Half Moon Street
The Whitechapel Conspiracy
Slaves of Obsession
A Ballantine Book
Published by The Ballantine Publishing Group
Copyright © 2001 by Anne Perry
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.
Published in the United States by The Ballantine Publishing Group,
a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously
in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.
Ballantine is a registered trademark and
the Ballantine colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
www.ballantinebooks.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Perry, Anne.
Funeral in blue / Anne Perry.—1st ed.
p. cm.
ISBN 0-345-44001-3 (alk. paper)
1. Monk, William (Fictitious character)— Fiction. 2. Private
investigators—England—London—Fiction. 3. London (England)—
Fiction. 4. Nurses—Fiction. I. Title.
PR6066.E693 F86 2001
823?.914—dc21
2001037481
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition: October 2001
v3.0
To Meg MacDonald, for her wonderful ideas,
her work, and her belief in me
Read on for an excerpt from Anne Perry’s
CHAPTER
1
“THAT’S HIM!” GOWER YELLED above the sound of the traffic. Pitt turned on his heel just in time to see a figure dart between the rear end of a hansom and the oncoming horses of a brewer’s dray. Gower disappeared after him, missing a trampling by no more than inches.
Pitt plunged into the street, swerving to avoid a brougham and stopping abruptly to let another hansom pass. By the time he reached the far pavement Gower was twenty yards ahead and Pitt could make out only his flying hair. The man he was pursuing was out of sight. Weaving between clerks in pinstripes, leisurely strollers, and the occasional early woman shopper with her long skirts getting in the way, Pitt closed the gap until he was less than a dozen yards behind Gower. He caught a glimpse of the man ahead: bright ginger hair and a green jacket. Then he was gone, and Gower turned, his right hand raised for a moment in signal, before disappearing into an alley.
Pitt followed after him into the shadows, his eyes taking a moment or two to adjust. The alley was long and narrow, bending in a dogleg a hundred yards beyond. The gloom was caused by the overhanging eaves and the water-soaked darkness of the brick, long streams of grime running down from the broken guttering. People were huddled in doorways; others made their way slowly, limping, or staggering beneath heavy bolts of cloth, barrels, and bulging sacks.
Gower was still ahead, seeming to find his way with ease. Pitt veered around a fat woman with a tray of matches to sell, and tried to catch up. Gower was at least ten years younger, even if his legs were not quite so long, and he was more used to this kind of thing. But it was Pitt’s experience in the Metropolitan Police before he joined Special Branch that had led them to finding West, the man they were now chasing.
Pitt bumped into an old woman and apologized before regaining his stride. They were around the dogleg now, and he could see West’s ginger head making for the opening into the wide thoroughfare forty yards away. Pitt knew that they must catch him before he was swallowed up in the crowds.
Gower was almost there. He reached out an arm to grab at West, but just then West ducked sideways and Gower tripped, hurtling into the wall and momentarily winding himself. He bent over double, gasping to catch his
