Chapter Three

GOOD EVENING, GENTLEMEN. I AM MISS CHARLOTTE Kent, and I am sorry to have kept you waiting.”

Charlotte smiled at the two men standing in the drawing room. The younger man was a police constable, who could not have been on the force overly long since he looked to be no more than nineteen or twenty. His rain-soaked, ill-fitting uniform caused alarm to flare within her, as it always did when she saw a policeman. Fighting the sensation, she limped past him with as much dignity as she could muster. She could feel his surprise as he observed her labored movement, and knew the exact moment when it turned to a kind of sickened pity.

She inhaled a steadying breath, reminding herself that he could not be blamed for his reaction to her. When she was a young girl Genevieve had suggested she try to ignore the stares of others, but that had proven impossible. Over the years she had grown accustomed to the embarrassed glances of the world, those startled expressions of horror, curiosity, and, at their most brutally honest, revulsion.

“Please, sit down.” She gestured to the faded chairs and sofa as she seated herself.

The second man nodded at the young police constable, giving him permission to be seated. Charlotte turned her attention to this gentleman, because he was obviously of greater authority than the policeman, and because he was not wearing a uniform and was therefore less intimidating to her. He appeared to be about thirty-seven or so, and she supposed his face was handsome enough, although at that moment it was far too sober to be considered pleasant. He was dressed in a plain brown coat of fairly good quality, dark trousers, and wet, worn shoes—suggesting that his means were adequate but by no means vast, and he was either in the habit of walking a great deal, or did not think it necessary to waste money on new footwear when there were still a few miles to be squeezed from his current pair.

“Miss Kent, permit me to introduce myself,” he began. “I am Inspector Turner of Scotland Yard, and this is Police Constable Wilkins. First let me say that I am greatly relieved to find you here—at this moment there are scores of policemen and concerned citizens searching the streets of London for both you and the Dark Shadow. I realize you have suffered a very difficult ordeal this evening, but I hope you won’t mind answering a few questions?”

Charlotte shook her head. “I would be pleased to, Inspector Turner.”

“How did you manage to escape the Dark Shadow and make it back to your home?”

“It all happened rather quickly, actually,” she replied. “We drove off as fast as we could, because the Dark Shadow ordered Oliver—who is my coachman and butler—to drive away, and, fearing both for my life and his own, he obeyed. After we had been driving for a while, he suddenly said ‘Turn here!’ and Oliver did, and then he—the Dark Shadow, that is—threw open the door and jumped out, and I told Oliver to just keep driving as fast as he could for home, and that is how we came here.”

“I see.” Lewis Turner nodded, as if he believed her tale was completely plausible. He always found it best when questioning people to first let them tell their story exactly as they wanted him to hear it. The time for pointing out the inconsistencies came later. “And where was it, exactly, that he jumped from the carriage?”

“I—I’m not sure. I think it was somewhere near Charing Cross. Or—no, actually, it was by Waterloo Bridge,” she corrected herself, suddenly remembering Oliver’s instructions. “Yes, that’s right. He jumped out by the bridge, and we just kept on.”

“And did you happen to see in which direction he was going, after he leapt out?”

“I’m afraid not, Inspector.”

He frowned. “You didn’t make note of whether he was going north or south? Did he appear to go down to the river, or head for an alley?”

“I’m sorry—I was rather frightened at the time, and didn’t think to look out of the carriage after him. I was just very relieved that he was gone, and that he hadn’t harmed us.”

“Of course. Is there anything else you can tell us about what you noticed? Is it possible for you to give us a description of him?”

“Unfortunately, no. He was wearing a mask.”

“How tall would you judge him to be?”

“I’m not sure. We were seated in the carriage.”

“What about before you were in the carriage, when he was using you as a shield in Lord Chadwick’s home? Surely you must have some impression of his height.”

