Alex felt as if he was fleeing his own house, but the words on the note couldn’t be ignored. There’d been another murder. And this time, he would arrive at the scene soon enough to learn something useful.
He rushed to the spot listed on the note, and moved toward the small crowd gathered at one edge of a public square in a quiet neighborhood.
Comments and questions filled the air as onlookers speculated about what occurred. Alex was able to get the gist just by listening.
A man had been found lying on the ground, near the base of a massive sycamore tree. Alex could see the body, now covered with a white cloth. Officers of the law were keeping people away from the immediate area.
“Stabbed right through the heart,” one woman gasped. “Right here, while people were walking to and fro.”
“Does that mean someone saw the attack?” Alex asked, directing his question to no one in particular.
“That man says he did.”
He followed a pointed finger to where a middle-aged man was speaking to another pair of men, likely the law. Alex would have to learn the witness’s name as soon as possible.
One option was to slip into the persona of some authority figure in order to get closer. Alex had done that plenty of times in the past, though he preferred to have a little time to prepare. Saying the wrong name or claiming to come from the wrong parish would destroy the illusion. Just as Alex was about to chance it, he felt a light touch on his arm.
“Sir,” said someone who’d sidled up next to him.
He looked over to see a young woman with curly black hair and a bright, round face. She wore a cloak that conveyed little about her station.
She didn’t look at him, but murmured, “I’m Ivy, sir. I’ve been keeping an eye on the scene since I got here about two hours ago.”
Alex let her lead him a bit away from the main crowd. He didn’t recognize her face, but he guessed what she was. He asked, “Disreputable?”
A brief smile colored her face. “Aye, sir. As soon as word came through that this happened, someone sent you a message, and sent me here.” She paused for a moment, then said, “I don’t write things down, sir, but I remember everyone I saw and heard.”
If she was one of the Disreputables, like Rook, Alex trusted her confidence. The Disreputables were all former criminals who had since become trustworthy domestic servants who were now thoroughly reputable—but they liked the “disreputable” moniker better.
Alex looked the young lady over. She probably worked as a housemaid when she wasn’t aiding the Zodiac. “Do you know who I am?” he asked.
“Not by name, sir,” she said, “But I could tell you weren’t just a random passerby so I knew you were the one they sent for.”
He turned back to where the witness was standing. “Is it true that he saw the attack?”
She turned as well. To anyone watching, they appeared to be another pair of idle spectators. Ivy said, “Not sure. He was here when I arrived, that’s certain. His name is Parker. He’s a grocer in the neighborhood. No reason to think he’s lying.”
“How’d you learn that?”
“I have sharp ears,” Ivy said. “And I got very close in the beginning. They let pretty girls get away with things,” she added, with a pleased note.
“Good. Having the name means I can track him down later. What about the body?”
“Found dead tonight. Stabbed, though no weapon remained. Someone either stole it before the authorities could arrive, or the killer kept it. Not much interesting about that, of course. But there was a mark made in blood next to the body.” She held up her hand. On the palm, she traced two lines curved toward each other, crossed by a short bar.
“Pisces,” he muttered.
“Is it?” she asked. “We were told to be alert whenever a mark made in blood was found. Is this a thing you’re after?” She nodded toward the body.
“I fear it’s exactly what I’m after. I don’t suppose anyone recognized the victim.”
“Not his face. But those men found a notebook in his pocket. I overheard them say his name was Warner Mason.”
Alex breathed a sigh of relief. Knowing that immediately would help him in his investigation.
Ivy related the rest of what she’d seen and heard so far, including the people who seemed most interested. She was precise and matter-of-fact.
The body was about to be taken away, finally, and there was little reason for him to linger. Ivy told him where he could send for her, if he needed to. Alex would come back the next day, when he could see more in the light.
He returned home very late, but he wasn’t tired. There was far too much to think about. Alex went into his study and wrote steadily for another hour.
