fingers, and the constables fell over each other trying to get out of the room, presumably to fetch the paper and pen that appeared only moments later.
“One question,” Harris said to him while Lady Grizelda’s pen scratched busily across the paper. “Why do you keep a sword and a pistol in your room?”
“Because they are mine. I was an officer of the Hungarian cavalry.”
The girl’s eyes flickered up to his face, but only briefly. She didn’t stop writing.
Chapter Three
As they stepped out onto Great Scotland Yard, she heard his sharp intake of breath, as though he relished the fresh air—well, fresh by London’s grimy standards. Or perhaps he had just noticed the ostentatious carriage on the other side of the street, emblazoned with the Duke of Kelburn’s arms.
“Sometimes, it helps to impress,” she murmured as a policeman leapt forward to open the carriage door. Vicky hopped in and took possession of the forward-facing seat. “Home, John, if you please,” Griz added cheerfully to the coachman.
“Allow me to drop you somewhere,” she said pleasantly and murmured under her breath, “I want to talk to you.”
“It would hardly be proper to travel alone with you,” Dagan said.
“Oh, no one cares about that,” she said impatiently. “No one will see—or care.”
She thought curiosity flashed momentarily in his eyes. At any rate, he climbed in after her and sat down on the opposite seat. The horses stepped forward, and the carriage rumbled over the cobbles toward Charing Cross.
His hair was rumpled. A dark stubble shadowed his jaw, and his clothing looked as if he’d slept in it. Which, presumably, he had. Amazingly, none of this detracted from his good looks. In light of this, his steady gaze on her face might have disconcerted her, had she not been such a down-to-earth kind of woman.
“Was any of that true?” he asked abruptly.
“Most of it,” she said cautiously.
“But she—the Lady Grizelda in there…” He jerked his head back toward Great Scotland Yard. “She is not real.”
“No,” she admitted. “She’s a mixture of my sister, my sister-in-law, and a gushing friend I once had. To be honest, I wasn’t sure I could pull it off, but it was actually easier than being myself.”
“And your dog just happened to slip her leash?”
“It was loose.” She gave him a quick, conspiratorial smile. “And I did just happen to notice the open door. All the policemen looked in that direction when I mentioned you.”
“And the bits about your brother?”
“Horace? Oh, yes, he is real, and he is my brother. He has some kind of authority in the world of law and order.”
“Mostly matters of political unrest and sedition.”
So, he knew that much. It was not difficult to pick up the distaste in his voice. His mesmeric dark eyes were like agates.
She lifted her chin. “Is that a problem for you?”
“Not for me, no. At least, not yet. Did he send you?”
“Lord, no,” she scoffed. “He had no I idea I would come here, though I daresay he will do soon enough. But I did ask him where you would be, and he told me. I have to say his name worked like a charm.”
A breath of laughter shook him, softening the sudden hardness in his eyes. “You have my gratitude, Lady Grizelda. But why did you do it?”
She sighed, idly stroking the dog’s elegant head. “Because when the police took you away last night, it was for the wrong reasons. Something about you made me doubt you had done it, and when I considered it—I couldn’t sleep for thinking about Nancy—I realized you couldn’t have done it. So I resolved to make them release you.”
Again, that spark of amusement flared in his eyes, quirked the corner of his mouth. “I may not remain released,” he pointed out.
“True. That’s one of the reasons we have to find out for ourselves who killed Nancy.”
That seemed to deprive him of speech for a moment. Then he asked curiously, “What are your other reasons?”
She looked away, struggling to find the words. “It isn’t fair,” she said at last. “She shouldn’t have died, not like that.”
“No one should. And yet it happens all the time.”
“I know,” she said restlessly. “And I can’t do anything about most of it. But Nancy was ours. She dressed my hair for the opera.”
“She did it beautifully,” he said with unexpected gentleness.
“No, she didn’t. She wasn’t a very good maid, but she was kind, even when she scolded and pried.” Her voice cracked, and she stopped talking, staring fiercely out