Night Storm (22 page)

A few inches shy of six feet, with light blond hair and obsidian eyes, Joseph Blackburne would attract the notice of the opposite sex with little effort. He extended his hands in greeting to Charley and bussed her on the cheek.

“Good evening, Miss Charl—Mrs. Fielding.”

She grinned, a genuine show of affection. “And to you, Joseph.”

Adair clenched his back teeth at her use of the coroner’s Christian name. He hated the familiarity it implied and the affectionate tone he heard.

Blackburne’s dark gaze shifted to him. “Adair. I thought we had discussed this matter.”

“We discussed my being present during the examination.” He moved closer to Charley. “However, with Charley assisting you, I would be content to wait nearby. I promise to stay out of the way.”

He would catch hell later for using her childhood name in front another. Adair didn’t care. Blackburne needed to be aware that he and Charley had more than a passing familiarity with each other. He hoped the knowledge would work in his favor while the coroner considered whether or not Adair should accompany them. Plus, Blackburne would recognize the boundary Adair had just established.

Given the way the coroner’s sharp gaze slid from him to Charley and back to him, Adair’s message had been received.

“See that you do.” Blackburne motioned for them to join him in his carriage. Once they were settled, he began instructing Charley. “As I mentioned in our previous conversation, I will introduce you as a midwife, there to help me due to my assistant’s unexpected illness. How I’m going to justify Adair’s presence remains a mystery.”

“The butler will allow me entrance.”

“Are the two of you acquainted?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll leave him to you.”

“Prepare yourselves. Winthrop enjoys a rather clean home. The smell…” he paused, not knowing how to explain the awful acrid assault on one’s senses, “Just be careful not to take a deep breath.”

Once they arrived at Winthrop’s residence, Granston greeted them, draping their outerwear over his bony arm and accepting Blackburne’s explanation for Charley’s presence. As for Adair, the butler merely nodded in his direction. No justification needed.

Charley pressed the backs of her fingers to her nose, and Blackburne scrutinized his surroundings, attempting to locate the source of the pungent aroma, much like Adair had upon entering Winthrop’s home the first time.

Blackburne asked Granston, “Does Lord Winthrop wish to speak with me before the exam?”

“No, sir. His lordship asked me to escort you up to the baroness’s current resting place. He will speak with you afterward.”

Given the baron’s predilection for cleanliness, Winthrop’s decision to avoid the unpleasantness associated with a medical examination did not surprise Adair.

Blackburne bent to retrieve his valise from the floor. The butler led them to the second floor, where the family’s living quarters were located. The temperature on this level was considerably cooler than on the ground floor.

When they passed yet another door, Charley asked, “Are we not going to the baroness’s bedchamber?”

“No, ma’am. Lord Winthrop had her body moved to one of the guest rooms.”

“Did he.” Then more quietly, she said, “How odd.”

Adair whispered in her ear. “His lordship is rather fastidious.”

Her smooth brow furrowed a moment before comprehension dawned. Her lips thinned and she quickened her step.

Granston paused outside a door located at the far end of the corridor where a lone footman sat, wearing coat and gloves. The temperature had dropped so dramatically in this part of the house that Adair could see wisps of his breath. The butler held out their coats. “You’ll need these.” The old retainer’s cloudy eyes met Adair’s, and he knew they would not like what they found inside.

“Why is it so cold?” With Adair’s assistance, she donned her coat.

“To preserve the body,” Blackburne said.

Pink entered Charley’s cheeks. “Yes, of course. Don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Is the door unlocked, Granston?” the coroner asked.

“Yes, sir.

“That will be all for now.”

“Very good, sir.” Granston motioned for the footman to precede him down the corridor.

Blackburne turned to Charlotte. “Ready, Mrs. Fielding?”

“Whenever you are.”

Without thought, Adair made to follow them. Blackburne shot him a warning look. Adair chafed at being left behind to sit in the corridor like a naughty schoolboy. The coroner’s unbending expression forewarned that any attempts to change his mind would not go well. Instead of sitting, Adair braced his shoulders against the wall behind him and crossed his arms. He would rather be nearby than not present at all.