“Well, he was certainly a good deal taller than me, Inspector. Beyond that I’m not sure how to describe—”

“Was he taller than me?” He rose from his chair, trying to give her some measurement for comparison. “Or was he more the height of Wilkins?” He gestured for the police constable to stand as well.

Charlotte studied the two men, feeling slightly flustered. She did not want to give them any more information than was absolutely necessary. “Unfortunately, it was quite dark, and for the greater part of my ordeal he was behind me—”

“I’m only asking for your impression, Miss Kent,” Lewis assured her. “Just tell me what you remember.”

“I believe he was closer to Constable Wilkins’s height.”

“Was he close to his height, or taller?” he persisted.

Charlotte pretended to think a moment, knowing full well that the Dark Shadow was a good deal taller than the constable. “Close to his height—or perhaps a little taller. I’m sorry, Inspector, that I cannot be more precise.”

“Every piece of information is of great help in this investigation, Miss Kent,” he assured her. “What more can you tell me about him? Can you give me a description of his face?”

“No—he was wearing a mask.”

“Did you notice his eye color?”

“As I have said, it was very dark—”

“It was dark in the carriage, but what about when you were coming down the stairs with him in Lord Chadwick’s home and making your way to the front door? Lord Chadwick keeps his home relatively well lit, does he not?”

“He—the Dark Shadow—was always behind me, Inspector. As you may recall, he was using me as a shield.”

“And there was no moment, throughout the entire duration of your being in his company, in which you had an opportunity to see his eyes?” The lines between his brows deepened a little, suggesting he found this rather unlikely.

“I’m not saying I didn’t see them, Inspector. I’m saying it was too dark for me to take note of their color.”

“Did you happen to notice anything else about him? Did he have any distinguishing marks on his hands or wrists, or did he wear a ring of any kind?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know—he was wearing gloves.”

“What kind of gloves?”

“Dark ones.”

“Were they leather? Wool? Cotton?”

“Leather, I believe.”

“Expensively made, or second-rate?”

“I’m really not sure.”

“What about his weapon? Can you describe it for me?”

“Actually, I’m afraid not. He kept it concealed in his coat the entire time.”

He regarded her skeptically. “Are you certain?”

“Yes—why does that surprise you?”

“Generally, most thieves don’t make an effort to conceal their weapons once they are found out—unless they are trying to remain anonymous in a crowd, which clearly he was not. Further, a number of witnesses who saw him have said that they also saw his firearm, which they describe as a very large pistol with a light-colored handle. The only thing that varies in their statements is the actual size of the weapon, which ranges from approximately nine inches to a foot or more.”

“I’m afraid they are mistaken, Inspector. I was with him the entire time, and I can assure you that he kept his weapon hidden in his coat.”

“Even when he shot and killed Lord Haywood?”

She regarded him with dismay. “Lord Haywood died?” Although she had seen the poor man sprawled upon the staircase bleeding, she had desperately prayed that he had only been wounded.

“You did see the Dark Shadow shoot him before he forced you into the carriage, didn’t you?”

“The Dark Shadow didn’t shoot him,” she informed him. “Lord Haywood was shot by someone else.”

Lewis kept his expression contained. “Why do you say that?”

“Because I was there—I was right beside him. He never fired at Lord Haywood. He never fired at anyone.”

“Of course he did,” Constable Wilkins countered. “Everyone saw him do it.”

“They did not see him do it,” Charlotte retorted, “because he didn’t do it.”

“Some fifty people have said that they saw the Dark Shadow point his pistol directly at Lord Haywood and shoot him dead,” Lewis argued. “Are you saying that all fifty of those witnesses are lying?”

“I am saying that they are mistaken.”

“All fifty of them?”

“It was dark, Inspector, and they were a good distance from him. I was right beside him, and I know without a doubt that he never withdrew his pistol from his coat.”

“According to my reports, at the time Lord Haywood was shot, you were actually behind the Dark Shadow—is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Then I fail to see how you could know whether his firearm was drawn from his coat at that point or not.”

