Adele closed her eyes.

  “I wish, sometimes, that I had been wise enough to marry as I might have wished instead of as Father wished it,” Cathleen continued. “I have begun to see that, despite everything Father has said, you might have been the wisest of all of us, after all.”

  Adele shook her head. “But this, Cathleen…Cowden…it can only lead to heartbreak. Surely you can see that?”

  “I don’t see why it should,” Cathleen said. “Bellridge saw that Desplat woman for twenty years, then moved her into a cottage on his estate when she got with child.”

  “Philip Cowden will never consent to being tucked away in a cottage for your convenience,” Adele said.

  “He cares for me.”

  “And he is a professional journalist, Cath. If he does care for you, he will eventually demand that you give him more of yourself and you can’t give him that.”

  Cathleen’s chin was still up, her face calm, but her eyes filled with tears. “That is for the future.” Her voice trembled.

  Adele abandoned the door, moved over to her sister and embraced her. After a moment, Cathleen relented and hugged her back.

  •

  Adele paused upon the brink of the breakfast room the next morning, taking in the enormous bouquet of yellow roses sitting in a crystal vase at the far end of the table, where she had sat for the last two mornings.

  Georgina looked up from buttering her crumpet. “Just look, Adelaide! They’re lovely.” She smiled, with a touch of wickedness. “I wonder who they are from? The envelope has your name on it, and I don’t recognize the writing.” Her tone was merely teasing, lacking any mean notes.

  “I suspect you know very well who they are from,” Adele teased right back, as she moved down the table.

  Dudley, beside Cathleen, turned pink.

  Her father, at the head of the table, made a harrumphing sound from behind his newspaper.

  The footman jumped to withdraw Adele’s chair. She thanked him and plucked the card from the vase as she sat.

  Merry Christmas. Daniel.

  “Merry Christmas, everyone.” Adele tucked the card into her pocket as the butler poured tea for her. She glanced at Cathleen and Stirling, sitting between her and her father. “I hope everyone had a lovely time at the ball last night?”

  There were soft sounds of agreement.

  The butler offered the breakfast tray and Adele took her time selecting from the larger-than-usual range of choices. This was the same generous Christmas Day breakfast she remembered from her childhood. She ate steadily, even though her appetite was not enormous, despite an evening of dancing. She had spent the night tossing upon her narrow bed, wondering if she had, indeed, made an error of judgement regarding Captain Wirth.

  But today was Christmas Day. In two days time, she could return to London and discuss the matter with Melville, and settle her mind once and for all.

  But for now, she must get through this family gathering with as much grace as possible. To that end, when everyone left the table except her father, Adele remained in her chair. “Father, I would speak with you for a moment.”

  Richard lowered the newspaper a mere inch, enough to glare at her over the top edge of the broadsheet. “I’m still in the penny stocks.”

  “The London Stock Exchange does not open on Christmas Day,” Adele told him. “Your investments are perfectly safe for the next five minutes.”

  He stared at her for a long moment. Then the corner of his mouth lifted. He dropped the newspaper onto the tablecloth and sat back. “You spent rather a lot of time dancing with that Leighton fellow last night.”

  “I happen to like Daniel very much,” Adele told him.

  “You showed him the door more than once, in your first season. Then you’ve changed your mind, like a woman?”

  Adele smiled. “No, Father. I changed his.”

  Richard actually laughed. It was short, but it was a genuine sound and Adele marveled. “Best get to why you interrupted me,” he said, beckoning to the butler and pushing his teacup forward.

  “I thought I would relieve your mind, on the slight chance that the question still lingered there. I am in no need of money, Father. And while several problems tend to vex me on any given day, none of them require your attention. I am taking care of them by myself.”

  Her father stared at her once more, as he absently stirred his tea.

