surprise, considering the police were already investigating murder. Dragan made his way toward the door and glanced back to see the veiled lady deep in conversation with Nancy’s parents. There was no way to tell if she noticed his departure.
From sheer curiosity, he lingered in the street, watching everyone emerge—members of the jury hurrying back to work, the bereaved family saying goodbye to Mrs. MacKenna and the weeping maid, then stepping into a hired coach. Mrs. MacKenna and the maid were clearly waiting for someone, and sure enough, the veiled lady emerged a few moments later, deep in conversation with Inspector Harris.
The inspector eventually tipped his hat to her and strode off, fortunately in the opposite direction to Dragan, who didn’t particularly want to be seen by the policeman conferring with Lady Grizelda.
He strolled up to her, and the veil turned toward him.
“Go back without me, Mrs. MacKenna,” she told the housekeeper. “I have some things I need to do.”
The housekeeper seemed about to argue, then thought better of it. “Come along,” she commanded the maid, and the pair walked briskly away.
“I don’t think I learned anything new,” Grizelda said discontentedly. “Did you?”
On impulse, he offered his arm. “There’s a tearoom round the corner where we can discuss it.”
Without hesitation, she took his arm and began to walk. He felt oddly protective.
“They did not mention her baby,” Griz said, “for which I am glad, for her parents’ sake, and Jack’s. Only it makes me wonder how thorough the autopsy was.”
“Only thorough enough to see how far the blade penetrated. The wound measurements were quite precise.”
“I suppose that is why no one is very interested in our dagger,” Griz remarked.
“I’m surprised no one has yet connected it to your father’s collection…” Dragan tailed off as the veil turned toward him. “Ah. Someone has.”
“It’s back in its place in the cabinet,” Griz admitted. “No one has even mentioned it. I asked my father when it reappeared, and he just looked at me as though I’d grown horns.”
“Did you ask your brother?”
“Horace? Yes.” She hesitated, then blurted, “He told me to mind my own business. And claims to know nothing of Art Dooley.”
“Hmm. Your family is powerful. Your name was never mentioned, and you were never summoned to give personal evidence. Nancy’s employer was never once mentioned.”
“It keeps the press away,” she said, almost desperately.
He halted and impatiently dragged up her veil, casting it over the top of her hat. Though she looked stunned by his unconventional behavior, he ignored that, demanding, “You don’t really think one of them did it, do you?”
“I can’t think why or how, or what on earth would be worth the risk of such scandal.” She adjusted the veil and walked on.
“Then you have thought about it,” he observed.
“So have you,” she retorted, walking faster. She drew in a breath. “Yes, I thought about it and discarded them all. My father and Forsythe were in the opera house. And Horace…look, he might be ruthless in his own way, but he respects the law, and murdering a maid would be beneath him. Does that make sense? Nor would he be stupid enough to take a weapon from his own home.”
“No, I still think Nancy took it.” When he became aware she was frowning up at him, he added quickly, “I think she was frightened and took it for protection. I think she wanted my help, and before she got it, someone chased her into that alley. Cornered, I think she threatened her attacker with the stiletto. He seized her by the left wrist—did you notice she was left-handed?—and squeezed to make her drop the weapon, which she did. She tried to flee, but he caught her by the throat, killed her, and ran off to the far end of the alley, vanishing, probably, just as you arrived at the other end.”
She shivered, and he squeezed her hand in the crook of his arm. “I’m sorry,” he said gruffly. “I think it was brutal and quick. I just don’t know who or why. How is Nick? Did he stay in the house?”
“He was there this morning, and so is the silver. He seems dazed and wide-eyed.”
“What do you mean to do with him?” Dragan released her to open the tearoom door, and she stepped inside.
“I don’t know yet. He can help keep the kitchen fire stoked just now. He might want to learn some trade or other, or… Good morning,” she greeted the smiling waitress, who showed them to a