“I know,” Charlotte insisted.

“How?”

“Because it was still in his coat when he climbed into the carriage.”

“Perhaps he put it back into his coat after he fired the shot.”

“He didn’t.”

“The witnesses have also said that the Shadow was struck by one of Lord Haywood’s bullets—is that also incorrect?”

“No,” she admitted. “He was shot.”

“Where?”

“I’m not entirely sure—it was very dark—”

“Of course, you’ve mentioned that numerous times.” His tone remained pleasant, but he allowed her to see that he was finding some elements of her story rather dubious. “If he was able to leap from your carriage and run off into the night, it would be fair to say it was not a very serious injury, would you agree?”

“I suppose not.”

“Could you give me some idea as to where you think he might have been struck?”

“I believe he was struck either in the arm or in the shoulder. I’m not really sure which.”

“Left or right arm or shoulder?”

“I believe it was the left.”

“Was he bleeding badly?”

“I’m not sure.”

“And were you also injured?”

“No, I was not.”

“And so I take it, Miss Kent, that the blood on your gown is his?”

Charlotte glanced uneasily down at her gown. She had forgotten entirely about the bloodstains she had acquired while helping the Dark Shadow into her house. “Yes.” Her mouth suddenly felt dry. “That is his blood.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, Miss Kent, how is it that you got so much of his blood upon you?”

“I suppose it happened as he was holding me—or maybe in the carriage—he must have been thrown against me at some point as we raced away.”

He regarded her thoughtfully a moment, evaluating everything she had told him. “With your permission, Miss Kent, Constable Wilkins and I would like to make an inspection of your carriage, to see if there is any more blood there, or any other evidence which might help us to solve the mystery of the Shadow’s identity.”

“Of course. Oliver will be pleased to show it to you.”

“And so after the Shadow leapt from your carriage, your coachman drove you home,” he continued, picking up the thread of her story. “Approximately what time was it when you arrived?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, then, how long would you estimate you have been home?”

“I’m not sure—an hour, perhaps.”

“And how far a distance would you say it is from your home to Waterloo Bridge?”

“I don’t know—I suppose it is approximately a fifteen- or twenty-minute drive.”

“It is a fifteen- or twenty-minute drive if one is traveling in no great hurry, but you have indicated that you told your coachman to drive as fast as he could. How long do you recall it taking before you arrived home?”

“I really don’t recall, Inspector Turner,” she told him, feeling slightly agitated. “As you can imagine, I was greatly distressed by what I had just been through. Are you almost finished with your questions?”

“I apologize for having to take you through what certainly must have been a terrible ordeal for you, Miss Kent. Now that the Dark Shadow has killed Lord Haywood, the pressure for the police to find this criminal and see him tried for murder will be enormous. Any piece of information, however slight or insignificant it may seem to you, can only help us to solve this case.”

“I’m afraid I cannot think of anything else.”

“If I may, Miss Kent, I would like to speak with your coachman a moment, to ask him what he recalls about the incident.”

“Certainly.”

“But first, Constable Wilkins and I would like to make an inspection of your house and the surrounding grounds.”

Panic streaked up her spine. “Search my house? Why?”

“It’s just a formality, really,” he assured her. “It’s just that one of your neighbors claims to have watched as you arrived home. She said she saw three people disembark from the carriage—which is perplexing, given that you have indicated that the Shadow left your carriage near Waterloo Bridge. I just want to be certain he did indeed leave your carriage, and did not merely get out and then perhaps travel here hanging onto the back of it—without your knowledge, of course.”

“I’m so sorry, Inspector,” Charlotte apologized, thinking quickly. “In all the excitement, I forgot to mention that Flynn was with us.”

“Who is Flynn?”

“He is a young boy who is staying with me. As you may be aware, this is a refuge house for unfortunate women and children who are trying to escape the harshness of their past and make a better life for themselves. Flynn had come along with Oliver for the ride—he likes to go out driving at night, and he is good company for Oliver while I am visiting. Whoever saw the three of us must have seen me, Oliver, and Flynn get out of the carriage and go into the house.”

