Peelers yet, maybe later.” He did not relish a swarm of Westminster police stomping around the crime scene.
Cassie’s eyes were as big as saucers, and he felt a slight tremble under his grip. “Are you all right?”
“Of course I am.” She lifted her chin and gamely set off on her assignment.
Zeno recruited several gentlemen nearby to help clear the terrace. He posted them along the bank of French doors that ran along the west end of the ballroom. No need to unduly frighten the guests in attendance. An inkling of mayhem could cause mass hysteria and an exit stampede.
He opened a narrow-paned door and commandeered a young officer dressed in Cavalry regimentals to stand watch while he knelt down to do a cursory examination of the body. A gentleman of portly stature dressed in formal attire. Zeno tipped a shoulder back. “Christ.” Dead eyes stared out over his shoulder into the night sky. Hicks-Beach. Blood gurgled from a deep slash across the throat, drenching the tuxedo shirt and waistcoat in a swath of crimson.
Zeno peeled back the left side of the dead man’s coat and checked the inside pocket. A sterling cigarette case, with the initials H-B . He rocked back on his heels. The men who dropped the body were likely not the killers, but Dockland thugs paid to lift the man out of Grosvenor Square via rooftops. No, he reckoned the killer was still inside tippling a glass of bubbly before slipping away.
With this amount of blood there was bound to be at least some evidence left to find upstairs. Zeno scanned the gabled windows above. Rising from his haunches, he patted the folded note in his coat pocket. Hicks-Beach had ventured upstairs early. But why? Had there been an earlier appointment? Was he to have walked into a trap of some sort? Or had the killer seen his opportunity and made his move?
His jaw twitched. He knew exactly where to look. Third floor. Second door on the right.
CASSIE TAPPED ON the library door before peeking inside. Stanfield was last seen headed in the direction of his study, along with several of his cronies. “Past the gallery and through the library, dear.”
She ventured farther inside the austere reading room. “Lord Stanfield?” Coals burned low inside a heavily screened hearth. She let her eyes adjust to the darkness before making her way quietly through the cavernous library. A spiral staircase wound its way up to the leather-bound volumes lining the upper tier. Straight ahead, dim light spilled from apartially open door, likely the way into his lordship’s private den.
The mumbled speech of at least two gentlemen could be heard in the study. She raised a hand to knock but stopped herself at the last moment. “Nasty business. Nothing can be done—over with in any case.” Cassie recognized Lord Delamere’s voice. She peeked past the crack in the door and spied a young man she didn’t recognize. He spoke softly, in low tones with an accent in French, she thought. “There will be others, as well.”
“Indeed.” Delamere again. She couldn’t see him through the narrow opening. “Now, back out in the ballroom and make a point of enjoying yourself. Approach one of those lovely young chits in the room and have a memorable flirtation.” There was a slap on the back and a rustle of movement. The two men were likely headed for the library.
She leaned a bit too close to the door and it moved with a creak. There was nothing to do but knock. Loudly. Delamere opened the door.
“Cassandra.” He quickly assessed the room behind her.
Feigning surprise, she curtsied. “Sorry to interrupt. Is Lord Stanfield with you? I have an urgent message for him.”
His gaze scanned the room and returned to her. Delamere stepped closer. “What kind of message?”
He reached out to pull her into the room, but this time she was ready for him and jumped back. “I’m afraid the message is for Lord Stanfield.” A rumble of men’s laughter came from behind a side door, unseen until it
Cassie’s eyes were as big as saucers, and he felt a slight tremble under his grip. “Are you all right?”
“Of course I am.” She lifted her chin and gamely set off on her assignment.
Zeno recruited several gentlemen nearby to help clear the terrace. He posted them along the bank of French doors that ran along the west end of the ballroom. No need to unduly frighten the guests in attendance. An inkling of mayhem could cause mass hysteria and an exit stampede.
He opened a narrow-paned door and commandeered a young officer dressed in Cavalry regimentals to stand watch while he knelt down to do a cursory examination of the body. A gentleman of portly stature dressed in formal attire. Zeno tipped a shoulder back. “Christ.” Dead eyes stared out over his shoulder into the night sky. Hicks-Beach. Blood gurgled from a deep slash across the throat, drenching the tuxedo shirt and waistcoat in a swath of crimson.
Zeno peeled back the left side of the dead man’s coat and checked the inside pocket. A sterling cigarette case, with the initials H-B . He rocked back on his heels. The men who dropped the body were likely not the killers, but Dockland thugs paid to lift the man out of Grosvenor Square via rooftops. No, he reckoned the killer was still inside tippling a glass of bubbly before slipping away.
With this amount of blood there was bound to be at least some evidence left to find upstairs. Zeno scanned the gabled windows above. Rising from his haunches, he patted the folded note in his coat pocket. Hicks-Beach had ventured upstairs early. But why? Had there been an earlier appointment? Was he to have walked into a trap of some sort? Or had the killer seen his opportunity and made his move?
His jaw twitched. He knew exactly where to look. Third floor. Second door on the right.
CASSIE TAPPED ON the library door before peeking inside. Stanfield was last seen headed in the direction of his study, along with several of his cronies. “Past the gallery and through the library, dear.”
She ventured farther inside the austere reading room. “Lord Stanfield?” Coals burned low inside a heavily screened hearth. She let her eyes adjust to the darkness before making her way quietly through the cavernous library. A spiral staircase wound its way up to the leather-bound volumes lining the upper tier. Straight ahead, dim light spilled from apartially open door, likely the way into his lordship’s private den.
The mumbled speech of at least two gentlemen could be heard in the study. She raised a hand to knock but stopped herself at the last moment. “Nasty business. Nothing can be done—over with in any case.” Cassie recognized Lord Delamere’s voice. She peeked past the crack in the door and spied a young man she didn’t recognize. He spoke softly, in low tones with an accent in French, she thought. “There will be others, as well.”
“Indeed.” Delamere again. She couldn’t see him through the narrow opening. “Now, back out in the ballroom and make a point of enjoying yourself. Approach one of those lovely young chits in the room and have a memorable flirtation.” There was a slap on the back and a rustle of movement. The two men were likely headed for the library.
She leaned a bit too close to the door and it moved with a creak. There was nothing to do but knock. Loudly. Delamere opened the door.
“Cassandra.” He quickly assessed the room behind her.
Feigning surprise, she curtsied. “Sorry to interrupt. Is Lord Stanfield with you? I have an urgent message for him.”
His gaze scanned the room and returned to her. Delamere stepped closer. “What kind of message?”
He reached out to pull her into the room, but this time she was ready for him and jumped back. “I’m afraid the message is for Lord Stanfield.” A rumble of men’s laughter came from behind a side door, unseen until it
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