Where Serpents Sleep

Street murdered in his own public office.”

“Is that why it’s been released that Sir William died of an apoplectic fit?”

“There will be rumors, of course. But then, there would have been rumors even if he had died of an apoplectic fit.”

“Very true.”

Lovejoy fixed him with an uncompromising stare. “Tell me about the Magdalene House fire.”

Sebastian gave the magistrate a carefully edited version of what he had so far discovered. He left out all mention of Russian sables and Irish thieves, but the tale he wove was still sordid—and utterly inconclusive. In the end, the magistrate removed his wire-framed glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “It is all rather complicated. It’s as if it goes off in six different directions at once.”

Sebastian said, “I’m obviously missing something. Something important.”

Sir Henry fit his glasses back on his face and cleared his throat again. “I’ve been offered the position of Bow Street magistrate.”

Sebastian raised one eyebrow. “Congratulations.”

“It is an honor, of course. I wouldn’t be chief magistrate—Sir James will replace Sir William in that capacity. But . . . well, if truth were told, I suspect I might somewhat miss Queen Square.”

“So you haven’t decided yet whether or not to accept?”

“No. The prestige means nothing to me. But . . .” The magistrate hesitated, and Sebastian knew he was remembering certain incidents in the past, when Bow Street had interfered in Sir Henry’s own investigations in a high-handed and contemptuous manner.

“It is tempting,” said Sebastian.

“Yes.”

The door to the coffee shop swung inward to admit another customer, who brought with him the smell of coming rain and a great gust of wind that snuffed out three of the gas lamps on the nearest wall.

“The fault’s in the design of the gas jets,” said Sir Henry as the proprietor bustled forward with a taper to relight them. “With a better design that wouldn’t have happened.” When Sebastian remained silent, he added, “Imagine the reduction in crime the city will experience once every street is illuminated by gas.”

“As long as there’s no wind,” said Sebastian.

“I tell you, the fault’s in the design of the jets,” insisted Sir Henry.

But Sebastian only laughed.

Chapter 38

That evening shortly before dinner, Hero was working in the library when her father entered the room. Lord Jarvis rarely dined at his own home. Looking up, she had little doubt as to why he was here, now.

He stared at the books she had scattered across the library table and frowned. “What is all this?”

Hero laid down her pen and sat back. “Some research I’m doing.”

Lord Jarvis grunted. “Why can’t you arrange flowers and embroider seat covers like other women?”

“Because I’m your daughter,” she said, gathering the books into a neat stack.

He didn’t even smile. Pressing both hands flat on the tabletop, he leaned into them, his gaze hard on her face. “What exactly is Devlin’s interest in the deaths of the Magdalene House women?”

Hero stared up at him without flinching. His lackey had obviously wasted no time reporting back to him. “The same as mine. To see justice done.”

Pushing away from the table, he swiped one big hand through the air, like someone brushing aside an annoying gnat. “There is no justice in this world. There are only the strong and the weak. Those women were weak.”

“Which is why it is the obligation of the strong to fight for them.”

Lord Jarvis let out his breath in a scornful huff. “I told you I would deal with those responsible.”

Hero pushed to her feet. “Because of me. Not because of them.”

“What difference does that make?”

She found herself oddly reluctant to explain to him the effect her meeting with Rachel Fairchild had had upon her, or the guilt that drove her to try to understand what had gone wrong in the young woman’s life. She said instead, “Has your Colonel Epson-Smith discovered those responsible?”

“Not yet. But he will.” He turned away to pour himself a glass of brandy. “You broke our agreement. You went to Bow Street.”

“On a slightly different errand. You heard Sir William is dead.”

“Yes.”

“Did you know he was involved with one of the women killed?”

Jarvis looked over at her. “Who told you that? Devlin?”

“No. Someone else.”