  “I would ask if this meets your approval,” Adele continued, “but, frankly, I have managed to live without your approval since I was twenty-four, and I intend to continue on in that fashion.” She had been twenty-four the year she had marched out of the townhouse in Mayfair, and run off to marry Hugh, but she would not speak Hugh’s name and invoke his memory, not to this man, or in this house.

  “Is that so?” her father replied.

  “It is,” she said crisply. “I came to stay for Christmas, to visit my sisters and reacquaint myself with their lives. Too few letters reached me in the Cape Colony.” None of them had been from her father. “Now I have assured you that I require nothing of you, perhaps we can have a pleasant Christmas Day, yes?”

  She got to her feet and looked at her father expectantly.

  He considered her for a long moment more, then picked up his newspaper. “You’ve grown cheeky. It’s not lady-like.” He raised the paper in front of his face once more.

  Adele pressed her lips together, vexed.

  He lowered the paper enough to look over it. “As you’re so snippy this morning, you can use up the energy handing out the presents.”

  Adele felt her mouth drop open. No one but her father handed out the gifts. Not once in her entire life had he let anyone approach the tree and sort through the parcels beneath it. He had extracted, examined, and sometimes shook each gift and remarked upon its appearance as he gave it to the butler to give to the recipient.

  She pulled herself together. “Yes, Father.”

  He harrumphed.

  •

  Braintree, Essex. December 1907. Two days later.

  After a fallow two days at Panfield, spent sipping a great quantity of tea and gossiping with her sisters, Adele gladly packed her valise—another fact of her life that her sisters found highly amusing, for neither of them had packed anything in their lives. Adele had learned to live without a lady’s maid many years ago.

  She kissed and hugged her sisters, who both awkwardly returned the embrace with little laughs, while the family motorcar was brought round to the front of the house, to drive her to the train station in Braintree. Her father was in the library, consuming the day’s newspapers, brandy and his post-breakfast cigar. Adele tapped on the door, leaned in, and said, “It’s safe to emerge now, Father. I’m leaving.”

  He rattled the newsprint. “And good riddance!”

  She blew him a kiss and shut the door.

  It was a chilly, wet morning. The driver took his time navigating the ruts and puddles along the narrow road into Braintree. Adele attempted to read, for she had a pocket-sized copy of Mark Twain’s What is Man, that she had barely begun. The bouncing and jerking of the motorcar distracted her and she found herself studying the wild primrose along the verges, for the small yellow flowers had opened early this year.

  In Braintree, they found the high street was clogged with vehicles, many of them at a standstill and without drivers. A small crowd had formed around the public building at the intersection.

  The driver brought the car to a halt. “I’ll have to go around, m’lady.”

  “Can you back up and turn, here?” she asked, measuring the width of the road between the shops just here, and the long nose of the motorcar.

  “I’m sure I can manage it.”

  She nodded. The driver put the car into gear and eased backward while Adele studied the crowd. “Why is everyone gathered around the town hall?”

  “Don’t rightly know, m’lady,” the driver said absently, focused upon the view through the rear window. Then he made a t’sking sound with his big teeth. “Well, we’re not turning around, now.”

  Adele twisted to look. Two more vehicles had pulled up behind them.

  She put her book away. “I will see if there is a route through the morass.” She opened the door.

  “I can do that for you, my lady!” the driver protested.

  “No need,” she said through his open window. She gave him a smile. “I am already out of the car. You watch for possible openings while I find out what the hold-up is.” She patted the dark maroon side of the door and headed for the intersection the brown brick building dominated.

  Before she reached the intersection, though, she paused at a narrow side street, movement drawing her attention. She looked down the little street, which still had cobblestones instead of paving. A building farther down the street had another small crowd lingering before it, blocking the street. A great many of the men standing on the cobbles wore police uniforms, their domed hats indelibly marking them as law enforcement officials.

  Instinctively, Adele turned into the narrow street and walked briskly to the building. No one stopped her until she was three paces from the front door. From here, she could see that the building was an empty house, with dirty windows and bare floorboards.

