned my body away from the wind, hoping to block the scent from reaching my nostrils. “That suggests he’d been following David, waiting to strike. But the fact that he was murdered so close to home, just like Feckenham, makes me more inclined to believe he was lying here in wait.”

  “I agree.”

  He spoke much closer behind me than I’d expected, and I jumped.

  He swept his hand toward the ground as he moved in front of me. “Notice, all the gravel and detritus has been swept away so there’s nothing to crunch underfoot.” He gestured over my shoulder. “That alley is pitch black for about fifty feet between these houses until it opens up into the area where the stables extend. It’s the perfect place to hide in wait for someone.” He frowned, propping his hands on his hips. “He certainly wasn’t taking any chances this time.”

  “And yet his thrust was still flawed,” I pointed out, reaching for Gage’s arm to tug him toward our approaching carriage. The coachman slowed, pulling the horses to a stop before us as the footman leaped down to lower the step.

  “Yes, but David Newbury is a rather tall chap, isn’t he?”

  “Over six foot, I should say.”

  Nothing more was said until we were both bundled into the coach and the door shut behind us.

  Gage tucked the lap rug firmly around me. “His great height could account for it.”

  “Whatever the cause, the killer is most definitely an amateur.” A shiver worked through me that had nothing to do with the cold. “Or rather, he was. And he hasn’t a strong stomach for this sort of thing if he vomited either from nerves or after the deed was done. But with each murder, he’s gaining experience. If there is another murder, I would wager his thrust will be true.”

  Neither of us spoke for several minutes, each contemplating the horrific possibility that we had some sort of a lunatic rampaging through Mayfair. Except these killings were more controlled than the raving rush of a fearsome Highlander. They were cold and calculated, and whatever his motive was, I was blind to it.

  Jeffers was waiting for us when we returned, ready to receive our outer layers as if we’d just arrived from an afternoon call and not a predawn investigation.

  “Have breakfast set in a quarter of an hour,” Gage informed him. “And send Miss McEvoy and Anderley to the morning room.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  I half expected our personal servants to already be waiting for us; they’d become so attuned to our whims, especially during an investigation.

  “Did we miss something?” I groused, dropping into one of the bergère chairs. “Should we have predicted this?” I rubbed my fingers over my temple and then slapped my leg in frustration. “We wasted an entire week thinking the motive had only to do with Feckenham. Who knows what we failed to detect?”

  Gage reached over the back of the chair to rub my shoulders. “It is provoking, but let’s not be too hasty to dismiss Feckenham as the cause. Maybe Newbury is a diversion meant to throw us off the killer’s scent.”

  I glanced up at him in startlement, halting his ministrations. “Do you really think so?”

  His eyes clouded. “No, not really.” He began to knead again. “But we must keep our minds open to every possibility. At this point, we don’t know what information is pertinent and what is not. Something we’ve already learned may prove to be useful, or even the key to it all.”

  My head lolled back with a sigh as his hands began to melt some of the tension tightening my frame. “You sound as if you’re trying to convince yourself as much as me.”

  He gave a huff of laughter, lifting his hands from my shoulders. “Maybe I am.”

  There was a rap on the door, followed by the entry of our personal servants. Gage moved to the chair across from me, quickly filling them in on the details of that morning before we addressed anything new.

  “Anderley, I need you to be my eyes and ears at the hearing at Bow Street today.” The faint lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled in displeasure. “I hate to miss it, but this Mayfair investigation must take precedence since the killer is still at large, and we’re only assisting in the Italian Boy inquest.” He passed him the sheet of paper Lord Newbury’s butler had given to him. “I also need you to track down this constable and hear his version of events regarding when he stumbled across Mr. Newbury this morning. I’d particularly like to know whether he encountered anyone on his beat in the hour or so before he found Newbury.”

  He nodded, glancing at the ormolu clock above the mantel. His eyes were surrounded by dark circles, and his shoulders slumped with fatigue, but he didn’t object or complain. “He should be ending his shift soon. I’ll try to catch him before heading to Bow Street.”

  I watched Anderley as he hastened from the room, recognizing the signs of someone who was trying to outrun something. I knew because I had been a master at it. Except you never could outdistance your troubles. They always caught up with you in the end.

  “I’ll chat wi’ the Newburys’ servants. See what I can find oot,” Bree offered.

  “Yes, that would be helpful,” Gage replied. “But I also have a specific task for you.”

  She perked up at this request.

