“Found in an alley?” Miss Whitchurch whispered into the stillness of the coach. “Then she is dead.”
“Yes,” Graham said in compassionate tones.
Benjamin thought that she might reach for him or bury her face in his collar, but he had not presented Miss Whitchurch with the proper admiration. Instead, she asked, “Do we know why she was killed?”
“It would not have been a robbery,” Graham assured, “and, according to the men I spoke to yesterday evening, she had not beenassaulted, meaning she was not fighting whoever approached her.”
“You knew this when I called on Duncan Place this morning?” Benjamin accused.
“It was not something I thought we should discuss before the others,” Graham said in heavy tones. “Moreover, I wanted someone other than you or Miss Whitchurch to identify the person killed before I spoke to either of you. Such is the reason I chose Miss Cassandra’s starting place on that fateful morning: The Lyon’s Den.”
Miss Whitchurch’s hand knotted inside of Benjamin’s. She said through trembling lips, “Then how did Casandra die?”
Graham frowned in apparent discomfort, but he responded, nevertheless. “Miss Cassandra was stabbed several times in her lower back. She likely bled to death.”
“Oh, my!” Miss Whitchurch turned to him, and tears flowed from her eyes. “She suffered…”
Benjamin searched for a reason to give her hope when none was to be had. “Let us learn with certainty that it was Miss Cassandra,” he cautioned. “Then we may move forward with what is necessary to grieve your sister.”
“How do we learn the impossible?” she asked him, but Graham responded before Benjamin could formulate a plan.
“I have asked that the lady’s grave be reopened. Her belongings were buried with her except for a few coins in her reticule, which were used to pay for the burial.” Graham reached a hand across to her, and Miss Whitchurch presented him her free hand. “We will simply view her clothing and her belongings. It has only been two months since your sister’s passing, but the body God presents us decays quickly, for it is the soul he wants in Heaven. Therefore, it would be too upsetting for you to look upon her now. Doing so would haunt you forever.”
She nodded weakly, but Benjamin knew, without a doubt, the lady was not fully prepared to know what must be done. He said, “You may instruct me regarding what we should search, and I can act inyour stead. My Edinburgh training will permit me to do what is necessary so we may learn if this woman is truly your sister.”
“God blessed me when He placed us in the rain together,” she whispered through trembling lips. She sagged into Benjamin’s loose embrace and he closed his arms about her.
Eventually, Graham’s coach pulled up before a small church, likely the closest one to the area where Miss Cassandra’s body was found. “The curate awaits us within,” Graham instructed. “I sent one of my footmen ahead to tell him of our visit. The curate will be the one who oversees the opening and closing of the grave.”
Benjamin climbed down first and assisted Miss Whitchurch on the steps. Once Graham was also on the ground, he led the way inside.
“Mr. Braun.” Graham shook the cleric’s outstretched hand. “This is my brother Lord Thompson and Miss Whitchurch, sister of the woman for whom we search.”
“I am sorry to have your acquaintance under these circumstances,” the man said. “As you instructed, my lord, the men you hired were not to open the coffin until I could bless it again. I simply require your signature on this church form before you may look upon the deceased. It is to prove you have no nefarious motives, such as grave robbing.”
When Benjamin was finished, he asked, “Are you prepared, Miss Whitchurch?”
“Not hardly,” she said in self-chastisement, “but it must be done.”
“Then let it be done quickly,” Graham instructed.
Her body sagged against Benjamin’s as they followed the cleric and Graham through the church and down a short lane to the churchyard.
Braun said, “Before we open the lid, permit me a quick prayer.” The laborers snatched the cloth caps from their heads, and they all waited in silence. In less than a minute, Mr. Braun motioned the men to work the nails free of the box.
“Set the lid so it does not expose the face,” Graham instructed.
“Aye, my lord.”
When their efforts were complete, Benjamin left Miss Whitchurch beside the cleric. She held Graham’s hand, while Benjamin knelt beside the body. He first lifted the hem of the dress. “Familiar?” he asked.
“Yes, it is similar to the dress I made for Cassandra shortly after we came to London,” Miss Whitchurch said with a hiccup of emotion in her response.
Benjamin understood the dress was made to cover Miss Cassandra’s growing girth.
“Look for a small silver ring on her finger. The middle finger of her left hand,” Miss Whitchurch instructed.
“Would it have been removed already?” Graham asked Mr. Braun.
