he took a moment to look for bruises on the neck before gingerly feeling at Von Seilig’s skull for any sign of a blow.
Hmmm. Sitting back on his haunches, Marco stared out at the swaying, shifting leaves. Here he was, in a bastion of civilized society, and yet the primitive laws of the jungle had proved stronger…
A gust rattled the glass panes overhead, reminding him that he ought not linger. Replacing the sheet over Von Seilig’s corpse, Marco wiped his fingers on his handkerchief and quietly left the conservatory.
Chapter Eighteen
I may murder the wretched man myself,” muttered Charlotte darkly. “With my bare hands.”
Kate closed the door to her rooms and took a seat on the bed. She felt as if she were disengaged from her own body and floating in a fog. When she spoke, her voice sounded very far away. “The magistrate was just doing his job.”
“Ha! A magistrate is supposed to be fair-minded.” Her friend was bristling with indignation. “How dare he encourage Allenham to tell such tales and then cast them in the worst possible light.”
“Allenham only spoke what was true,” said Kate, trying to bring herself back down to earth. It did no good to give in to despair. No one was going to fight her battles for her, so she must think. Trouble was no stranger, and in the past she had always been clever enough to elude its snapping teeth.
“But he deliberately twisted the truth to make you appear a bloodthirsty savage.”
She set her jaw. “I’ve been called worse.”
Alice gave a soft knock and poked her head into the room. “Will you be wanting to take your supper here?” she asked. “Most of the guests have decided to dine in their own quarters, rather than gather for a formal meal.”
“No one wants to eat at the same table as a murderess,” remarked Kate.
Charlotte snorted. “As if you could stick a knife in a man’s ribs.”
She felt the blood drain from her face.
“Just let anyone make a nasty remark,” muttered her friend, “and I shall cram it back down his—or her—throat.”
“Oh, they are far too well-bred to say anything rude to my face. As we know well, the ton prefers gossip and innuendo as the weapons to cut up a person’s character,” said Kate bitterly. “That way, you can’t lift a finger to defend yourself.”
“I vow, I shall not let some buffle-witted magistrate make a terrible blunder in this case,” promised Charlotte. “We’ve solved far more complex conundrums. We shall get to the bottom of this before Sir Reginald can.”
“No, you must not get involved, Charlotte!” exclaimed Kate, suddenly picturing Charlotte poking around the conservatory in the dead of night. “This isn’t your laboratory or library. There is a ruthless murderer among us, and you must be very careful of what you say or do.”
“Pfff, I’m not afraid.” Light winked off her friend’s spectacles.
“Well, you should be.” Kate chafed at her arms, feeling the pebbling of gooseflesh. “Leave it to me. I’ve experience in navigating through dangerous shoals.”
“So do I, my dear. Besides, people tend to underestimate an old lady. I can appear dotty when I want to…” Charlotte assumed a sweetly vacuous expression that Kate had never seen before. “And ask questions that seem quite innocent.”
“Your acting skills are impressive,” replied Kate. “But please, promise me that you won’t do anything rash.”
Charlotte gave a small sniff. “I won’t do anything stupid,” she amended.
Kate didn’t press the point, knowing it was unlikely she could wring any further concession from her friend. “Lud, I wish I could say the same for myself,” she whispered, tucking her legs up under her. “I… I must have made some egregious misstep to find myself in this mess.”
“Don’t say such a thing.” Charlotte wagged an admonishing finger. “Why on earth would you think that?”
“Because…” Kate bit her lip. If Allenham knew about Lisbon and Antwerp, how much did he know about Naples?
A more chilling thought was, how much did Marco know?
He had put two and two together and figured out that she was the elusive cutpurse Belladonna. With a bit of simple addition, he might very well hit upon the full sum of her activities in that city.
She fisted the coverlet, feeling a blade of fear twist in her stomach. If he guessed it, would he betray her sordid secret? A tenuous friendship seemed to have formed between them. But Marco was, by his own admission, a man who was not bound by morality. He was driven by his own