Satisfied, Blackburne opened the door, and a frigid blast of wintry air struck them in the face. Before stepping through the portal, Charley glanced over her shoulder. A mixture of regret and anxiety wavered briefly over her beautiful face before she closed the door behind her.

Adair stared at the solid wood barrier. His fingernails dug into the palms of his hands. Watching the two of them disappear into the bedchamber together sent fire blazing through his veins. Blood pounded at his temples, and his stomach cramped.

His reaction to seeing her with Blackburne was but a mild one compared to what he had experienced earlier with the Scot. Somewhere deep in his mind, where logic still resided, he understood Charley’s relationship with the coroner was built on years of acquaintance.

The Scot was a different story. They were having dinner together. So many questions poured into his head. They remained there, clogging his mind, distracting him from this case. He tilted his head back until his skull connected with the wall’s hard surface.

What had he gotten himself into by involving himself with Charley—at any level? The ride would be jolting and turbulent, because logic no longer controlled his actions. His lonely heart had performed a well-executed coup when he hadn’t been looking. Evidently, even though he knew he couldn’t have Charley, he would not allow anyone else to claim her either.

He closed his eyes, hoping he would not wind up destroying them both.

# # #

Charlotte stood just inside the bedchamber, wishing Cameron was at her side. Despite having survived without him for several years, she still felt stronger when he was near.

Slowly, she pivoted to face the room. Joseph strode to the open window, his path illuminated by two lamps located on each side of the narrow bed, their flames glowing in a silent vigil for the lifeless body they framed. A maid sat wrapped in a blanket a few feet away.

The bedchamber was sparsely yet tastefully decorated with a bed, two nightstands, and a wardrobe. No wall fixtures or other mementos warmed the chamber’s cold, sharp edges. The window sank into its casing with a loud
thunk,
startling Charlotte.

“You may go,” Joseph said to the maid.

“Yes, sir.”

The coroner made his way to the bed, pulled back the protective sheet covering the body, and muttered a curse. “Wait.” He looked at the departing servant. “The body has been cleaned.”

The maid nodded.

“By whose order?”

“H-his lordship.”

“Thank you.” Charlotte ushered the girl out. “According to Mr. Adair, who met with Lord Winthrop a few days ago, his lordship is inordinately focused on cleanliness.”

“Cleanliness, or obstruction of justice?”

Charlotte’s eyes widened. “Do you think it’s possible Winthrop killed his wife?”

“Anything is possible until the evidence points us in a particular direction.”

Approaching the opposite side of the bed, Charlotte noted the baroness’s body had not only been washed, but clothed in a lace- and silk-trimmed chemise. “Perhaps Lord Winthrop thought nothing of cleaning his wife’s battered body because he already had his mind made up about the events surrounding her death.”

“Which would be?”

“Mr. Adair said the baron believes she was struck down by a footpad bent on thievery.”

Joseph grunted in reply. Bending over the corpse, he examined and measured the laceration on her ladyship’s cheek, jotting everything down in a brown leather journal. “When it comes to a suspicious death, the victim’s body must suffer a certain amount of immodesty in order for us to conduct a thorough inspection.”

Charlotte swallowed. “Understood.”

“I’ll do my best to protect your female sensibilities, though I suspect I’m about to make us both quite uncomfortable.”

“I’ve prepared myself to see the worst.”

“Have you?” He studied her face. “Now I understand why my sister affectionately refers to you as Practical Charlotte. I think she secretly wishes she were more like you.”

Charlotte smiled. “And I have always longed to be more carefree like Annabelle.”

“Let us get on with it, then.”

Joseph systematically searched the corpse from head to toe in an efficient and clinical manner that made the awkward moments less so. She took notes while he recited everything of import.

He confirmed her suspicion that the ring around her ladyship’s neck was not caused by a man’s hands. Based on the size and location, he speculated the contusion was made by a swift hard tug on something—possibly a necklace.

