“I needed to come, Wellstone. Please try to understand that I have to see for myself, without the torture of waiting at home. Mr. Lattimer did right in asking me, no matter how terrible an ordeal it might be. I do appreciate your concern, and your support, but no one else can do this for me. No one else knows my sister half as well, and no one else cares as much. But maybe you are correct and the female is not Isabelle, after all. I pray that is so, and I pray for the soul of the woman, whoever she might be.”
The rest of the ride was silent, except for the sounds of the horses’ hooves and the carriage wheels.
Chapter Fifteen
When they arrived at their destination, Lattimer hopped out of the coach almost before it stopped. He put down the steps and stood, waiting to hand Miss Kane down. Then he led her into the dark building that housed the coroner’s office and morgue, leaving Stony to follow, or not.
Inside, when Ellianne would have unbuttoned her pelisse, he cautioned her to keep it on. Where they were going was kept cold, of necessity. “I should have warned you to bring a scented cloth,” he told her.
He should have taken up another line of work, Stony thought, frowning at the young man’s back. In another borough. The one satisfying thought he had, the one that he grabbed on to instead of imagining what awaited them, was that Miss Kane was taller than the Runner. Not by much, and perhaps that inch was due to her hair or her bonnet, but she was definitely taller. Good.
They passed through a long corridor and several doors before reaching a long flight of stone steps that seemed to lead down into the very bowels of hell itself, lighted with oil lamps that were too far apart. Lattimer kept Miss Kane’s arm in his, in case she missed her footing. Or Lattimer did, was Stony’s uncharitable thought.
He could feel the dank cold start to seep into his bones despite the greatcoat he wore, and wondered how Ellianne was faring. The blasted Runner could have warned her to bring a heavy coat, too. Deuce take it, they must be tunneling under the river, in some ancient catacombs or ice house or dungeon.
At the bottom of the steps, Lattimer rapped on a thick door and then opened it, ushering in Miss Kane. Stony was hard on her heels, taking her arm and displacing the Runner. The temperature here was even colder, and the odor was sickening. Stony would have reached for a handkerchief to cover his nose, but Lattimer seemed unaffected. Worse, Miss Kane did not seem to notice the stench. Stony tried to breathe through his mouth.
While Lattimer spoke to a worker in a leather apron, the viscount slipped off his coat and placed it over Ellianne’s shoulders. He couldn’t tell if she was shivering from cold or from fear. She smiled weakly in thanks.
The worker disappeared through another closed door at the other side, leaving them in the vast room with platform tables at one end and gruesome stains on the floor. Stony was happy to stay right where he was. Eventually a gentleman came out and walked toward them. Nearly Stony’s height, he did not have an athlete’s build, but was neither cadaverous, as the viscount might have imagined, nor paunchy. He was forty-five, Stony estimated, in expensively tailored clothing, an intricately tied neckcloth, and highly polished boots. His brown hair was combed straight back, then pomaded to keep it in place, and his dark eyes had that same glisten to them. Stony supposed women would consider the man handsome, with his high forehead and prominent cheekbones. He did not appear to notice the chill or the smell, bowing low to Miss Kane as if welcoming her to a ball. Stony hated him on sight.
“Sir John Thomasford,” Lattimer proudly announced, as if he were personally responsible for getting a belted knight to assist on the case. “Elevated for service to the Crown in solving murders.”
“Are you the coroner, then?” Stony wanted to know.
“Oh, no. I merely assist when I am able.” The man smiled with one lip, as if anyone with more hair than wit could have guessed that he was a gentleman born, an educated man of good family and income, living a life of leisure. Sir John turned to Ellianne as soon as the introductions were complete. He raised her hand—she had no trouble holding it out for this grave robber, Stony noted—and brought it to his lips. “My dear lady, I was a witness for the coroner’s jury held in relation to your aunt’s death, so now I offer my deepest condolences. I am grieved that another such tragic event brings you here, but may I also offer my humble services?”