  An officers held out his hand. “You can’t go in, miss.”

  Adele gave him a small, business-like smile. “I have a message for the Inspector.” And she held her breath, hoping her guess was correct. She wore a simple worsted suit, one that a working girl might wear, and her hat was unadorned.

  “I can give it to him.” The officer held out his hand.

  “It’s a verbal message, a sensitive one,” Adele said. “I’m to give it to the Inspector and no one else.” She leaned forward. “Given the circumstances, it’s best to follow orders, don’t you agree?” It was more bluff, but the worried looks on the policemen’s faces, and the way they were clinging in little groups made her suspect that the bluff would work.

  The officer considered for barely a heartbeat, then nodded. “Up the stairs…you’ll see him at the top.”

  Adele gave the man a warm smile. “Thank you.” She hurried into the house, which was even colder than the mild day outside, and echoing emptily. Male voices issued from the upper floor. She didn’t hurry up the stairs, nor did she climb them furtively. She made it look as though she had perfectly legitimate business here, even though her heart was thudding heavily.

  At the top was a small landing with four doors coming off it. All the doors were open, and she could see windows without drapes through all but the one directly next to the stairs, which was where most of the uniformed men were gathered.

  Adele stepped around them. “Excuse me. Please make way. Thank you.” She eased her way through the men, and into the room with a series of polite requests.

  The bed frame had no mattress. The body lying on it was naked, but Adele barely noticed, for every inch of the once tall man was covered in blood, which had emerged from dozens of cuts. His arms and ankles were secured to the corners of the bed frame, the skin beneath the police handcuffs bruised and bloody. His face looked peaceful, though. His eyes were open.

  Beneath the bedsprings, the floor was hidden under a pool of blood nearly the size of the bed itself.

  “Hey! You can’t be in here, miss!”

  Adele could barely pull her eyes away from Captain Wirth’s remains. “I’m looking for the Inspector.”

  Hands gripped her shoulders. “Come on, now. This is no place for a woman.” She was pushed back toward the door.

  Adele shrugged off the hands and stepped sideways, turned and confronted her manhandler. The officer was senior, but not the man she now must speak with. “The Inspector.” Her voice emerged flat. “It is imperative I speak with him.” She paused. “Now.”

  The four uniformed men in the room, and the doctor standing by the bed, all stared at her.

  Movement at the door and a heavy tread announced the arrival of the inspector. He had his helmet tucked under his arm. “You had better have a mighty fine excuse for this, my lady,” he told her, his florid mustache wriggling. “I am Inspector Jenkins.”

  “Inspector Jenkins, may I speak with you alone? Somewhere out of hearing range of anyone.”

  “There’s nowhere nearby like that,” Jenkins said heavily.

  Adele looked around the room. “Send everyone else out and shut the door. The body won’t eavesdrop.”

  His mouth opened.

  “It is important, Inspector,” Adele added. She kept her gaze upon his face, without flinching or looking away.

  He smoothed his mustache with one big finger. “If you’re wasting my time, you will regret this.” He lifted his chin. “Everyone, step out a moment, please.”

  The police officers and the doctor moved out of the room, murmuring among themselves. She heard a guffaw.

  Jenkins shut the door softly, turned and spread his feet. “Now, what’s this all about, hmmm?”

  Adele pointed to the body. “This is Captain Gerald Wirth of the Royal Navy.”

  “And how might you be knowing that?”

  “Because I spoke to him only two days ago, at the Salinghall Ball.” She held up her hand. “But that is not my entire point. It is very important that you telegraph a man in London and tell him what has happened.”

  Jenkins looked amused. “There are a great many men in London, miss. Did you have any particular one in mind?”

  “William Melville.”

  Jenkin’s amusement vanished.

  “I see you know the name. Good.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You’re one of Melville’s people?”

