The Peacock Throne by Lisa Karon Richardson

independently. She hadn’t any description of my father’s death when she told me her tale.”
    The runner narrowed his eyes, perhaps noticing that he had not answered the question. “Unless it were from the newssheets.” Despite his obvious scepticism, Perkins said no more about it, but admonished Anthony to bring anything else he might find to his attention immediately. “After all, sir, whoever did this has already killed twice. We wouldn’t want to put a third to his conscience.”

    Marcus watched as the door to the fine house closed firmly behind Perkins, and the runner crossed the street. Stepping from the shadows of the mews, from which he had been keeping a discreet eye on the household, Marcus grasped the runner’s shoulder.
    â€œWhat did he have for you?”
    â€œOi!” Perkins clutched his chest dramatically. “You gave me a fright.”
    Marcus did not find him amusing. He cocked an eyebrow.
    â€œAll right, guv’nor, all right. Seems his Lordship in there ’as been doin’ some investigatin’ of ’is own. ’E showed me a letter from his dad, what he writ the same night as he was murdered. He admitted to something unsavoury in the letter, but he weren’t specific. He wanted the son to find an old mate. Man by the name of Rudolph Wolfe, what owned a coffee house. This here Wolfe happened toget hisself killed the same day as old Danbury, if you can credit it, and he’s got a girl in there what worked for him.”
    Both Marcus’s eyebrows went up now. “Does he, now?”
    â€œWhat’s more, I think they’re still hidin’ somethin’. I don’t know what they kept back, but I’d wager my next reward packet. They were careful not to say somethin ’.”
    â€œGood work, Perkins; good work. Do let me know if you turn up anything else.” Marcus slipped the man a handful of coins.
    Perkins glanced at the money in his palm. “Yes, sir. You know me, sir. Always pleased to help if I can.” The runner tipped his cap and slouched away, jingling the money in his hand as if it were a musical instrument.
    Marcus scowled. Danbury would not get away with withholding any further evidence. This puzzle would be solved, despite the lack of information and an arrogant, interfering heir who thought he knew more about investigation than the professionals.
    He settled in to watch the house. Twilight slid off the edge of the abyss into full darkness but he remained at his post long past the time when the candles had been damped and the door secured. The night watch made his rounds twice before Marcus abandoned his post with a disgruntled sigh. He’d be back. If the man was up to something, Marcus would find him out.

C HAPTER 7
    Lydia convinced Lord Danbury to wait until Saturday night to enter the coffee house, because the shop stayed closed on Sunday. Fenn would almost certainly go out in search of diversion and Mrs Wolfe had a habit of ensuring a good night’s sleep by taking a substantial dose of laudanum. Lydia had no doubt that the woman would be abed early, leaving them a clear field.
    The days slumped past, as halting as recalcitrant children. But as plodding as they were, they at least served the useful function of giving her body time to heal. When she finally shed her borrowed dress and donned her own shabby garments on Saturday evening, however, her heartbeat rang oddly loud in her ears. She stared at her image in the glass the maids shared. What if the evening’s adventure landed her back at the Green Peacock for good? Her hands grew clammy, and her throat dry. Sucking in a deep breath she forced herself up the stairs.
    Hands clasped behind his back, Lord Danbury paced in the study. An almost wild light gleamed in his eye. “You’re ready, then?”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    He halted. “Are you well?”
    â€œQuite well.”
    â€œI could find another way in. You