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The hallways were decorated in muted tones, with paintings of what could only be presumed as Lord Dunsmore’s forefathers. They all frowned at each other from across the hallway. Likely because it was so dark, and they couldn’t see, Charles guessed.
The butler opened a door at the end of the hallway, and sunlight spilled out. “A new client, My Lord,” the butler said.
“Come in, come in,” Lord Dunsmore said, his voice grave.
Charles entered the room, blinking in surprise as he looked around. There were bits of things—newspaper articles, portraits of individuals, notes—all tacked to the wall, with little bits of red strings tying one piece of evidence to another. The curtains were thrown open wide, so that everything was illuminated by the bright winter sunlight.
“It’s quite impressive, is it not?” Lord Dunsmore asked him proudly. He was a young gentleman—not more than thirty years of age. His dark hair was rumpled, and dark circles were underneath his eyes. He was dressed in his dressing gown, but with a pair of breeches and a very wrinkled shirt underneath.
“What is it?” Charles asked.
“Not to worry—it’s an old case, one which may go on for a while yet.”
“Do you have time—?”
“Absolutely! Do sit,” Lord Dunsmore said, gesturing to a chair, upon which books were piled. He removed the stack, bringing it over to a very chaotic desk. Charles sat. “Mr. Landon,” Lord Dunsmore said. “Please, bring us some tea.”
The butler nodded, then disappeared. He was as quiet as a shadow.
“Tell me,” Lord Dunsmore said, fixing Charles with a penetrating gaze. “What brings you here Mr. …?” He leaned against the desk, crossing his arms.
“Conolly. Charles Conolly,” he replied. “My good friend, Arthur Hinkley sent me.”
“Ah! Arthur! How is he doing?”
“He’s well.”
“Good to hear. Now, what can I help you with Mr. Conolly?”
“Of course, My Lord. I’m sure that you’ve heard of the recent string of murders,” Charles said. “concerning the gentlemen of the ton.”
“Yes, yes,” he replied. “I was supposed to have gone to the funerals, but then…” He shrugged, letting it drop as he waved in the direction of the wall, covered in pins, papers, and string.
“Well, I was a suspect of these murders, until another occurred.”
“Oh, good!” Lord Dunsmore exclaimed.
“What?” Charles asked, taken aback by the Earl’s boisterous exculpation.
“Well, that you were proven innocent.”
“Yes, but I think the murderer is trying to implicate me for them,” he explained. “All of them were my clients—I am, or I was their barrister.”
“I see,” Lord Dunsmore said, stroking his chin.
“There’s been another, the body was found very close to my law offices.”
“One thing that I can’t stand is when an innocent person is framed,” Lord Dunsmore stated.
“It happened to my father,” Charles said. “He was hanged for a murder he didn’t commit.”
“Well, not to worry. Now that I’m on the case, we’ll find whomever is doing this.”
Charles breathed a sigh of relief. Even though Lord Dunsmore seemed a bit eccentric, he was clearly on Charles’s side. He needed someone with power on his side. Or else he might end up blamed again, or worse.