The man was anything but humble, Stony could swear. He was a dilettante dabbling in detective work, it seemed, as Sir John rattled on about his studies in Edinburgh, his research through classical tomes, his discoveries that were helping to advance medical knowledge and helping Bow Street to solve murder cases. Stony had no doubt that some of the man’s detecting involved Miss Kane’s bank account.
“Eventually,” Sir John was saying, “we will be able to tell more about the killers simply from examining their victims. We will understand their minds, and why they commit such heinous acts. Science will outwit evil,” he told Ellianne, his voice rising with near religious fervor and echoing off the high ceilings. “But not yet, unfortunately. There is only so much we can deduce thus far.”
Ellianne said, “But how wonderful that dedicated men like you are trying to unlock such mysteries. You must be proud of your work, and I am sure you are well deserving of the rewards it brings.”
Sir John kissed her fingertips once more. “The best reward I get is seeing the killers hang. And helping find justice for lost souls.”
Stony almost gagged.
Then the jumped-up mortician led them toward the far end of the room, where a body rested on a high platform, covered by a sheet. Stony made sure he was standing at Ellianne’s side, near the head. He reached his hand out for hers, and felt hers shaking. He held it tightly.
“We do not have much evidence to examine, but we can tell something about the killer from our preliminary investigation. Identifying the remains will aid in uncovering motive and possible suspects. It all works together, you see.”
Ellianne was staring at the shrouded body. Stony could feel her entire body trembling beside him. “Get on with it, man.”
Sir John cleared his throat. “Quite.” Without further speechifying, he slowly raised the white sheet, folding it back under the young woman’s mouth.
One side of her face was bruised, but the other was so pale it would have made milk look healthy. Her lips had a purplish tint, and blue veins were a road map on her bare skull. Ellianne was silent, transfixed by the dead girl, perhaps in shock.
Stony thought the shape of the face was wrong, but swelling from injuries might be distorting it. The sheet covered what might have been a pointy chin like Miss Kane’s, but he did not suggest lowering the fabric. Instead he asked, “What color are her eyes?” His mouth was so dry his question came out as a whisper.
“Ah, the lady’s eyes.” Sir John peeled back one translucent lid. They could all see a blue orb staring up at them, or perhaps seeing the image of her killer imprinted there forever.
“Blue. They are blue, Ellianne, not green. This is not your sister.”
“No, it is not Isabelle,” she echoed on a loud exhale, as if she had been holding her breath throughout. “It never was Isabelle.”
“Too bad,” Sir John said. “Of course, not for you and your sister, Miss Kane. My apologies. I was merely hoping we could give a name to this poor woman.”
“I understand. And I am certain that you will do everything in your power to deliver the young lady back to her family and bring her killer to justice. You say you have some clues?”
“Why, yes, if you are interested. It is fascinating, really. Of course, we can tell her approximate age, the general state of her health, whether she ever bore a child or not, that type of thing. But here, let me show you. We can guess the killer was about my height by the angle at which he held the knife. He was right-handed, by the direction in which he wielded the weapon.”
Sir John pulled the sheet down a bit farther, below the woman’s chin. An ugly slash sliced across her throat. Dried blood
was everywhere, on the woman, on the table, on the rags the coroner’s staff were using to clear the area for their inspection. Ellianne leaned closer, letting go of Stony’s hand.
Stony slowly sank to the floor.
Ellianne screamed.
“Nothing to be concerned over,” Sir John reassured her, leaning over the corpse to see. “It happens all the time. Especially with those heroic types who will not admit to any weakness. At least this oaf did not hit his head, or fall on the body.” He gestured for Lattimer and one of the assistants. “Just drag him to the side, out of the way.”
“What, you are going to leave him there?”
Sir John shrugged. “No use in waving the smelling salts until we are finished. He’ll only go off again.”
Mr. Lattimer added, with a degree of satisfaction that Stony would have deplored, “And he’s too big to carry up those stairs. We might drop him, you know, kind of accidentally.”
The assistant grinned, showing two missing teeth.