The murders certainly weren’t random in their occurrence, though Alex still had no idea how the victims were connected. But the dates were starting to form a pattern. What had Violet said? The whole night sky is a clock and a calendar. Her innocent statement nudged his own thoughts. The killer was using astronomical symbols, so he must be planning his murders by the same method.
He was glad he suggested Violet bring her reference books to London, since he feared he’d need to look at them again for just this reason. After cross checking several tables in one of the books, Alex found something that might fit. One night early in the period that a new sign along the path of the Zodiac crossed the point of the sun’s rising, somebody died. Then the killer moved the body to the chosen place, and used the victim’s blood to paint the matching symbol by the body. But the dates still didn’t fit perfectly, which frustrated Alex no end. He tried several calculations to force an answer to appear. He got no further than a guess. The next murder would happen between the thirteenth and sixteenth of April. London was a big city, though. How could he possibly be in the right place at the right time to prevent the next death?
Drained, Alex walked slowly upstairs. The house was silent in the small hours, but when he passed Violet’s door, he saw that a light was burning. He almost knocked, but remembered what she said in the carriage. Violet didn’t want him anywhere near her bedroom. And in any case, what could he say?
* * * *
Alex left the house very early the next day. He didn’t want to encounter Violet, not after she repulsed him last night. Every time he thought he was getting a little closer to her, she closed up, unwilling to accept him. He didn’t think it was physical—she hadn’t seemed disgusted by his touch at all. It was something else, and he couldn’t be sure what.
Why had he made that promise to not bed her until she asked him to? His shy Violet would never ask. Hearing her react to a simple touch in the carriage was intoxicating, and her first, unguarded response to his kiss made him think of a thousand other things to do to her. He could barely sleep that night, even after she’d flatly refused the idea of continuing the perfectly harmless practice of him undressing her.
Lord, how did a man go about seducing his own wife?
Solving a murder seemed easy by comparison.
He returned to the scene from last night, in the square. It wasn’t cordoned off or watched. There was nothing left to protect. Alex walked slowly around the area where the body lay. He saw the bloody mark of Pisces still there. Now it was brown, and drying out in the dirt. It would vanish with the next rain.
He looked harder at the ground, recreating the event in his head. There was no suggestion of a struggle, no digging of heels into the ground, nothing disturbed.
“He knew the victim, and the victim knew him,” Alex said to himself. Mason would never let a stranger get so close. He could have easily run toward the safety of others if he got frightened. Instead, he let someone get very close indeed.
Energized, Alex went to find the grocer who’d spoken as a witness last night. He was easy to find, and even easier to speak to. He held court in his place of business, telling everyone who passed by about his great adventure.
Thus, Alex learned how the grocer was returning from his favorite pub, crossed the square, and nearly stumbled over the prone body of the victim.
“Still warm, he was,” the grocer said. “I yelled for help, but the man was dead as could be. I looked all around, and I saw this figure staring back at me. Huge, hulking figure, with eyes cold as death!”
“Dressed as Death?” Alex asked casually. “Robe? Scythe?”
“Oh, you may chuckle, sir, but you wouldn’t have if you’d seen ’im. Dressed like any other gentleman, in black coat and hat. But he had the knife in his hand! No scythes in the city, see? Death comes prepared!”
Alex nodded. So the killer kept the weapon. He wasn’t scared to be found with it. Nor did he leave it behind because he was flustered. Though vague, the description fit with what he knew about Galbraith’s and Lyle’s killer, a calm, methodical man who was fully in charge of the situation, every time.
Alex walked to the nearby river and sat on one of the benches overlooking the water. His mind was far away, churning though the facts he’d learned. He searched his pockets, trying to locate the note he’d made about the dates of the killings. He couldn’t find it, though, to his frustration. Had he dropped it somewhere? Was his concentration so off?
He was startled when a shadow moved across him.
“Want some company, sir?”
He looked over to see a woman in a tawdry dress. “What?” he asked, jolted out of his musings.
She smiled, showing white teeth. “I said, do you want some company? You look like a man with a lot on your mind. I can take it away, for a few minutes at least.”
