The girl looked as if she couldn’t have been more than thirteen or fourteen, her face thin and pale, her hair the color of corn silk. She lay on her back in the rank grass that grew between two crumbling old tombs not far from the gates of the churchyard, her arms crossed over the bodice of her gown in the manner of a corpse laid out for burial. A plain wooden tray lay upended beside her, with chocolate-covered fruits scattered about in the weeds. Someone had set a couple of horn lanterns atop one of the nearby tombs; more lanterns glinted in the darkness around them as Lovejoy’s constables worked their way between the graveyard’s tightly packed headstones and tombs, searching for whatever they could find.
Lovejoy himself stood beside the dead girl’s body, his chin resting on his chest as he stared down at her, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his coat although it was not cold.
“Jesus,” whispered Sebastian as he let his gaze drift over the girl’s small, blood-drenched form. “Who is she?”
“A chocolatier’s apprentice named Gilly. Gilly Harper.”
Sebastian hunkered down beside the dead girl, his heart heavy in his chest. Her lips were gently parted, her thick dark lashes resting against the alabaster flesh of her cheeks. Judging by the bloody, slashed bodice of her plain stuff gown, she’d been stabbed, probably five or six times. He looked up at the silent magistrate. “What makes you think her death is connected to what happened out at Richmond Park?”
Sir Henry cleared his throat. “It might not be, of course. There’s only the one victim; the method of killing—stabbing, rather than shooting—is different; and the body isn’t posed in precisely the same manner. But according to the girl’s mistress, Gilly met with Lady McInnis a few days before she was killed. And the killer has taken the time to lay the girl out and cross her arms at her chest.”
Sebastian looked over to where a simply dressed woman in her forties stood beside the churchyard gates. Her plump, haggard face was blotched and wet with tears, and she had her arms wrapped around her waist, hugging herself. “That’s the girl’s mistress?”
“Yes. A Mrs. Monroe. She says Gilly left the shop before six to make a delivery and never came back.”
“Who found the body?”
“A carpenter cutting through the churchyard on his way home. He recognized her and went to tell her mistress.”
The woman was swaying back and forth, her tear-filled eyes unfocused, her voice a broken whisper as she said over and over, “That poor child. The poor, poor child.”
Pushing to his feet, Sebastian walked over to introduce himself to her, offered the woman his handkerchief, and said gently, “Do you think you could answer a few questions, Mrs. Monroe?”
She blotted her plump face with the handkerchief and nodded. “I can try, my lord.”
“I’m told Gilly was your apprentice. How long was she with you?”
Mrs. Monroe dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “Nearly six months, my lord.”
“Her parents apprenticed her to you?”
“No, my lord. She’s been an orphan for years. Came to me out of the St. Martin’s workhouse, she did.”
“How old was she?”
“Sixteen, my lord. She looks younger, I know, but I reckon it’s from all those years of not getting enough to eat. Her parents died when she was eleven.”
“Yet she’s been with you only six months? I was under the impression the workhouses typically apprenticed out their orphans much younger.”
Mrs. Monroe nodded and swallowed hard. “That they do, my lord. Gilly was with a cheesemonger before me. The woman abused the poor child horribly—beat her bloody with a nasty whip. It was Lady McInnis who convinced the authorities to take the girl away from the brute and assign her to me instead.”
Sebastian watched the bobbing line of lanterns glimmer over the crowded rows of ghostly tombstones as Lovejoy’s constables reached the far end of the churchyard and turned to work their way back. “I understand Gilly saw Lady McInnis last week?”
“She did, yes, my lord. Lady McInnis wanted to know if Gilly would mind talking to a lady who’s writing an article on the mistreatment of apprentices.”
Hero, thought Sebastian. Aloud, he said, “And did Gilly agree?”
“Yes, of course, my lord. But Lady McInnis was killed before it could all be arranged.”
Sebastian was aware of the men from the deadhouse arriving with a shell to carry the girl’s body to Gibson. He shifted his position slightly to draw the woman’s focus away from the sight. “I understand Gilly left your shop around six?”
The chocolatier nodded. “She was supposed to take a tray of dipped fresh fruit to the Dowager Countess of Schomberg. But she never came back. And then around seven, the Dowager’s cook sent one of their footmen to the shop, wanting to know why they hadn’t received the delivery.” A tear rolled down the woman’s cheek, and she swiped at it with the handkerchief. “I was that put out with Gilly for going off like that and not doing what she was supposed to be doing. And here the poor child was lying dead the whole time—” Her voice cracked, and she pressed her trembling lips together and mutely shook her head.
Sebastian said, “Do you have any idea who might have done this to her?”
“No,” sobbed the woman. “Who would want to kill a sweet little girl like Gilly?”
“Did she have a beau? Or perhaps someone who was interested in her even if she wasn’t interested in him?”
The woman sucked in a deep, steadying breath. “No. Can’t say she was really interested in boys, my lord. She was very young for her age, you see—and I don’t mean only in size.”
The men from the deadhouse were lifting the girl into their shell now. Sebastian said, “When Gilly was talking to Lady McInnis last week, were you with them?”
“Only part of the time, my lord. I was mainly minding the shop, you see.”
“But Gilly told you afterward what they talked about?”
“Well, Lady McInnis herself told me she wanted to ask Gilly about doing the interview. And afterward, Gilly said as how she was fine with that.”
“Did she say anything else about their meeting?”
“Well, let’s see . . . I know Lady McInnis asked Gilly how she was getting on. She was like that, you know. She was such a fine, grand lady, and yet she somehow made Gilly feel that she was special, if you know what I mean?”
“I think I do, yes,” said Sebastian, trying not to watch the men from the deadhouse lift the shell to their shoulders.
“There was one other thing,” said Mrs. Monroe suddenly, her fist tightening around Sebastian’s handkerchief. “I don’t recall precisely how it came up, but I remember Lady McInnis saying something about how she was going to take her daughters and their cousins to Richmond Park on Sunday. Gilly said it sounded like a wonderful place, and I told her I’d see if I could get my brother Ned to drive us out there one day in his gig.”
The woman’s use of the word “daughters,” plural, caught Sebastian’s attention. If Laura McInnis had been originally intending to take both Emma and her younger sister, Thisbe, on the picnic with their cousins, then why had Thisbe stayed home? Because she was ill? No one had ever said.
“Was there anyone else in the shop at the time who might have overheard the conversation?”
“Not so’s I recall, my lord. But there might have been.”
“Could Gilly have told someone about it?”
“Well, I suppose she could’ve, my lord, but not that I know of.” Her brows drew together in an uneasy frown. “You’re thinking that’s why Gilly was killed, my lord? That it’s got something to do with what happened out at Richmond Park yesterday?”
“It might not,” said Sebastian.
But he wasn’t sure he believed it.