Sir John was impatient with the delay, wanting to get on with impressing Miss Kane with his erudition. “He’ll come around by himself by the time you are ready to leave.”
Ellianne looked down at her fallen champion. Wellstone did not look like much of a hero, crumpled atop unspeakable stains. “No, please lift him. He will be too cold on the floor.”
Lattimer and the worker dragged the viscount none too gently back to a wooden bench near the door to the stairs. Ellianne mentally added the cost of a new suit of clothes to Wellstone’s account. She also placed his greatcoat over the unconscious man, and brushed a lock of blond hair back on his forehead.
Then she went back to Sir John and the murdered woman.
The medical examiner explained how they could tell which side of the woman’s neck the killer slashed first by the shape and direction of the wound. Then he came to stand behind Ellianne, proving a left-handed man could not have made the same marks. Nor could a shorter one. “Of course, I am of average height, and most gentlemen are trained to be right-handed, no matter their inclinations, so that does not narrow our field of suspects by much.”
“You called him a gentleman. Surely no gentleman would do such a thing.”
“You would be surprised,” Sir John told her, and Lattimer chimed in: “Especially if a nob’s mistress gets too greedy, or claims to be with child, a brat that she threatens to leave on the toff’s wife’s doorstep, unless he pays up.”
“But look here and you will see why I call the murderer a gentleman.” Sir John pulled the sheet down lower, nearly to her breasts. “You see where he grabbed her shoulder, and left the mark of his fingers?”
Ellianne could make out four distinct bruises. “Yes,” she said with less enthusiasm, positive that she had seen enough now. She looked over to check whether Wellstone was stirring yet.
“Look closer. You can see the seam of his glove.”
“And that makes him a gentleman? Many men wear gloves.” She looked at Sir John’s own soft leather gloves, then back to Wellstone, whose left hand dangled off the bench, in York tan leather. Even Mr. Lattimer wore gloves down here in the cold. The assistant did not. Ellianne hurriedly looked away from the helper’s filthy hands.
“Ah, but if you consider that the female is, or was, a healthy young specimen, attractive, not the least undernourished, with hands that did not know work… Do you wish to see her hands?”
Ellianne quickly shook her head. “No, thank you.”
“A pity. They can tell us much. For instance, if she had blood under her fingernails, we might be able to search for a man with fresh claw marks on his face or hands.”
“But they would not show on his hands if the man wore gloves.”
“Excellent point, Miss Kane, excellent point. The killer might have been a lowborn brute, but clever enough to wear gloves. Still, I doubt this woman associated with ruffians of the lower orders. I pray we find out, and catch him before he acts again.”
Ellianne gulped. “Again?”
“I fear so. The shaved…head leads me to believe that this was some kind of ritual murder.”
“I do not understand.”
“And why should you? I should not even be discussing such distressing facts with a gentlewoman like yourself. Your escort would not approve, I am certain.”
Her escort was still unmoving.
“I seem to have a few more minutes to wait. Please, I wish to understand about the unfortunate woman’s hair. Wasn’t murdering her enough?”
Sir John rubbed his chin. “The simplest solution would be to assume the killer meant to sell her hair. But why the razor, not scissors? No, again we deduce that the killer did not need money. He had another motive. Perhaps he was trying to make identification more difficult. Or he wished to have a memento, something of hers to keep. I have read studies of the red Indians who collect the scalps of their fallen enemies, to prove their merit as mighty warriors.”
Ellianne stepped back, appalled on top of horrified. “I think I should be going…Lord Wellstone…”
Sir John shook his head, without dislodging a single strand of his own hair. “I apologize, again, for forgetting your refined sensibilities. I should not have responded so eagerly to your gratifying interest.”
“No, please do not apologize. I have found your explanations…fascinating.”
“I only wish we had more insight into the workings of a killer’s mind. Alas, our science of the body, as limited as it is, far exceeds our understanding of the mental facilities.”
“If it did not, learned gentlemen like yourself would be able to cure our poor mad king.”
