Page 46 of One Night with a Rake

He skimmed over the note. “It seems Vesta was late returning from the florist’s shop, so Mrs. Throckmorten sent the girls out to look for her. Her body was discovered only a few yards away from the house on Lackaday Lane.”

Georgette sank into one of the Sheraton chairs because her legs would no longer support her.

“They done for her,” Mercy muttered.

“Mrs. Throckmorten does suspect foul play.” Nathaniel refolded the note and thrust it into his waistcoat pocket.

How could the man be so maddeningly calm at a time like this? “We must summon the magistrate,” Georgette said.

Mercy’s laugh was like the tinkle of broken glass. “For a whore? Bless me if sometimes I don’t think ye’re a bit simple, milady.”

Georgette glowered at her maid. “Vesta is…was…no longer a prostitute. But even if she was, she still deserves justice.”

“You’re right,” Nathaniel said. “But Mercy’s right too. No magistrate is going to appreciate being rousted from his bed for the sake of a dead whore, reformed or not. And even if we could get a Bow Street runner to take the case, they’re more effective in the better part of town.”

“Then we’ll have to see to it ourselves.” Georgette stood, feeling less shaky for taking action. “You said, ‘they done for her,’ Mercy. Whom did you mean?”

“Ye don’t think I know, do ye?” Mercy blew her nose noisily. “I suppose Vesta might have gotten crosswise of someone she owed.”

“But I just paid off her debt,” Nate said.

“The debt she owed Madam Bouchard. That don’t signify that she didn’t go out and get herself into dun territory with someone else,” Mercy said. “Being a flower girl don’t pay near as much as kicking yer heels over yer head. And Vesta always did like nice things.”

“It doesn’t seem as if there’s been enough time for her to accumulate that much debt,” Georgette said.

“When a body don’t have any blunt, ye’d be surprised how fast the debt grows,” Mercy said dryly. “Oh!” She straightened and scooted to the edge of the seat. “A passel of people stand to lose when a girl stops liftin’ her skirt. Could’ve been any number of folk what don’t appreciate your new House of Sirens, my lord.”

“And you think killing Vesta might be a warning to the others?” Nate said.

Mercy shrugged. “Wouldn’t surprise me. Hearts is hard on Lackaday Lane. Always look to the main chance and feather yer own nest. Them’s the watchwords.”

Nathaniel started toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Georgette asked.

“Mr. Bagley has quite a bit to answer for. I hired that old pugilist to protect those girls.” Nate’s jaw clenched in a determined line. “Mrs. Throckmorten may know more than she was willing to commit to paper. It’s not much, but it’s all we have to go on.”

“Then I’m going with you.”

“Bloody hell,” he said with a snort. “You most certainly are not.”

“There’s no need to be vulgar.”

“Yes, there is. There’s every need. If ever there was call for vulgarity, murder is one of those times. And if a little foul language upsets you, you should take it as a sign that the rest of the evening is not likely to meet with your approval either.”

“Nevertheless,” she said, advancing to stand almost toe to toe with him, “I will accompany you to Lackaday Lane.”

“You forget yourself, princess,” he said. “I’m not your hired man and you’re not royalty yet. I do not take orders from you.”

“Fine.” She fisted her hands at her waist. “Go ahead, but once you’re gone, I’ll only send for a hackney and go by myself.”

He stared at her for a moment and she willed herself not to blink. Finally, he swore again. Georgette wasn’t sure what the unfamiliar words meant, but she suspected it was something a good deal more offensive than “bloody hell.” He slapped his gloves against his thigh.

“Mercy, stop blubbering and get your mistress changed into something a little less conspicuous than a gown fit for a princess.”

“You won’t leave without me?” Georgette said.

He glowered at her as if his dark frown would convince her to stay when his words hadn’t. “No. I have something else to do while you change your clothes.”