Chapter 3

Mortuary Chamber, St Bart's Hospital, London

" T ime of death?" Victor asked.

The doctor replied, "Roughly thirty-six hours."

"How can you tell?"

"Rigor mortis is still present, but the body is extremely cold to the touch."

"Cause of death?"

"Took a hit to the back of the head. The skull is caved in by some type of blunt object. By the indentations, it looks to be the same object as the previous cases. But there are no other injuries or abrasions on any part of the body to suggest there was a struggle. She did not see it coming."

"Thank you, doctor."

Victor turned to the coroner and asked, “Sir Rawlings, what are your thoughts?”

“There is an astounding similarity to the previous murders.”

“Officer Maxwell, do we know her identity?”

The Bow Street Officer, Charlie Maxwell, replied, "No, my lord. My runners are still trying to gather evidence from where she was found."

"Where exactly was that?"

"A block away from your residence, my lord. But so far, no one has come forward to claim her. She was dressed in a general maid's garment. We did find this in her apron pocket."

Victor took the pamphlet and knew immediately what it was—an invitation to a secret rally.

Maxwell said, "I have men in plain clothes attending the rallies to find out more."

The coroner replied, "It will be difficult to arrange an inquest if we do not know who she is. Usually, it needs to be carried out within forty-eight hours, and close contacts are questioned. Failing that, she becomes another Jane Doe."

Victor gritted his teeth and nodded. "Understood. In the meantime, if no one claims the body, I'll pay for a proper burial. Just send the bill to my residence."

"Thank you, my lord. That is very generous," Sir Rawlings replied.

"The least we can do is ensure she is laid to rest in a dignified manner. We may never discover what happened, but at one time in her life, she had family."

The coroner nodded in agreement. "I'll see that it is done."

Victor and Officer Maxwell took their leave.

While walking out the door, Victor said, “Officer Maxwell, I was robbed of a priceless jewel just last night. X left me a calling card."

"Then we can confidently say X was responsible for this death. It would be wise to report the robbery to the Chancery, as they keep the inventory of stolen jewels."

Victor nodded. "I shall do so today."

"Do you have any idea who X could be?" Maxwell asked.

"No, they are elusive, but I have a few leads to follow in London. Can I offer you a ride?"

"No, thank you, my lord. I have a line of investigation to follow while I'm here. I sense there is a wider connection that we are missing."

"I agree."

Now on the busy street, Victor said, "Stay sharp, Officer. This is not a good area to be caught out on your own."

Maxwell replied, "Do not worry, my lord. I know these parts like the back of my hand. For me, it’s the safest place on earth."

Victor shook his head and grinned. Over the years, he and Charlie Maxwell had developed a comfortable working relationship despite the class divide. The man was intelligent, diligent, and resourceful—three traits Victor admired. Victor knew if anyone could uncover new evidence, it was Officer Maxwell.

"Very well then. I shall be in contact soon," Victor replied.

Once inside the carriage, Victor tapped on the roof to signal his driver and guards to leave. He now had to search for the stolen jewels and continue his search for Agent X. Something was missing, and whenever that happened, he became even more focused.

As the carriage meandered through the seedy streets of London, Victor wondered once more about the murders. This was the fourth one in as many months. It always coincided with a rally and Agent X stealing jewels. But how were they connected? Were they even connected? He took note of the address of each murder location. Each one was exactly a block away from a rally and a heist. They always happened on the same nights. As the carriage passed a cobbled street, he caught a glimpse of something strange.

Victor had been a spy for the Crown long enough to know that when his subconscious registered something as out of place, it paid to take a closer look. He saw what appeared to be a young lad dressed in breeches, boots, a loose shirt, and a cap. The lad had his head down and coat lapel up. Something about him seemed familiar—Victor had seen him before. If memory served, he'd seen him loitering around when the previous bodies were found. While the face was concealed by the cap and lapel, the lad seemed somewhat out of place. The attire did not look shabby even though it was made to look that way. The boots, while rugged looking, still seemed new, and the coat wasn't as threadbare.

Victor was curious, and something about the lad puzzled him. Eventually, the lad turned into a dark alleyway towards a tavern and disappeared. Acting on a hunch, Victor stopped the carriage and leapt onto the street being sure to grab his brass walking stick. He had an inkling that lad knew something, so he took off in hot pursuit.