“That is most likely the case,” he agreed. “Nevertheless, I’m sure you won’t object if Constable Wilkins and I make a quick search, just to ensure your safety. I promise we won’t disturb your household for long.” Without waiting for her permission he rose and strode down the stairs to the dining room with Constable Wilkins following.

“I can assure you that is entirely unnecessary.” Charlotte limped after them as best she could. “Why on earth would the Dark Shadow want to come here?” She raised her voice slightly as she added, “There are no jewels of any value in this house.” Oliver was nowhere to be seen, which Charlotte desperately hoped meant that he had gone upstairs to help Flynn and the girls hide their guest.

“If he were here, it would not be with the intention of stealing.” Lewis went into the main floor study, appraised it for a moment, then walked out and headed for the stairs leading down to the kitchen. “Because of the amount of time you spent with him this evening, it is possible he may have sensed your generous nature. If it turns out that his wounds are severe, he may try to appeal to you for help. It would not be the first time a criminal has sought assistance from one of his victims. Sometimes they mistake their victims’ frightened compliance for a kind of empathy.”

“After you are gone, Inspector, I shall see to it that all the doors and windows are locked for the night, and I will instruct everyone not to answer the door.”

“That would be wise. However, as we know, the Dark Shadow is adept at breaking into homes. Constable Wilkins and I will make certain he isn’t here before you lock up.” He went into the kitchen, where Eunice and Doreen were busily working. “Good evening, ladies.”

“Eunice and Doreen, this is Inspector Turner and Police Constable Wilkins,” said Charlotte. “They are conducting a search of the house, to ensure that the Shadow didn’t decide to follow me here and perhaps break in.”

“That’s a fine idea,” Eunice said, calmly drying a plate. “ ’Twas a terrible thing ye suffered tonight, lass. If the police here can make ye feel a wee bit safer, I’m sure we’ll all sleep sounder for it.”

“Aye.” Doreen poked violently at the flames burning brightly within the stove. “ ’Tis bad enough the streets are crawlin’ with vermin, but ’tis a sad state when ye canna feel safe even in yer own home. That’s the way of things today, Inspector, isn’t it?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Lewis poked his head into the pantry and the scullery. He then turned his gaze to Doreen and frowned. “If you don’t mind my asking, why have you got the stove burning so hot at this late hour?”

“Me and Eunice likes to do some cookin’ in the evenin’ when Miss Kent is out,” Doreen explained.

“But you’re finished now, are you not?” he enquired, approaching the stove.

“Aye—but with all the fuss goin’ on tonight, neither of us could go to bed, an’ when I saw how lovely an’ hot the coals were, I knew they were just perfect for burnin’ some old rags.” She pushed the last fragment of the Dark Shadow’s bloodstained shirt into the orange embers, then banged the iron burner plate back into place. “There now, mind ye dinna get too close—ye’d nae want to scorch that handsome coat of yers.”

“Will ye take some tea while ye’re here, Inspector?” offered Eunice sweetly. “I’ve just made a fresh pot, an’ there’s warm ginger biscuits to go with it.”

“No, thank you.”

“How about you, Constable?” Eunice held the plate of fragrant biscuits up to Constable Wilkins. “They’re lovely an’ crisp—”

“We don’t have time for refreshments,” Lewis said firmly.

Constable Wilkins regarded the plate mournfully.

“Did either of you ladies see or hear anything unusual after Miss Kent returned home?” Lewis asked. “Any strange noises in the house, for instance?”

“Nae more strange than usual,” said Doreen. “With the lasses an’ young Flynn traipsin’ about, there’s always some clamorin’ somewhere.”

“I see. And where might they be?”

“At this hour they’re most probably in bed,” Eunice told him.

