Page 52 of A Duke's Keeper
Camille stood and went to the panel door, wrapping her shawl around her shoulders with jerky movements thanks to stiff muscles. Her words were cold when she said, “Don’t expect me for a few days.”
And she left.
*
Syd dropped downfrom a nearby eave and offered Camille a grin. “You lasted longer than I anticipated.”
Unaccustomed to the brightness of midday after months of nocturnal life, Camille shielded her eyes and aimed for the tavern.
“Scarlet won the bet?” she asked.
“Pops, actually.”
Camille smiled despite her agitated mood. The Laundry family’s gambling would rival any official gentleman’s book; opposition had become an art form. Anything from how many rocks in a horse’s shoe to how many bodies would turn up on the bank of the Thames.
“Any progress on who did in Flank?” Camille asked.
“Nah. Nobody saw anything, and Lucien is ‘not receiving visitors at this time.’ But Zans won’t stop asking until someone remembers.” Syd rubbed her fingers together to indicate the exchange of coins and rolled her eyes. “Our white-collared friend is gone, though. A bonus.”
“Too saintly for you?”
“Too many lectures on the church steps about propriety and the damnation of greed, or was it sloth? One of those sins.”
“Good thing poor listening didn’t make the commandments.”
Syd shrugged. “We’re in hell already. Why worry over minor flaws?”
They made the turn at the end of the alley. Both stopped cold at a body lying in the street.
It was Grey.
Syd’s intake of breath sounded like a knife freeing from a sheath. “Fucking quims.” She approached the body, taking precautions to keep her slippered feet out of the growing pool of blood. The kill was fresh. Syd’s hawk-like gaze darted from roof to alley to roof and back again. “I didn’t hear anything from up top.” She pulled back Grey’s collar, revealing small cuts across his throat identical to Flank’s.
Camille’s voice came out quiet. “It must be Lucien, right?” Who else was bold enough to work in broad daylight despite the risk of washerwomen and children stumbling upon the scene at any moment?
“Hmm.” Syd didn’t discount the fighter’s involvement outright this time.
Lucien’s reputation wasn’t one of kindness or compassion. Anyone claiming otherwise was likely to lose more than a mouthful of teeth.
“I haven’t seen the Devil work before,” Syd said. “Flashy, though, leaving Grey out here like this.”
Camille nodded. That was right; Pops didn’t let Syd anywhere near the Ring in case a fight broke out and her gender was revealed.
She latched on to the information, anything to keep her mind, and stomach, from the body at her feet. The oath she’d sworn to Markus after Scarlet had been hurt: his girls would be safe, untouchable. Only a select trusted few knew the connection between the three Laundry family members and Syd’s secret. Markus had set out specific rules, rules Camille didn’t balk at, their purpose making perfect sense when so many others in her life had not.
“A good girl never visits on a rainy day.” “A good girl does not warm herself by the fire without invitation.” “A good girl never uses two hands to raise her skirts when crossing the street.”
“A good girl should never let a smell get to her.”
“What?”
Camille startled from her trance, realizing she’d said the last rule out loud. She shook her head at Syd’s questioning expression. “Never mind.”
The choice of victims had to be more than a coincidence. If the Ring’s master was exacting justice on her behalf, she’d need to set the record straight before more bodies littered the streets. She’d go tonight, after Syd left her watch and before the revelry of the Underground grew too dangerous.
It had to be Lucien. The alternative was too ugly to bear: a killer hunting the streets for unsuspecting men. Thank heavens Renard remained in the country, where it was safe.
*