Alex surveyed the prostitute. She was young, and actually quite pretty. But the expression was painted on, feigned interest pretended only to make a few coins off his need.
He should need her. It had been a long while since he’d bedded a woman, and the last few times were deeply disappointing. Even though he paid a fair amount for the company of a very talented and well-trained woman each time, the event was barely tolerable, mostly because he spent the time assessing whether the girl was disgusted by his face or not. He concluded that she was, every time.
So he should be interested in this offer. More so after he discovered a lust for Violet that seemed as if it would never be fulfilled. Kissing just her hand made him nearly lose his mind. If only she’d let him go on. If only she let him near her.
“You interested?” the whore asked, peering at him.
“No,” he said after a moment. “No, not remotely.”
It probably wasn’t an answer she heard very often. She was unsure whether to ask again, to convince him to go with her.
“How much do you charge for your company?” he asked abruptly.
She named her price, and he pulled twice that out of a pocket and handed it to her. “Thank you for your company,” he said. “Now leave me alone.”
She took it with a professional smile. “Pleasure doing business with you, your lordship,” she said.
Alex didn’t even notice which direction she walked away. His gaze was out over the river again, and his mind was full of stars, and murder, and Violet.
* * * *
Violet rose very late. When Dalby came in, Violet said, “I thought I told you to never let me sleep past eleven.”
“Well, you did, ma’am. But you seemed rather distraught last night, and I know you were up late reading…”
“Never mind. I suppose his grace has left.”
“Quite early, I believe.”
Violet sighed. Just as usual. Well, if she refused Alex’s attention, she could hardly complain when he turned his attention to other things. If only she had said the right thing last night, maybe he wouldn’t have left.
She wished she could talk to him. She’d slept badly and thought up a hundred questions about what a duchess should know, about what he wanted from her. If she could learn how to behave as a duchess, she’d feel more confident when Alex did all those things that made her so turned around. How should she respond? Should she be eager? Compliant? She ought to not refuse him—which she had, though she didn’t intend to hurt him with her words. She just didn’t know what to say.
It was all so confusing. Instead, she went to the study and did some work on her own, which was comforting in its familiarity. At Alex’s suggestion, she’d brought several of her most used references in a small trunk. Though she didn’t have her telescope with her, she could plan for the next viewing when she returned. Violet opened her book to recall the expected rising times for the star Vega, which she was using to help locate the much fainter comet.
When she flipped the pages, a piece of paper fell out. She recognized the writing as belonging to Alex. She had to read the note several times before it made any sense.
15 January: Capricorn, Randolphus Lyle, mark on church steps
15 February: Aquarius, James Galbraith, mark on ground near body
14 March: Pisces, Warner Mason, mark in dirt by body
14/15 April: Aries? Who will die? Where?
Violet sat down, reading the words over and over, trying to suppress a chill. Why would Alex be recording the details of killings? And why would he put such a note in her book? There were a number of scratched notes, attempted calculations as if he wanted to choose the next date.
She looked at the dates and times more closely, then she got up and checked a few charts. The chill wouldn’t go away. She paced around the study, thinking hard. She tried a few calculations of her own. One in particular seemed to fit the dates, like a key sliding into a lock.
Alex must have left the note there by accident. He certainly didn’t intend for her to find it. She tucked the note carefully away in a pocket of her gown and replaced the book on the shelf.
Alex returned after dinner was over, but Violet made sure she was in the parlor, reading, so she knew when he came in. She wore the star sapphire around her throat, and played with the stone as she read.
When he came into the front hall, she put the book down, waiting patiently. Would he come in, or pass her by? He hadn’t spoken to her since she put him off last night in the carriage.
He came in. “They said you were in here,” Alex said. “If you’re occupied…”
“If I wanted privacy, I would have retired to my room,” she said.
“Oh.” Alex seemed uncertain, which was unusual for him.
“Since you’re here,” she said, “you could clarify something for me. I’m a bit confused.”
“Yes?”
“You left this note in one of my books,” she said, handing him the list of killings.