  “I want you to pay a visit to Mount Street, to the stable yard that runs between Numbers 110 and 111. Find out if the grooms have seen anyone suspicious lurking about, anyone who shouldn’t be there. And speak with the gardeners at Number 108. Sir George Philips’s home sits back from Mount Street a bit, and its gardens open onto that stable yard
. Perhaps one of them saw something.”

  “Aye, I can do that. If I take some o’ Mrs. Alcott’s biscuits, I imagine I can get the younger lads to talk easily enough.” She grinned. “And a wink and a smile should do the trick wi’ the rest.”

  “At least someone is deriving some enjoyment from this investigation,” I said, shaking my head as she capered from the room.

  “Should I have sent her on such an errand alone?” Gage mused, his voice tight with concern.

  “Don’t fret over Bree. She may be cheerful and eager for adventure, but she’s no fool. She’ll be circumspect.” I pushed myself upright. “Now, how do you propose we proceed?”

  He rose to his feet, crossing toward me. “Well, first we are going to partake of the excellent breakfast that is no doubt being laid for us.” He helped me from my chair to guide me toward the room across the hall. “And then I think we would both benefit from a short nap.”

  By this, I knew he was implying I would benefit, though he was savvy enough to couch it in more amenable terms. In any case, reluctant as I was to admit it, he was correct. I stifled a yawn. “Then what?”

  “Then I believe we should pay another visit to the Earl of Redditch. Perhaps he or Penrose might know of some connection between Feckenham and David Newbury that Lord Newbury did not.”

  “We should also send a note around to Lord Damien asking him to call again.” I tilted my head to the side in thought as Gage assisted me into my chair at the table. “Though it might be easiest to wait to speak to him at Aunt Cait’s soiree tonight.”

  “I had the same notion.” He settled into his seat across from me. “You might also suggest Bree attend tonight to assist your aunt’s maids in the lady’s retiring room.”

  “That’s an excellent idea,” I replied, much struck by it. “I’m certain Aunt Cait’s staff would welcome the extra pair of hands. Ladies are prone to be somewhat indiscreet with their words while having their hem fixed or hair pinned.”

  “Is that so?”

  I shrugged a single shoulder. “I shouldn’t wonder if all of society’s little mysteries could be solved by eavesdropping on such retiring rooms.”

  “Now, why do I not find that thought comforting?”

  “It’s no different than gentlemen with their port and their cigars. Scratch that. Some gentlemen with their port and their cigars.” Gage had never given up his secrets easily.

  “True. I suppose polite society, in general, is not known for their discretion when it comes to the latest on-dit.”

  Which meant someone should know of a connection between Feckenham and Newbury. We could only hope.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “Young Newbury has been murdered,” Lord Redditch gasped in astonishment. He raked a hand through his silver hair, making it stand on end. This announcement seemed to have shocked him even more than the death of his own son and heir.

  “I suspect it’s only a matter of time before he succumbs to his injuries, my lord,” Gage pronounced.

  We’d arrived to find the earl closeted with his remaining son and secretary. At first, he’d seemed hostile to our making another visit so soon upon the heels of the last. His red face had suggested he was about to deliver us a setdown concerning our suspicions about Penrose and the rest of the family. But Gage’s pronouncement had abruptly taken the wind out of his sails.

  The two younger men had looked rather careworn, the events of the past week evidently having taken their toll, even on overworked Mr. Poole. But now Mr. Penrose appeared deathly pale. What little color had remained in his cheeks had drained from them.

  “I can’t believe it,” he murmured. “I like David. He’s a jolly good chap.”

  “You are acquainted with Mr. Newbury?” I asked, having already guessed he must be through his friendship with Lord Damien.

  “Yes. Same year up at Eton, and all that.”

  “And you believe Newbury was attacked by the same fellow who killed my son?” the earl interjected. The earl waved Mr. Penrose and Mr. Poole from their seats—an action I surmised he’d forbidden them to do upon our arrival, thinking to send us away with a flea in our ears. The secretary complied while his son continued to stare unseeing at the floor.

  “There’s little doubt of it,” Gage confirmed, ushering me toward the chair, where he took up a position behind me.

  The earl pounced on this. “Then my family is cleared of suspicion?”

  “We cannot state anything definitely, but it appears the motive for their murders lays outside your home.”

  He nodded in satisfaction, ignoring the guarded tone of Gage’s voice and latching on to the words he most wanted to hear. “Knew it had to be some unscrupulous scoundrel Feckenham associated with in those gaming hells he frequented.” He frowned. “Though I wouldn’t have thought it of young Newbury.”

