Page 52 of Grave Expectations
If he'd told me what he'd learned about the Drinkwaters so far, perhaps I could have been of assistance in narrowing the search, but he'd refused to discuss the matter at all.
"Seth," I said before he could walk out of the scullery. "Tell me everything you know about the Drinkwaters."
He shrugged. "You must know more than me, since you were in their house and have met them."
"What did Lincoln learn from the police who investigated Reginald's death? Who were their friends and relatives? Do they holiday at the seaside? That sort of thing."
Another shrug. "I don't know. He doesn't tell us much." His gaze narrowed. "Why?"
I dried my hands on my apron. "Come with me, as my bodyguard. I want to—"
"No." He chopped his hand through the air. "Absolutely not. It's too dangerous for you. Besides, can you imagine what he'd do to me if something happened?"
"Nothing will happen with you there as my protector."
"Your faith in me is admirable, but misguided. We both know that. I'm not him, and even he can't stop a bullet."
No, but I knew something that could. I slopped a teacup into the tub. "Never mind."
Some twenty minutes later, when a delivery of more furniture arrived, a plan formed.
I paid the cart driver and his boy and urged them to keep my lark to themselves. I quickly changed into the boys' clothing I'd kept in my dresser and tucked my hair under the cap. Keeping my head low and my fingers touching the amber pendant around my neck, I sat beside the driver as we exited through Lichfield's gate.
Nobody tried to kill me and I couldn't see any strangers lurking nearby. I let out my pent-up breath and drew in fresh, free air.
The boy was already waiting for us around the corner, having climbed the fence at the rear of the estate. I thanked father and son, then asked them to take me to Kensington Police Station.
Chapter 10
Dressingas a boy made sense when it came to sneaking out of the house. It was a useless disguise for coaxing names and addresses from detective inspectors, however. The ruddy-cheeked man investigating the Drinkwater murder refused to tell me anything, even after I assured him that I worked for a scientific organization who wished to posthumously award Mr. Drinkwater a research prize.
"Tell your master I don't give away information like that to children. Or anybody! Get out of here, boy." He shooed me with a motion of his short, stubby hands and returned to his paperwork.
I didn't move. "I can pay you."
My attempted bribery earned me a glare. "Do you want to be arrested?"
I ran out of there as fast as possible. I'd been thrown into a police holding cell once before and did not want to repeat the experience.
I waited until darkness descended and the detective inspector went home for the evening. A constable remained on duty, but it would be easy enough to avoid his notice. I made my way along a lane, pocketing pebbles as I went, then scrambled over the back fence into a large courtyard.
Using Gus's principle that it was always worth trying the door to see if it was unlocked, I tested the knob. It turned but the door didn't budge. It must be bolted from the inside. There were no external locks on either of the high, narrow windows either. One of them probably led to the holding cells.
There were no crates nearby, so I had to climb up the side fence and stand on my toes to reach the roof. I was a little out of practice, but I soon learned that scrambling up structures wasn't a skill easily forgotten. The roof wasn't too steep either, which helped.
I lay flat on my front and curled my fingers around the gutter edge, just above one of the windows. I sucked in a deep breath, blew it out again, and peered through.
Three prisoners sat inside a whitewashed room, looking utterly bored in the lamplight. I quickly snapped my head back out of view before they saw me.
Inch by inch, I slithered over to the other window and repeated the exercise. I couldn't see anything in the darkness. The lack of lighting meant it was probably unoccupied. I slithered back to the section of the roof directly above the door and removed a pebble from my pocket.
I threw it as hard as I could against the door. A moment later, it opened.
"Anyone out here?" the constable called into the darkness when no one answered.
He clicked his tongue. "When I catch you, you little turds, I'll—"
My second pebble hit the back fence and my third flew over it, making a sound as it landed on the cobbles in the lane. The constable came into view. Hands on hips, he stood in the center of the courtyard and looked around.