“Thank you. Please don’t feel you need to accompany me, Miss Kent,” he told Charlotte. “Constable Wilkins and I can manage on our own.”

“I appreciate that, Inspector.” Charlotte fought to remain calm as she laboriously started up the stairs in front of him. “It’s just that the girls staying here might feel a little unnerved by your presence, and particularly that of Police Constable Wilkins. I want to be there to reassure them.”

“As you wish.”

He made a quick perusal of the bedrooms that belonged to Charlotte, Eunice, Doreen, and Oliver. Finding nothing amiss, he proceeded to the top floor.

“Don’t be frightened, Violet,” Charlotte soothed when she saw the young girl peering at them from behind her chamber door. “This is Inspector Turner and Constable Wilkins. They are just taking a look at the house to make sure that we are safe.”

Violet eyed the two men in wary silence. Lewis speculated the poor girl had learned long ago that when it came to policemen, the less one spoke the better.

“Who is in there?” he demanded, indicating the closed door of the room in which Charlotte had left the Dark Shadow.

“That’s Ruby’s chamber,” Charlotte told him.

“She’s sleepin’.” Flynn rubbed his eyes as he emerged from his own tiny room.

“Unfortunately, Miss Kent, we shall have to waken her.”

“I understand, Inspector.” Charlotte went over to the door and rapped firmly upon it. “Ruby? It’s Miss Kent. I’m sorry to disturb you, but there is a detective and a policeman here and they need to take a quick look inside your room. Is that all right?”

“I ain’t decent,” Ruby mumbled sleepily. “Give me a minute.”

Lewis waited impatiently, listening to the sounds of a bed creaking, a wardrobe door being opened and shut, and then a most unladylike oath as some part of Ruby’s body thudded against something hard. Finally, the door opened and she appeared, looking grumpy and disheveled, with her brilliant copper hair spilling wildly over the rumpled blanket she had retrieved to drape around herself.

“I ain’t done nothin’,” she spat defensively at Constable Wilkins.

“The police aren’t here for you, Ruby,” Charlotte explained. “They are looking for any sign that the Dark Shadow may have tried to break into the house.”

Ruby yawned and scratched herself. “He ain’t in here.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a look for myself. Wilkins, you go check the boy’s room.” Lewis walked into the dark chamber, pushing the door wide until it was softly bathed in the light spilling from the oil lamps in the corridor.

Charlotte watched nervously as he stood in the center of the room. For what seemed an eternity he did not move, but merely stood there, his eyes searching. He studied the tousled bedclothes upon the narrow bed, the empty glass upon the dressing table, the slightly ajar door of the wardrobe. Although Charlotte didn’t think there was anything unusual there, she sensed that something about the chamber bothered him. He stood almost frozen, waiting. And then it occurred to Charlotte that he was not merely looking.

He was listening.

Please God, she prayed fervently, wondering what she would do when he looked beneath the tent of artfully draped blankets the girls had arranged over the bed. Please make him turn around and come out.

Instead, Lewis moved toward the bed, slowly, like a cat inching its way toward a wounded bird. He studied the pillow a moment, assessing the size of the hollow pressed into its feathery depths, and looking to see if there were any hairs against its pale linen other than Ruby’s brilliant red ones.

They had underestimated him, Charlotte realized, feeling as if she was going to be sick. Constable Wilkins might have been easy to fool or distract, but the inspector’s instincts were far more keenly honed. Something was suspicious to him, whether it was a scent in the air, some barely visible thread or hair upon the carpet or linens, or the all but imperceptible pulse of the Dark Shadow’s breathing.

Lewis grasped the edge of the blankets suddenly and whipped them up.

And looked in stunned surprise at the emptiness beneath the bedstead.

“I told you he ain’t here,” Ruby said.

He glared around the room, angry now, convinced that he had been deceived. He strode to the wardrobe and threw the doors open. There was nothing inside but a couple of shabby gowns and an old pair of boots.