When she asked about the sequence in which the wounds were delivered, he could not say for sure which one occurred first—the abdomen or the cheek wound. Charlotte’s disappointment must have shown through, for he said, “Something’s bothering you.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to distract you.”

“This particular distraction might be useful to my report.”

“The laceration to the baroness’s face seems unnecessary, given the mortal nature of her other wounds.”

“Unless it was a first strike or defensive cut.”

“Mr. Adair said as much too. I can’t shake the feeling that her assailant wanted to mar her face, either out of revenge or some perverse pleasure.”

“As a coroner, I’ve learned a few simple truths over the years.”

“And what are those?”

“Evil has no reason and no remorse. Evil people perform terrible acts because they can.” He refocused his attention on Lady Winthrop’s right hand. “You must prepare yourself, Charlotte. We might come to the end of this journey knowing the murderer’s identity, yet his purpose behind the crime might remain beyond our comprehension.”

“Now that’s a rather depressing statement.”

“True, all the same.”

After being bent over the bed and battling the cold that continually tried to creep into her bones, Charlotte straightened. She stretched her back and twisted at the waist, left, then right.

“What do we have here?” Joseph murmured.

Charlotte froze. He held up her ladyship’s right hand, studying the tip of her middle finger.

“You found something?”

“Possibly. Would you bring the light closer, please?”

“Of course.” She lifted a lamp and held it aloft. “Better?”

“Yes, thank you.” He’d fetched tweezers from his bag and now used them to coax something from beneath the fingernail.

“Is that a thread?”

“So it would appear, though I can’t quite make out the color in this light. Something dark.”

“Do you think the thread is linked to the murderer?”

“Without the benefit of having viewed the passageway or questioned witnesses, I couldn’t say for sure. However, do you see the white creases on the first two fingernails?” He pointed with his pinkie finger at a white line about a third of the way down the nails on the index and middle fingers.

“Yes.” The marks looked vaguely familiar, as if she had seen them before, but she couldn’t bring the memory to mind. “What are they from?”

“Have you ever grabbed hold of something with enough force, or with not the correct grip, and had a fingernail bend backward?”

Comprehension dawned. “One does not forget such instantaneous pain.”

“The white bend mark along with the dark thread buried beneath her nail leads me to believe the baroness tried to fight off her attacker.”

“Do you think she could have torn an article of clothing from her assailant’s garments?”

“It’s entirely possible.” He placed the thread within a square of white linen, folding the cloth several times before placing the small bundle inside his bag. “You were one of the first to find her ladyship. Did you see anything lying about on the ground—especially near the body?”

For the first time since finding Lady Winthrop’s corpse, Charlotte felt a sense of relief. The cloak tie she had found was red. Even with the poor lighting, she could confidently say the thread had not been red.

Even though, she could not share her findings with her friend. She molded her features into what she hoped was a considering expression. “Everything happened so quickly, and the passageway was not well illuminated.”

He nodded, accepting her noncommittal answer. “Her ladyship could have just as easily ripped the material as opposed to pulling it off completely. I’ll visit the theater first thing in the morning. Though I’m sure whatever evidence might have been left behind is gone by now.” He tossed his tweezers inside his bag. “I believe we’re done here.” He placed the baroness’s hands atop her stomach and drew up the sheet.

Charlotte took a minute to record the coroner’s final observations into the journal before handing it over. “Thank you for allowing me to participate in the exam. The process was most enlightening—and quite fascinating.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners. “No more so than what you do every day. At least you are given an opportunity to save lives. I deal in death, always.”

“If your investigation leads the authorities to a murderer, then you, too, have saved lives.”

He stared at her, appearing somewhat startled by her assessment.

“Have you never considered your work in such a way?” she asked, moving toward the door.

“No.” He lifted his valise. “No, I haven’t.” Gratitude softened his obsidian eyes. “Thank you.”

She smiled, opening the door. “You’re most welcome.” Her smile died the moment she saw Cameron.

No longer lounging against the wall, he now stood in the middle of the corridor with his feet braced wide apart and his arms crossed. His icy gaze bore into her with a severity that stopped her in her tracks. Slowly, he untangled his arms and lifted his chin.