“You seemed to locate her quite easily. ”
“She was beneath a tree, half hidden by a roc
k, near the creek. Anyone could have found her. ” Victoria settled back in her chair and forced her fingers to uncurl. Ridiculous that he should rouse her as he had. The man was just doing his job.
The Bow Street Runners were the only sort of police-detectives in London, for Victoria’s countrymen had long been leery of giving up their freedoms by formalizing a police force. In fact, London was the only city in Europe without a formal police force. Certainly, there were the few members of the Night Watch, and a constable for every parish, but their responsibilities were only to report criminal activity if they witnessed it. The Runners were responsible for investigating any grievous crimes—such as murder or rape—and bringing the felons to the magistrate. They were also able to help victims of other crimes, such as fraud or robbery, to recover their losses—at their discretion. Regardless, it was unfortunate the Runner would be unable to help in this particular instance.
Vampire crimes weren’t recognized by the magistrate.
“Is there anything else I can help you with, Mr. Goodwin?” Victoria asked, ready to end the conversation.
As if recognizing her change of demeanor, he stretched his lips in a smile. “You came upon the mauled and destroyed body, and you had the presence of mind to call for assistance, Lady Rockley. Immediately. Apparently the sight of her torn flesh and spilled blood had little effect on you. ”
“It wasn’t a pleasant sight, but I am not one to be overcome by feminine vapors. ”
“What do you think happened to Miss Forrest?”
“I’m certain someone of your expertise would have come to the same conclusion as I: it appears that she was attacked by something bent on killing her. ”
Mr. Goodwin’s eyes narrowed. “A vampire, perhaps?”
Victoria caught herself in midbreath, then exhaled slowly and evenly. “A vampire?”
“Do you believe in vampires, Lady Rockley?”
“I fail to see how my belief—or nonbelief—in the supernatural is relevant to the investigation into Miss Forrest’s death, Mr. Goodwin. I’m certain you must investigate every aspect of the situation, which is why it doesn’t follow that you’re wasting my time and yours asking me such questions. ” The edge of her vision began to waver and she drew in an even breath through her nose.
Mr. Goodwin stood. He took up his black hat with long fingers and placed it precisely on his scalp. “Thank you, Lady Rockley. I wish you a good day. ” He started to turn, and then slowly swiveled back to face Victoria, who had stood. “What happened to your husband, Lady Rockley?”
She felt her heart give an unpleasant little lurch. “He died at sea,” she replied automatically.
“That is the story that’s been given out. ” He nodded. “What ship was he sailing on?”
“Your questions are not only becoming tiresome, but an outright waste of my time. These matters are of the public record. And, as they can have no relevance to your investigation regarding Miss Forrest, I believe we are done. ” Victoria looked pointedly at the study door, gesturing the man toward it. “Good day, Mr. Goodwin. ”
“The ship The Plentifulle, it was, or so has been reported. And your husband left his new wife less than a month after the return of your wedding holiday? Suddenly? Without notifying even the servants?”
Victoria drew herself up in all haughtiness. “Mr. Goodwin, I’m not certain how your household is run, but here at St. Heath’s Row, the servants do not grant permission for the master’s comings and goings. ”
“I see. ” He pulled his hat brim even straighter, and gave a little bow. “Thank you very much for your assistance, Lady Rockley. ”
With loathing, Victoria watched the man go. Such a prig, and he had pulled on her strings enough to make her feel unsettled. She, a Venator of two years, who had faced demons and vampires and multiple undead, had been set off balance by a mere Bow Street Runner.
But why on earth had he been asking her about vampires?
Seven
Of Stone-filled Wicker Baskets, Meeting at the Altar, and Confessions
After Mr. Bemis Goodwin, Bow Street Runner, made his exit, Victoria did not return to the parlor. She decided that it was more than fitting to leave Sebastian to face the ferocious Lady Melly and mop up the pieces of his little charade.
Of course, there was always the risk that he might complicate matters further . . . or that Lady Melly might be won over—Sebastian, after all, was as charming as they came—and leap heartily into planning the second wedding to which he had alluded.
But for now . . . Victoria had so many things to think about, to worry on, that she absolutely couldn’t sit in that crowded parlor and pretend to be civil any longer.
She’d already given Verbena, her maid, the direction to pack some of her belongings and to have the footmen take them over to Aunt Eustacia’s town house. She wouldn’t sleep another night under James Lacy’s roof, where Sebastian felt as though he could invade her chambers at will, with disregard for whoever might see him.
Taking care to stay away from any window that might reveal her location to those visiting in the parlor, Victoria took a pea-gravel path along the side of the mansion. She suspected that Kritanu was still in the chapel where she’d left him yesterday afternoon, before joining James for dinner. She’d meant to visit again last night, but the sherry, along with Sebastian’s visit to her chamber, had sent her to bed earlier than she planned.