Page 67 of A Little Bit Dangerous
Isabella considered the information.
Captain Snell would swing from the gallows if caught. The threat was enough to force him to murder a witness. And yet, the deceased woman had only mentioned artefacts. She must have had no knowledge of opium smuggling.
Moreover, the prickle of hairs on Isabella’s nape said they were missing the vital clue that bound all threads together.
“Another ship docked two nights ago.” Ethel wagged her brows. “An Italian vessel. Snell’s men loaded a crate onto the ship from a warehouse down by Rope Walk.”
Isabella suppressed a gasp. She’d lay odds it had something to do with the conte. So, he was in London on business, albeit nefarious, not to broker a deal with her father.
The sick feeling in her gut warned her not to be complacent. They should seek confirmation from one of Snell’s men. For now, she was eager to broach the subject of Lord Oldman.
“There are twenty warehouses in that area,” Aramis said. “Which one does Snell own?”
“None. That’s the problem. No one seems to know who owns it.”
“Might it be Mr Quigley?” Isabella asked.
The woman’s smile died. She glanced over her shoulder. “I can’t see how a man of Quigley’s means could afford to keep a warehouse.”
Christian sat forward, a cloud of suspicion dimming his vibrant blue eyes. “Why do you say that?”
“Because I was told he works at the museum.”
“The British Museum?”
Ethel shrugged.
“Can you describe him?” Christian said with some urgency.
As if suddenly aware all eyes were upon them, Ethel grabbed Isabella’s hand and exposed her palm. “You can tell a lot from these fine lines,” she said, tracing her finger over the ridges. “He’s of average height and build.” She pointed to the diagonal line cutting across Isabella’s palm. “This here is the heart line.”
Isabella stared intently as the woman tilted her hand beneath the candlelight. The line forked, one groove growing faint and disappearing, one veering in a different direction. “What does that mean?”
“That you should expect a heavy loss. The deeper the line, the deeper the feelings. This one will hurt.”
Isabella met Christian’s gaze across the table. He was the only person she had ever cared about. Her need for him grew deeper by the day. When they said goodbye, it would be a moment of profound sorrow. One she would likely live to regret.
“I’d say Quigley is thirty or so,” Ethel added quietly. “I’m sure his hair is brown, but he always wears a broad-brimmed hat.”
Perhaps Quigley was an alias. Based on those working at the museum, the description matched the curator more than his assistant. That said, there must be many men working behind the scenes. It made sense why one would encourage Lord Oldman to hire a ship to bring back historical antiquities.
It would be fair to assume Captain Snell was dealing in contraband and Lord Oldman was dealing in fake artefacts. The question was, which one killed the woman found in the Thames? And was Isabella’s father involved?
It was looking unlikely.
“We spoke to Mr Winthrop,” Christian said curiously. “He said you had a gripe with Lord Oldman and warned other women about accepting a job in his household. It seems rather a coincidence to find you working at the shipping office close to where Snell dockedThe Marigold.”
Ethel pointed to a line on Isabella’s palm. “This is the lifeline. It’s what I gave those girls when I warned them about Oldman.” She quickly changed tack when two men passed, eyeing everyone at their table. “This here says you’re independent. A lover of liberty.”
“I’d say that’s accurate,” Christian muttered.
Aramis watched the men keenly while keeping his hand close to his coat pocket. They left the premises, though Aramis’ gaze remained fixed on the paint-chipped door.
Isabella snatched back her hand. “If you’ve never worked for his lordship, where did you get your information?”
“And what were you warning them about?” Christian added.
Ethel shuffled closer. “I knew someone what worked for him once. If the tea was too cold, he’d tie her up in the basement as punishment. He starts by intimidating them. Sometimes, he lashes out in a rage, blames their crying on Egyptian curses.”