“I didn’t find anything in the boy’s room,” Constable Wilkins reported as he entered. “Do you want me to look in the—”

“Silence!” Lewis commanded.

The sound of a carriage door slamming shut caught his attention. By the time he crossed the room and leaned out of the small window, the vehicle was already speeding away.

“Stop!” he shouted. “Come back!”

The carriage rounded a corner and disappeared.

Cursing, he ran from the room and down the stairs, with a startled Constable Wilkins at his heels. As they reached the landing for the second floor they nearly collided with Oliver, who was shuffling up bearing an enormous tea tray.

“Here now, lads, what’s amiss?”

“Get out of my way, you old fool!” Lewis snapped. “I’m after the Dark Shadow!”

“Are ye now?” Oliver marveled, suitably impressed. “Funny, I didna see him—but nae matter, let me help ye with the door.” He turned with his tray and began to slowly trudge down the stairs, still obstructing their path.

“I don’t need your help with the bloody door!”

“All right, then, lad, nae need to get cross,” Oliver scolded. “I’m nae so spry as I used to be, an’ when ye get to be my age ye’ll find ’tis nae easy for you, either.”

Lewis barely heard him as he heaved open the front door and burst out onto the street.

“Where was he going?” he demanded, seeing a woman standing outside gazing forlornly after the carriage. “Did you hear what directions he gave the driver?”

“He’s off to the Rose an’ Crown most like, or maybe the Rats’ Castle in St. Giles—an’ when ye find him, I want ye to tell him I hope he rots in hell!” Annie’s battered face was trembling with rage. “Just look what he did to me—he ain’t nothin’ but a filthy brute, an’ I’ll be glad when ye arrest him for beatin’ on women!”

Lewis looked at her in confusion. “He beat you?”

“He’ll tell you I was askin’ for it—well, I’m tellin’ you I didn’t ask for it, an’ while I may live with him now an’ again I ain’t his wife, an’ now that I’m stayin’ with Miss Kent he ain’t got no right to baste me an’ I want him charged with attempted murder!”

“You live with the Dark Shadow?” Contable Wilkins, who had finally managed to make it past Oliver, looked utterly astonished.

Annie stared at him incredulously. “Ye think my Jimmy is the Dark Shadow?” She exploded with laughter.

“Who was in that carriage?” demanded Lewis.

“That was my Jimmy,” she managed, nearly breathless with hilarity. “Black Jimmy, they call him, on account of his black temper, and I’ve the marks to prove it—but Jimmy ain’t no Dark Shadow! If he was, he’d be drinkin’ in some gin palace in Oxford Street, not chokin’ on the piss they pour at the Rats’ Castle!”

“Is everything all right, Annie?” Charlotte had donned a cloak to protect her from the rain and was now making her way down the front steps. “Oh, my, what happened to your face?”

“My Jimmy hit me,” she told her honestly, “an’ I know ye told me he was no good and I shouldn’t see him no more, but he came here tonight an’ said I had to go back with him, an’ when I told him no, he punched me, but these peelers here is goin’ to arrest him now, an’ make sure he learns the law says he can’t just pitch into me whenever he likes.” She looked at Lewis expectantly.

“Actually we are presently working on another case,” he told her, infuriated by the fact that he had already wasted so much time there.

“Ye men are all the same,” Annie observed acidly. “Ye talk the high and mighty when it suits you, but deep down ye all believe we women is good for nothin’ but beddin’ and beatin’—’specially a poor girl like me.”

Lewis clenched his jaw, frustrated. What the hell did she expect him to do? he wondered angrily. Head down to some criminal-infested den in St. Giles and try to arrest every man who had ever laid a hand on his wife or girlfriend? The prisons of London would be overflowing before the hour was out. Even so, he felt strangely awkward as he stared into Annie’s pretty, battered face. The thought of some filthy bastard using the girl for his pleasure and then beating her filled him with impotent fury.

“I can assure you that isn’t true,” he told her.