“Eventually, madam, eventually, I pray, we shall solve all the riddles, and eliminate such woes from the face of the earth. Not just for monarchs and the wealthy, but for all men, everywhere.”
“And women?”
“Ah, we know even less about the workings of a woman’s mind. What man aspires so high?” he asked with that sneering kind of smile. “But perhaps even the inscrutability of your gender will reveal itself to modern science.”
“Let us hope so.” They were walking toward the door, near where Wellstone was still slumped on the bench. Ellianne looked back at the woman, whose face was once more covered. “What will happen to her?”
“Oh, they will hold her here as long as possible, in the ice room in the back, you know, hoping someone comes looking for her. Anyone missing a wife or daughter will be searching, as you are. Unfortunately, we have had no other concerned families come by as yet, and she has been here over twenty-four hours. The Runners have been alerted, and even the watch was notified, in case they hear of a woman gone missing. If, as I suspect, the victim is a courtesan, begging your pardon again for the mention of such a class of women, then I doubt anyone will come forth to claim her. Females of that trade seldom have families, you see, or anyone who will acknowledge them as a relation. She will go to the medical college then, so our young students can further their understanding.”
That seemed the worst insult of all, to Ellianne. The woman was killed, barbered, and laid here in the cold for anyone to see—and she would not even be given a proper burial. How would her soul find rest?
“Would you please tell me if someone does come to claim her? I would feel better knowing she is spending eternity with her family.”
“You dear, dear lady. Your tender sentiments become you. I thought it before, but now I am certain. You are a woman of great heart, Miss Kane. It has been a pleasure to have a beating one among us.” His top lip quirked up again. “A little morgue humor, you understand. But it is easy to see your devotion to your sibling, and to discern your acumen by the intelligence of your questions and comments. Many women who come here for similar reasons as yours swoon, like your friend, or suffer paroxysms of the nerves, or collapse in uncontrollable weeping. You, Miss Kane, have been an exemplary guest.”
Ellianne would not precisely label this a social call, but she made a slight curtsy and said, “I found it interes
ting, and your knowledge impressive. Thank you for sharing your insights with me.”
“My pleasure. So few people appreciate what we are doing here, the benefits to come to all mankind, the strides we can take if we keep open minds. You are rare, indeed. In fact, may I call on you?”
Ellianne almost tripped on her own feet.
When Sir John saw how stunned she was, how taken aback, he quickly added, “To bring you news of our unfortunate victim, of course.”
“Oh, of course.”
“And to keep abreast of your own investigation, in case my expertise, as humble as it is, might be of assistance.”
“How kind of you. I would be pleased to receive you, then. And if you do learn anything that might pertain to my sister’s disappearance…
“Without fail, my dear Miss Kane, without fail.”
*
Stony was still somewhat disoriented as they climbed the stairs, but recovered fully once they reached the relatively clean air of the street to wait for the carriage. He handed Ellianne in, then took the seat opposite her when he saw that Lattimer was not coming along. As soon as the coach started to move, he leaned forward and took both of Ellianne’s hands in his.
“That really wasn’t your sister back there? Or is my brain so fogged that I imagined it?”
“It really was not Isabelle. Not even remotely similar to her, thank God.”
“Thank God,” he echoed, then let go of her hands to lean back against the leather cushions. He shut his eyes and shook his head. “What a help I was to you, and after insisting I act as your escort. Lud, I am mortified.”
“Why? You had no control over your reaction. And I did feel better knowing you were nearby.”
“Parked on a bench like an octogenarian, a blanket on his knees. Thunderation! At least now you understand why I could never go into the army.”
“What I do not understand is how you manage at the boxing parlor your stepmother says you frequent.”
“Oh, I train in the side room with weights and a leather punching bag. If I do ever spar with a partner, we wear padded gloves. I have never watched an entire fisticuff match, a real match, in my life. Lud, can you imagine the laughter if one of the boxers got a bloody nose? I look away.”
A Perfect Gentleman Page 15
