Page 23 of The Last Chance
Miss Moorland removed her spectacles and placed them on the table. “I know him. I saw him lurking in the street but don’t recall seeing him on the premises.”
“I saw him peering through the drawing room window,” Miss Stowe added, her cheeks reddening when she looked at Aaron. “What is this about?”
“Howard is dead,” Aaron said, though he wasn’t prepared to reveal more than they could read in the broadsheets.
Miss Lovelace threw caution to the wind, leant across thetable and whispered, “Someone killed him at The Burnished Jade and is trying to frame one of us for his murder.” She gestured to Aaron, touching him briefly on the arm. “We have a week to find the culprit before we’re hauled into the police office for questioning.”
Both ladies gaped.
“Why would anyone wish to frame either of you?” came Miss Stowe’s naive reply.
“I ruin men for a living,” Mr Chance said.
“I’m sure you don’t drag them in at gunpoint.”
“Those facing a stint in the Marshalsea always look for someone else to blame.” Gamblers ignored their own failings. Addicts fooled no one but themselves.
Miss Moorland reached to clasp Miss Lovelace’s hand. “Do you suspect this has something to do with your poor brother? I’m sure you said Lord Howard belonged to the same group of friends at Cambridge.”
“It’s been ten years since Justin disappeared. There’s no proof the body found was his or that his friends were involved.” Miss Lovelace nudged Aaron’s leg beneath the table, a covert signal to remain silent. “What other motive could I have for killing the man?”
It was clear she had not told her friends about Howard’s brutal attack in her garden all those years ago. Yet she trusted Aaron with the information. Trust was fundamental to all thriving relationships, so he quickly told himself she had no choice.
The waiter returned with the ladies’ tea. Miss Stowe poured a tiny amount into her cup and left the tea to steep while she asked an important question.
“What can we do to help?”
Miss Lovelace wasted no time in giving them a few tasks. “Can you find out who encouraged Madame Rossellini to give an encore? I’m also curious to know if any ladies were seensneaking upstairs. Perhaps you might make discreet enquiries. And I need a list of all the men who entered my premises last night. Someone stole the record I made.”
“The murderer, no doubt,” Miss Stowe said.
Miss Moorland was more interested in the murder scene. “May I ask how Lord Howard died? Was it terribly gruesome?”
Aaron thought to test the wallflower’s metal as she did not seem that shy. “He was stabbed in the back with a Mughal dagger. Might you know anyone who collects Indian weaponry? A person whose ancestors may have been granted the honour of being presented with one from an emperor?”
Miss Moorland tried to look him in the eye and seemed almost angry with herself when her gaze wandered. “No, sir.”
“Your manner says you’re lying.”
Miss Lovelace jumped to the lady’s defence. “Miss Moorland is being entirely honest. Despite our many lessons in the art of talking to gentlemen, she finds eye contact the most difficult.”
“Talking is an art form now?” he mocked.
“You find it difficult on occasion. When I interrupted your fight in the basement a few months ago, it took an age before you could string two words together.”
She had descended the stairs in a dressing gown that hugged every curve, her golden hair hanging in lustrous waves around her shoulders. He’d been dumbstruck. He’d battled to breathe, let alone form a coherent word.
“I was about to punch a man. I believe I told you to get out.”
“Your sister dragged me there because you were about to assault Mr Flynn. She said I was her last hope. The one person who might make you see sense.”
Aaron gritted his teeth. “Flynn ruined her.”
“They were in love, not that you’d know what it means.”
“Do you?” he countered, not wanting to hear the answer.
“Of course not. But I imagine one loses all grasp of reality.”