Annie snorted contemptuously. “Course it is.”

“Come inside out of the rain, Annie, and let’s get you warm and dry and see to that eye of yours.” Charlotte wrapped a protective arm around her. “I believe Inspector Turner and Constable Wilkins are finished with their questions.” She regarded him coolly, letting him know that she disapproved of his apparent lack of interest in what had befallen poor Annie. “Is there anything further you require, Inspector?”

“I just wanted to have a word with your coachman, and take a look at your carriage.”

“I’ll have Oliver meet you around the back so he can show you the carriage, and answer any further questions you may have.”

“Thank you, Miss Kent. My apologies for disturbing you. Good night.”

Charlotte’s heart was pounding anxiously as she shepherded Annie back into the house. Once the door was closed behind her and she was certain Inspector Turner and Constable Wilkins were headed to the stable, she regarded her household of former thieves and prostitutes in confusion.

“Where is he?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“He’s gone, lass,” Oliver told her, cramming an old battered hat on his head as he prepared to go outside to meet the inspector and Constable Wilkins.

“Once we knew the bobbies was fixin’ to search the house, we had to get him out of here right quick,” Ruby explained. “So while they was dawdlin’ in the kitchen an’ such, we woke the Shadow, threw a shirt an’ coat on him, plopped a hat on his head, an’ dragged him down the back stairs.”

“Then we heaved him in a carriage an’ paid the driver to take him wherever he wanted to go,” added Violet.

Flynn nodded. “He was awake by then, an’ knew what was about.”

“I told the lad I didna need to know where he was headed, but said he should take his mask off afore he got there, so the driver wouldna take notice of him,” Oliver continued.

“We was hopin’ he’d get away nice an’ quiet, but I stayed out an’ pretended it was my Jimmy who left when the peelers saw the carriage leavin’.” Annie shook her head with irritation. “That one peeler got a bit touchy when I told him he was just like all the others, but I knew he’d never actually try to find Jimmy. None of ’em care when a whore gets a beatin’, an’ that’s the hard truth of it.”

“You aren’t a whore anymore, Annie,” Charlotte reminded her. “And if Jimmy or anyone else ever lays a hand on you again, I shall insist that the police find them and lay charges.”

“Ye’re most kind, Miss Kent.” Annie smiled fondly at her. “But the bobbies don’t care about what happens to a girl like me.”

“Well, we care about ye, lass,” Eunice informed her flatly.

“Aye, and I’ve told ye if Jimmy dares show his face around here, I’m puttin’ my boot to his ass an’ makin’ sure he doesna come after ye again,” added Doreen. “Come on then, lass,” she continued, turning her attention to Charlotte. “Ye look as if ye’re about to fall over. Let’s get ye into yer bed.”

“Dinna worry about the peelers,” Oliver added, heading toward the door. “I’ll show them the carriage and send them on their way.”

“Thank you, Oliver.” The throbbing in Charlotte’s leg told her that she had been walking and standing for far too long. “I suppose there’s nothing more we can do now.”

“Let me help ye upstairs, lass,” said Doreen.

“No, thank you, Doreen. I can manage. Good night, everyone.”

She limped slowly up the stairs. After entering her room she closed the door, then collapsed wearily onto the bed, heedless of the blood on her evening gown or the uncomfortable constriction of her corset. She had not wanted any of them to know how exhausted she was, or how profound an effect Inspector Turner’s interrogation had had upon her. She inhaled a shallow breath and rolled onto her side, fighting to endure the pain now streaking from her thigh to her toes.

Thanks to the efforts of her fiercely loyal household, the Dark Shadow had made it safely out of her home. With luck, he would make it back to wherever it was he lived that night. If he decided to reform his ways and stop stealing, he might even avoid being found and arrested for the murder of Lord Haywood. Her efforts to help him had been successful.

She closed her eyes, confused by the powerful sense of loss that had gripped her on learning the Dark Shadow was gone.