Page 4 of Honor Unbound

“No.” A pulse throbbed behind my temple. “Is that relevant to the murder?”

Sir Kelsey stared into his cup of tea. “One never knows what detail will be relevant.” He cleared his throat. “Why do you think he came to your house, bleeding to death no less?” Kelsey shook his head when I offered him a plate of scones, lips pressing together in a slight grimace. “The wife wants me to cut back, you understand.”

I laid the plate back on the table. “I don’t know. Even though I don’t know who he is, the man must have known me. Do you think you’ll be able to recover any of the contents of the letter?”

“We’ll attempt to clean the blood off, but I doubt the ink will survive the process.” The magistrate sighed. He poked at the letter which he had placed over his handkerchief on the table to dry. “Only thatMis completely unstained. What a hash.”

My view of the letter was now upside down, but the magistrate was correct. Not one word was legible. Even theLfor Lady Mary had been dotted with the victim’s blood.

“Perhaps he was merely a courier, carrying the letter for another?” Jane suggested.

“Clad in superfine and leather Hessian boots?” Sir Kelsey shook his head. “This man was no mere courier.”

I nodded. That had been my impression, as well.

Southey poked his head up from underneath the table and sniffed at the scone plate.

I pushed it farther into the center. “Do you think he was stabbed on the street? It was early in the morning, but there might have been witnesses.”

“We’re looking into it,” Sir Kelsey said. “We’ll need Miss Smith here to sign a statement about how she and Mr. Higgs found the body. I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

“Of course.” I looked up at the softly cleared throat. Stavers stood in the doorway with my new under-butler, Brett Burton, hovering close behind.

“Pardon me, milady.” Stavers straightened as best he could from his perpetual hunch. “The constable has finally removed the body.”

Sir Kelsey looked up. “Did he send it to Bryan Hall?”

“The constable didn’t inform me of the body’s destination,” Stavers said dryly.

“Then I’d best make sure it ends up at the right man. He’s the best coroner I’ve worked with.” Sir Kelsey set his tea down and carefully folded the letter in his handkerchief. He started to rise.

I pointed my fingers at the man’s boots. “Stop!”

The magistrate froze, his rear end hovering over the seat of the chair. “Pardon me?”

“Not you.” I glared at Southey. The pup reluctantly removed his mouth from the toe of the magistrate’s boot. I had trained the dog to refrain from chewing on my footwear, but apparently he thought everyone else’s was fair game. “The dog was making a nuisance of himself.”

Sir Kelsey looked down at his shiny boot tip. “I see.” He inclined his head. “If you’ll excuse me, Lady Mary, duty calls. Have a good day.” He toed Southey aside and strode from the room.

I pressed my lips together. The man could just have easily have stepped over the dog. Pushing him seemed rude.

“A good day?” Marie scoffed. She rose and started clearing the magistrate’s cup. “Not a very promising start.”

I made a noncommittal sound. “Did you find where the blood trail began?” I asked Stavers.

He toddled into the room. “I sent young Burton here. My joints, you know.”

“Of course.” I hadn’t expected my ancient butler to actually prowl after the blood drops himself.

Brett Burton followed after the butler, his sharp eyes quickly taking note of everything in the room. He was a handsome young man, his sun-touched skin and broad shoulders making him appear more like someone whose previous employment had been working in the fields rather than in service inside a manor house.

Marie dropped the cup. It thudded softly on my Persian carpet, and she hastily bent to pick it up, her face reddening. “Sorry, ma’am,” she muttered.

I frowned at her unusual clumsiness before turning to the under-butler. “And? What did you find out?”

Mr. Burton ran his palm up the back of his dark-blond hair. “That the human body holds much more blood than I thought possible. The trail led a couple blocks over to Charles Street. The constable’s men were already at the house the trail started from. I asked a neighbor. It belongs to one Mr. Edwin Trent. Lives there with his wife and young daughter.”

“Trent.” I tapped my fingertips against my lips. “Trent.” My back straightened. “The son of Marvin Trent. I knew the father.Not well, but I saw him at a few functions before he died.” There had been something familiar about the body. Edwin Trent had the same dimpled chin as his sire.