Page 24 of The Paid Companion

T he carriage clattered to a halt in the darkened street outside Ibbitts’s lodgings some thirty minutes later. Elenora had been correct about the traffic, Arthur thought, following Hitchins out of the vehicle. Escorting her back to the house in Rain Street would have cost him upward of an hour in lost time.

Before closing the door of the carriage, he looked back at her, intending to remind her of her vow to remain in the vehicle.

“Be careful, Arthur,” she said before he could speak. Her face was pale in the deep shadows cast by the hood of her domino. “I do not like the feel of this situation.”

The urgency in her voice took him by surprise. He studied her as she sat in the darkness. Until this moment she had seemed quite calm and utterly sure of herself. This attack of nerves surprised him.

“Do not be anxious,” he said quietly. “Jenks and Hitchins will watch over you.”

“It is not my safety that I am concerned about.” She leaned toward him and lowered her voice. “It is just that for some reason I have developed a very nasty feeling about this business. Please do not go in there alone. I do not need the protection of both men. I beg you to take one of them with you.”

“I have my pistol.”

“Pistols are notorious for misfiring at inopportune moments.”

This show of unease was uncharacteristic of her, he thought. He did not have time to talk her out of her agitation. It was easier to placate her.

“Very well, if it will soothe your nerves I will take Hitchins with me and leave Jenks to guard you and the carriage.”

“Thank you,” she said.

Her relief and gratitude worried him more than anything she had said.

He closed the door of the carriage and looked at Jenks. “Give us a lantern. Hitchins and I will go inside. You will stay here to watch Miss Lodge.”

“Aye, m’lord.” Jenks handed down one of the lanterns.

Hitchins lit the lamp and then took a wicked-looking knife out of a deep pocket.

Arthur glanced at the gleaming blade. “Kindly keep that concealed unless it becomes absolutely necessary to employ it.”

“Whatever you say, sir.” Hitchins obligingly slipped the knife into its hidden sheath. “Ibbitts’s lodgings are upstairs at the back.”

Arthur led the way into a dingy front hall. No crack of light showed under the door of the single ground-floor room.

“A couple of tavern girls live there,” Hitchins explained. “Saw them leave several hours ago. They won’t be back until near dawn, like as not.”

Arthur nodded and went swiftly up the steps. Hitchins followed close behind with the lantern.

The short upstairs hall lay shrouded in intense darkness. Hitchins raised the lantern. The weak yellow glare fell upon a closed door.

Arthur crossed the hall, made a fist and knocked sharply.

There was no response.

He tried the knob. It turned easily in his hand. Too easily.

He knew then that Elenora’s apprehension had been well-warranted. There was something very wrong here.

He opened the door.

The stench of spilled blood, burnt powder and death wafted out of the darkness.

“Bloody hell,” Hitchins whispered.

Arthur took the lantern from him and held it higher. The flaring light fell across the body on the floor. A portion of Ibbitts’s face had been destroyed, but there was more than enough left to confirm his identity. The blood on the front of his shirt made it clear that he had been shot twice.

“Whoever the villain was, he wanted to make certain of his work,” Arthur said quietly.

“Aye, that he did.” Hitchins glanced around the small space. “Looks like there was a bit of a struggle.”

Arthur studied the overturned chair. “Yes.” He walked closer to the body. The light glared on the blade of a knife that lay near Ibbitts’s outflung arm. “He tried to defend himself.”

“No blood on his blade.” Hitchins made a tut-tutting sound. “He missed his target, poor bastard. Didn’t even nick the villain.”

Arthur crouched to take a closer look at the knife. As Hitchins had noted, there was no trace of blood. Several long, black threads were caught at the end where the blade was attached to the hilt.

“Looks like he snagged the killer’s coat.”

He straightened, an edgy dread tightening his innards. He thought of Elenora waiting downstairs in the carriage and turned immediately toward the door.

“Come, Hitchins, we must be off. We shall arrange for the authorities to be notified anonymously about this death. Whatever happens, I do not want Miss Lodge’s name involved. Is that understood?”

“Aye, m’lord.” Hitchins followed him out the door. “Set your mind at ease, sir. I’ve got too much respect for Miss Lodge to see her troubled in any way. She’s been through enough.”

The admiration in Hitchins’s voice was genuine. Arthur was certain that the Runner could be trusted in this affair.

He went quickly down the stairs, cursing himself with each step. He had been a fool to let Elenora convince him to bring her along. It was one thing for her to risk being seen with him in a less-than-pristine part of town. The worst that could result was a bit of scandalized talk that would do no great harm.

It would be another matter altogether if someone noticed her sitting in a carriage in front of the scene of a murder.

When he and Hitchins reached the front hall, he turned down the lamp before moving outside.

“Do not run,” he said to Hitchins. “But for God’s sake, do not dawdle.”

“Wasn’t planning to take my time, sir.”

They stepped outside and went quickly to the waiting carriage. Hitchins bounded up onto the box to join Jenks. Arthur heard him explaining the situation in low tones.

Jenks had the vehicle in motion before Arthur got the door closed.

“What’s wrong?” Elenora demanded.

“Ibbitts is dead.” He dropped down onto the seat across from her. “Murdered.”

“Dear heaven.” She hesitated a second. “The man Hitchins saw earlier? The one who waited for Ibbitts and then left in a great hurry?”

“Most likely.”

“But who would kill Ibbitts, and why?”

“I suspect the villain got the information he wanted and then decided that death was the only way to keep Ibbitts quiet.”

He kept the pistol in his hand and watched the street, searching each darkened doorway, trying to make out the shapes in the shadows. Was the killer still here, lurking in an alley, perhaps? Had he seen Elenora?

“Well, this certainly seems to prove that someone, is, indeed, aware that you are investigating your great-uncle’s murder,” she said quietly.

“Yes.” He tightened his grip on the pistol. “This affair has become a game of hide-and-seek. If only Hitchins had gotten a closer look at the villain when he entered and left Ibbitts’s lodgings.”

“Was there no clue left at the scene of the murder?”

“I did not take time to conduct a thorough search. The only thing that was obvious was that Ibbitts tried to defend himself with his knife.”

“Ah, did he cut the villain, do you think?” Enthusiasm laced her voice. “If he managed to wound his attacker, there may be some hope.”

“Unfortunately, I fear that he only snagged the killer’s cloak. There were a few black threads stuck to the knife, but no blood.”

There was a strange silence from the opposite seat.

“Black threads?” Elenora repeated in an odd voice. “From a long cloak?”

“Yes. I suspect there was a struggle and Ibbitts’s blade got tangled in the fabric. But I cannot see where that information will aid us. If only there were another witness.”

Elenora took an audible breath. “I think there may well be another witness, sir.”

“Who, pray tell?”

“Me,” she whispered, sounding rather stunned. “I believe that I may have danced with the killer very soon after he committed the murder.”