Greydon blinked. “Do you truly believe that?”
“With my whole heart,” Lady Enid said.
As he took a moment or two to collect himself, Greydon realized that no one had ever called him a “good man” before. He strived to be honorable, but sometimes he found himself too close to the grey line as a Bow Street Runner.
But Lady Enid believed in him, and that meant everything to him.
ChapterSeven
Greydon stifled a yawn as he rode in the coach to Phineas’ apartment. He had spent entirely too long with Lady Enid and her family the previous evening. They had played games well into the night and even Lord Everton played a game of whist.
But he did not regret it. He enjoyed every minute he could have with Lady Enid. She was like a breath of fresh air in his life. And when she smiled, it did something to his heart.
He was spending entirely too much time thinking about Lady Enid. A part of him wished he could banish her from his thoughts, and another part never wanted her to leave. It was a constant battle that he fought within himself.
The coach came to a stop in front of a brown-stoned building and a footman came around to open the door. Dawn had just broken and there was a white haze that hung low to the ground. It was eerily quiet, as it should be in this part of Town. The only people that were on the street were servants as they went about their business. Anyone of importance was still sleeping in their beds.
Greydon exited the coach and saw Mr. Moore was leaning against the building. He did not look pleased to see him by the slight scowl on his face.
“It is about time you showed up,” Mr. Moore grumbled. “I have been waiting far too long for you.”
Greydon didn’t dignify Mr. Moore’s words with a response. He glanced up at the building and asked, “Shall we go in?”
“That would be for the best. We don’t want to garner too much attention,” Mr. Moore said, pushing off the building.
He held the door open for Mr. Moore and waited to follow him in. Once he closed the door, he approached the apartment that was labeled “102-A”. A sign nailed to the door read-No entry. By order of Sir David Abbott.
Not deterred by the order, Greydon reached for the handle and turned it. Locked. But he shouldn’t have expected any different.
Turning towards Mr. Moore, he asked, “You, by chance, don’t have a key?”
Mr. Moore frowned. “It is your brother’s apartment. Why would I have a key?”
“Very well,” Greydon said as he removed two long pins from his jacket pocket. “Stand guard while I open it.”
Greydon crouched down and slipped the two long metal pins into the locking mechanism. He turned them in a purposeful manner until he heard the distinctive click.
“I opened it,” Greydon announced as he rose. He returned the pins to his jacket pocket and opened the door. “After you.”
Greydon turned his head to make sure no one was about to witness them entering the apartment but the corridor was clear. He stepped inside and closed the door.
As his eyes roamed the small apartment, he saw that the coroner had done a decent job of leaving the crime scene intact. But why would he expect anything different? Sir David believed Lady Eugenie to be guilty so there was no need to search for any other incriminating evidence. To do so could jeopardize his case.
Mr. Moore disappeared into a room off the hall and shouted, “In here, Rushcliffe.”
Greydon skirted the two settees that sat in the center of the hall and headed towards what he assumed was the bedchamber. He came to a stop in the doorway as he saw the large bloodstain that was on the feather mattress. That was his brother’s blood.
But now was not the time to be sentimental. He had a job to do. He walked closer to the bed and looked for anything that was amiss. An empty teacup was overturned on the nightstand, and he picked it up. He sniffed it but he smelled only the remnants of tea. Not that he expected otherwise. Arsenic was odorless and tasteless. That is why it was so deadly.
He crouched down and looked under the bed. But there was nothing there. Surely there had to be something here that could help Lady Eugenie.
Mr. Moore picked up some crumpled papers from the desk. “Your brother was writing a love letter to ‘his dearest Lottie’. Was that his wife?”
“No, her given name is Harriet,” he replied. “I have no idea who Lottie is.”
“There are some traces of blood on the paper,” Mr. Moore said before he turned his attention towards the drawers.
Greydon walked over to the window and saw that it opened to the alley behind the apartment. He opened it and leaned out. It was possible, based on the location of the window, that people heard Lady Eugenie scream, just as the coroner said.
