Page 66 of The Paid Companion

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The carriage clattered to a halt in the darkened street outside Ibbitts’s lodgings some thirty minutes later. Elenora had been correct about the traffic, Arthur thought, following Hitchins out of the vehicle. Escorting her back to the house in Rain Street would have cost him upward of an hour in lost time.

Before closing the door of the carriage, he looked back at her, intending to remind her of her vow to remain in the vehicle.

“Be careful, Arthur,” she said before he could speak. Her face was pale in the deep shadows cast by the hood of her domino. “I do not like the feel of this situation.”

The urgency in her voice took him by surprise. He studied her as she sat in the darkness. Until this moment she had seemed quite calm and utterly sure of herself. This attack of nerves surprised him.

“Do not be anxious,” he said quietly. “Jenks and Hitchins will watch over you.”

“It is notmysafety that I am concerned about.” She leaned toward him and lowered her voice. “It is just that for some reason I have developed a very nasty feeling about this business. Please do not go in there alone. I do not need the protection of both men. I beg you to take one of them with you.”

“I have my pistol.”

“Pistols are notorious for misfiring at inopportune moments.”

This show of unease was uncharacteristic of her, he thought. He did not have time to talk her out of her agitation. It was easier to placate her.

“Very well, if it will soothe your nerves I will take Hitchins with me and leave Jenks to guard you and the carriage.”

“Thank you,” she said.

Her relief and gratitude worried him more than anything she had said.

He closed the door of the carriage and looked at Jenks. “Give us a lantern. Hitchins and I will go inside. You will stay here to watch Miss Lodge.”

“Aye, m’lord.” Jenks handed down one of the lanterns.

Hitchins lit the lamp and then took a wicked-looking knife out of a deep pocket.

Arthur glanced at the gleaming blade. “Kindly keep that concealed unless it becomes absolutely necessary to employ it.”

“Whatever you say, sir.” Hitchins obligingly slipped the knife into its hidden sheath. “Ibbitts’s lodgings are upstairs at the back.”

Arthur led the way into a dingy front hall. No crack of light showed under the door of the single ground-floor room.

“A couple of tavern girls live there,” Hitchins explained. “Saw them leave several hours ago. They won’t be back until near dawn, like as not.”

Arthur nodded and went swiftly up the steps. Hitchins followed close behind with the lantern.

The short upstairs hall lay shrouded in intense darkness. Hitchins raised the lantern. The weak yellow glare fell upon a closed door.

Arthur crossed the hall, made a fist and knocked sharply.

There was no response.

He tried the knob. It turned easily in his hand. Too easily.

He knew then that Elenora’s apprehension had been well-warranted. There was something very wrong here.

He opened the door.

The stench of spilled blood, burnt powder and death wafted out of the darkness.

“Bloody hell,” Hitchins whispered.

Arthur took the lantern from him and held it higher. The flaring light fell across the body on the floor. A portion of Ibbitts’s face had been destroyed, but there was more than enough left to confirm his identity. The blood on the front of his shirt made it clear that he had been shot twice.

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