  I turned to his younger son. “Mr. Penrose, are you aware of whether Mr. Newbury frequented any gambling establishments?”

  He blinked his eyes to focus on me. “David? No. He’s not a betting man. Though I’m sure he has visited a hell or two at one time or another. We all do.”

  But would Penrose really know if his friend had dipped too deep? There were those who were able to hide it well. Until they couldn’t. Perhaps he’d run afoul of a moneylender.

  How that connected him to Feckenham, I didn’t know, for Feckenham had been rumored to be flush in the pocket, but I would ask Trevor. Maybe he would have a better idea than we did of the signs that Newbury might have found himself at ebb-water.

  “Do you know of any other connection between your brother and Mr. Newbury?” I pressed, searching for some definitive way to link the two victims.

  His brow furrowed in concentration, but after a few moments he shook his head in defeat. “None.” His gaze was stricken. “Except me.”

  None of us commented on this, or the obvious implications. But unless Penrose had minimized his relationship with Newbury, then I couldn’t see how the two victims marked a motive against Penrose himself. Half the young men of the ton must have been acquainted with Newbury, if not more.

  A throat cleared. “Perhaps the attacks were random,” Mr. Poole suggested. He stood tall, though I could read his hesitation to speak in the bobbing of his head. “Perhaps the miscreants were merely seizing an opportunity.”

  “We are considering that possibility as well,” Gage replied. “But given some of the facts of the crimes we are not at liberty to share at the moment, the chances of the victims having been chosen at random are slim.”

  Mr. Poole nodded with dignity.

  “Penrose, you didn’t happen to see Mr. Newbury anytime yesterday evening until early this morning?” Gage asked.

  He shook his head. “No. I was home.”

  “I can verify that,” the earl chimed in to say, even though we hadn’t expressed any doubt.

  Recognizing we would receive no additional information, Gage reached for my elbow to help me rise. “If any of you should think of something that connects the two men, no matter how slight, please send word.”

  The men agreed as we took our leave.

  The cold air of earlier that morning had warmed by barely a degree, so I sat with my arms locked tightly to my side, trying to conserve my body heat as our carriage pulled away from the earl’s house. Despite the chill, the streets were packed with people, born both low and high, their shoulders huddled against the wind. But at least the upper class were wrapped in warm layers. Some of the street people appeared to possess nothing but a threadbare coat or shawl to cover their arms. I could only hope for their sake that this winter would not be as bitter as the last.

  “You’re quiet,” Gage remarked after we passed by a muffin man singing out to passersby about his goods.

  I inhaled a steadying breath but didn’t turn from the window. “I was just wondering. David couldn’t be Penrose’s part
icular friend, could he?”

  “No.” His voice held no doubt. “No, Newbury is not of that inclination.”

  “I . . . I didn’t think so,” I replied. But I also hadn’t suspected such a thing of Mr. Penrose. Now I felt uncertain about it all and unsure how to feel. Not that I liked Mr. Penrose any less, but my only experience with the matter was a vaguely recalled sermon on the evils of Sodom and Gomorrah, and to a young girl, that had seemed a distant concept. It was somewhat unsettling to discover I’d been fairly blind to it all before now.

  Gage took hold of my hand inside its warm leather glove, offering me a gentle smile. “Do not let it trouble you. It doesn’t change who they are as a person, does it?”

  I considered this and shook my head. “No.”

  “The Lord would still have us ‘love thy neighbor as thyself’?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then leave it at that. They receive enough grief from others. We need not add to it.” He inhaled a deep breath and exhaled wearily. “I have been the witness to terrible things. Acts of man against their fellow man that are horrifying in their cruelty. I find I cannot summon the will to care who a man chooses for his bed partner. Let it be between him and God. I shall not judge.”

  I weaved my arm through his and leaned my head against his shoulder, knowing his thoughts had drifted into the past and the massacres he’d beheld during the Greek War of Independence from the Ottomans, and the numerous murder inquiries he’d conducted.

  His gaze dipped to meet mine. “Perhaps that is the wrong stance to take . . .”

  “No.” I shook my head to halt his words. “I don’t think it is. I think it very wise.” I couldn’t help but be amazed at his capacity for compassion when experience might have trampled that out of him long ago. That he should counsel something I could so readily reconcile with my conscience comforted me that it might be right.

  His eyes warmed under my regard, and he leaned forward to press a kiss to my forehead.

  * * *