"Sir! Come back, 'tis dangerous down there!" his driver yelled.

"Circle around, I'll meet you back here," Victor shouted in response but kept running.

He ended up down the alleyway and lost sight of the lad completely. Victor cursed, then realized he needed to return to the main road. He clutched his brass cane, which doubled as a rapier sword, and circled back. The lad was nowhere to be found. He was quick, Victor would give him that.

Victor was tempted to keep searching, but when he checked his timepiece, he realized he was late for his next meeting with Joseph Planta, the Permanent Under Secretary for the Foreign Office. He wasn't looking forward to that meeting because after months of this cat-and-mouse chase, he was no closer to figuring out who this elusive Agent X was and why dead bodies kept piling up after each robbery.

Victor took note of the name of the tavern, then retraced his steps to the main road until his carriage arrived. He kept scanning the streets as the carriage departed once more, but the lad had vanished.

The Cheshire Cheese Tavern

brIANA WATCHED AS THE carriage disappeared before stepping away from the darkened doorway. That was a close call. She was still reeling from the fact another body was discovered. Briana knew right down to her marrow that the murdered woman had something to do with the prisons. Something rotten was going on inside London's prison system, and the wardens were covering it up.

What caused her suspicion was that the victims were usually ex-inmates of the Fleet—a startling number of them, in fact. She knew their identities because she had been imprisoned alongside them at one time.

That morning, she had loitered around the hospital mortuary chamber, hoping to find any information about who could be responsible for the latest death.

She could not see who the nobleman was that chased her down the alley, but she realized he was hell-bent on speaking to her, and there was no way she wanted that type of attention. She breathed a sigh of relief, then backtracked and made her way inside the Cheshire Cheese tavern.

Briana checked her timepiece and waited patiently with a cup of ale in a darkened corner of the tavern. She had exactly an hour to carry out the exchange before she had to attend a second fitting with the blasted modiste.

It had been a terribly long night with so much at stake, and for the first time, Briana felt weary and exhausted. Keeping up appearances at upper ton functions, then running about the docks and rookeries at all hours, was beginning to take its toll on her. She wished she could collapse in the nearest bed and sleep for days.

"Do you have it?" Bevan Towers asked.

"Yes, take a seat."

Towers, her informant, sat down and took the spare cup, gulping down the contents. Briana discreetly handed him the velvet pouch. "Tell Mendoza he has a week."

Towers nodded. "It shall be done."

"Do you have something for me?" Briana asked.

"Aye, it's beside you on the bench with a copy of the note we retrieved from the last one. 'Tis as good as new. Take a gander."

Briana glanced down at the exquisite velvet box on the bench. She quickly unlatched it and raised the lid just enough to see that Towers was right. The jeweler at Pinchbeck’s had done a good job not disturbing the gemstones. She secured the clasp and surreptitiously shoved it into her boist. "Thank you." She pushed a small bag of coins towards him.

But Towers shook his head. "Mendoza will cover the price. He's grateful for the contents of the message."

She made to protest, but he gave her a stern look, so she nodded and gifted him a relieved smile. Mendoza was the king of the docks. He unofficially ruled London Dockyards with his rather extensive list of associates. His powers also extended to the St. Giles rookery near Fleet Prison. He had sailed with her father on the high seas during the war and wielded immense power.

Mendoza was the reason Briana was in this current line of work. He was her biggest client, well in truth her only client. He agreed to hire Briana’s services aptly named ‘Hortensia Investigations’ because he required a woman to investigate members of the ton and gather information about the recent deaths. In return he financed her London season and offered protection in his territories.

Very few people knew what Mendoza looked like, but Briana had met him once on a ship when she was younger, before he took to the practice of wearing a mask.

Briana pretended to take a sip of the ale when Towers whispered, "What did that toff want? The one who was chasing you?"

"I don't know. I couldn't see his face, but I made sure I wasn't followed here." Briana stood to leave, but Towers clasped her arm and said, "Tis a dangerous game ye play, miss. The earl ain't one to cross. Watch your back or this business will get you dead."

She stiffened at first taking offence at the insult but then she realised he was worried for her. They all were. So, she simply nodded, then he let her go. Towers stood then suddenly grabbed a barmaid around the waist, swinging her about for a dance. The raucous scene distracted most of the patrons as Briana stole out of the tavern and disappeared into the shadows.