“Everything seems in order, sir.” The butler ambled over to them. “And we heard nothing out of the ordinary.”
“What time did Wincote return home?” Lawrence said in the inquisitive manner of a constable from Queen Square.
“He let himself into the house around four. I heard voices and came through to the drawing room to offer my services.”
“Voices?” Verity’s heart lurched. “Mr Wincote was not alone?”
“Mr Wincote always invites Mr Layton to drink with him, regardless of the time.”
“Mr Layton was here?” Lawrence sounded more than intrigued. “What time did he leave?”
“I couldn’t say, sir. I lit the fire, then Mr Wincote dismissed me and said he would see Mr Layton out.”
Through narrowed eyes, Lawrence scanned the room. “What happened to the clothes your master wore last night? Does his valet still wake to undress him when the hour is late?”
“No, sir. His clothes are on the floor in his dressing room.” Payton gestured to the open door of the adjoining room.
Lawrence strode over to the pile of discarded clothes visible from where they stood. He picked up a pair of black breeches with his thumb and forefinger and dro
pped them as quickly. “They’re wet,” he said, returning to the bedchamber.
“Both men were caught in the storm. Hence, the reason they downed copious amounts of brandy and asked me to light the fire.”
A host of questions filled Verity’s head, but it was critical they spent a moment alone to confirm their story. “We will wait for the constable in the drawing room, Payton. We’ve seen enough here.”
Lawrence nodded. “Just one more thing. Does Wincote own a copy of Vathek?”
“Vathek?” Payton frowned. “If it’s a book, you’d need to check the library, sir.”
“But a copy did not arrive at the house yesterday?”
“Not to my knowledge.” Payton escorted them back to the drawing room and arranged for tea while they waited for Sleeth to return with the constable.
“So, what reason shall we give for calling here?” Verity sidled up beside him on the green damask sofa. Just being near him set her mind at ease.
He turned to her, slipped his hand around her nape and kissed her softly on the lips. “I’ve wanted to do that for the last hour.”
Verity inhaled to calm her fluttering heart. “I’ve wanted you to do that for the last hour.”
The warmth of his smile reached his eyes, then slowly faded. “Something is amiss. The Brethren are masters at making murder look like an accident. Why choose strangulation? And where is the warning? Where’s the book that precedes the grisly outcome?”
“Perhaps they argued last night. Perhaps Layton lost his mind and didn’t plan on killing his associate.” She touched his arm. “What reason shall we give for attending?”
Lawrence sighed and brushed a hand through his hair. “It occurs to me that our only course of action is to tell the truth.”
“The truth?” She sucked in a breath. “About our intimate relationship?”
“No. But we will explain how we met. Make a statement naming the Brethren. Tell them what we saw last night, what I saw in the cellar of that house.”
Verity blinked back her surprise. She’d presumed he had no recollection of the events surrounding the hit to his head. “What did you see in the cellar?”
She held her breath.
“A cage. A prison cell, though the devil knows who they kept locked in there.”
A sudden coldness washed over her. “Why would they need a cage if they’re selling cadavers?”
“Perhaps Cavanagh’s theory is correct, and they kidnap rich merchants.”