  “I am. If you know anything about Melville, then you will gather that this murder isn’t as simple as it seems. It is vital that Melville learn about Wirth’s death as soon as possible. I am heading to London myself, on the ten o’clock train.”

  “Then you can tell him yourself, when you get there.”

  She shook her head. “No, I want him to see this room. I want him to see the state of the body, which you cannot move until he has arrived. There is an eleven o’clock train from the Liverpool Street Station, and he must be on it. You must send him a wire immediately so that he can make that train.”

  Jenkins looked as though he was winding himself up to explain to her that he was the Inspector, and she was a bit o’ fluff with too great an opinion of her own worth. So Adele added; “Put my name in the telegram. Becket. That will bring Melville running.”

  Jenkins closed his mouth with a snap. He said softly, “It will, will it?”

  “I guarantee it.” She glanced at poor Captain Wirth one last time and gave a small shiver. “Will you do what I ask?”

  Jenkins blew out his breath. “It is the cost of a telegraph I’m out. And I’ve heard rumors about Melville, about his sticky business. But if this is some sort of high-handed prank, miss—”

  “Call me Becket.”

  “—then I’ll have your guts for garters,” Jenkins finished heavily.

  “Thank you,” Adele said. “Now…I really must hurry, or I’ll miss my train.” And now she had even more reason to catch it.

  •

  Adele walked the length of the first-class carriage, glancing into each compartment, until she found the two of them. She stepped inside the compartment and slid the door shut.

  Slane wore a perfectly respectable tweed suit, now, and his unruly, thick black locks had been brushed into a semblance of order.

  Daniel merely looked urbane, as usual. He moved the magazines off the seat beside him and Adele sank onto the cushion with a touch of relief.

  “You look as though breakfast didn’t agree with you, Becket,” Slane said.

  “He’s right. Did you argue with your father again?” Daniel asked.

  Adele gripped her hands together. “I just left a murder scene in Braintree.”

  Slane laughed. “You found a way in. We couldn’t talk our way past the bobbies at the door.”

  “That’s not the point. The point is, the murdered man was Captain Wirth.”

  They both gaped at her.

  Adele nodded. “He wasn’t simply strangled or beaten, either. Someone took to him with a very small, very sharp knife. There were cuts all over his body, and blood everywhere around him. He might have bled to death from those alone, given time, only the murderer cut his throat open to be certain.”

  Daniel picked up her hand. “Are you alright, Adele?”

  “I’m perfectly fine.”

  Slane sat back, his crossed leg swinging in time with the train’s gentle rocking. “How small was the knife that did the cutting?” he asked.

  “Very narrow. I’ve never seen anything like it,” Adele told him.

  “You have,” Slane told her. “You’ve just never equated it with weaponry and torture.”

  She raised her brow at him.

  “A surgical knife,” Slane said.

  “Of course…” she breathed, her heart thudding heavily. “That makes complete sense. Perhaps that’s even why he calls himself the Doctor.”

  “If the Doctor really is in the area, then why are we leaving?” Daniel said. “You should have stayed with the body. There could be more to be discovered.”

  “We’re leaving because the Doctor is in the area,” Adele told him. “Don’t you see, Daniel? He wasn’t just in the area. He was at the ball. Something worried him about Wirth. The Doctor and his people have likely been watching the Captain all along.”

  “Which we presumed, too,” Slane said easily. “That’s why the caper at the ball, so Wirth didn’t do anything or go anywhere unnatural.”

  “Then maybe the Doctor moved in and made contact with Wirth between the ball and today,” Adele said. “Wirth would have…I don’t know…he must have given himself away in some manner. He flinched, the way I said he would.”

  “You told him we wouldn’t pursue this, though,” Daniel pointed out.

  “It doesn’t matter. He was nervous and he didn’t want to deal with the Germans. He couldn’t bluff even with a hand full of trump cards—”

  “He wouldn’t have to bluff, with that hand,” Daniel interjected.