Chapter Five
William appreciated Francesca’s—and yes, he’d taken to referring to her with that name instead of the flippant and cheap moniker—presence at his crime scene much more than he thought he would. She was as observant as any Bow Street Runner he’d worked with, and after her initial reaction to such a grisly and violent murder, she’d conducted herself with aplomb. No doubt her notes would prove helpful as the investigation continued, and not for the first time did he wonder why she likened herself to a wallflower or even pretended to be shy and retiring around others.
Was it perhaps a defensive posture for some reason? He’d need to delve deeper once the case didn’t take the bulk of his thoughts.
Yet he wasn’t successful putting her from his mind. He peered at her while she talked to a couple of visibly upset women who stood off to the side within the knot of the crowd. How she would manage to write an article about him or this current case, he couldn’t imagine, but part of him was a tad smug to know that she would. The other part of him—the part that should be spending time courting her—was beyond pleased to know his direct competition hadn’t kissed her yet.
If all goes well, I’ll soon have an edge on that.
“Inspector Storme?” The no-nonsense inflection she put into the summons caught his attention, and a tiny spark of something went down his spine to lodge in his stones. “A moment of your time, please.”
There was nothing he could do except follow her command, for his superior watched, as did everyone else standing at the perimeter of the crime scene. Once he arrived at her side, he lifted an eyebrow. “What is amiss?”
“Nothing. Yet,” Francesca added in a low voice. She pointed to a red-haired woman and one with blonde hair. “These ladies claim to have been acquainted with the deceased and have even identified her.”
“Oh?” Now that was a surprise.
Francesca nodded. “This is Miss Newton.” She gestured at the red head. “And this is Miss Vernon.” She indicated the blonde.
William gave each of them a cursory glance. Younger than his companion, they held no interest beyond being possible witnesses. “Thank you, Miss Bancroft.” Really, she was a brick to ferret out this information. It helped him immensely. Perhaps he could use her as an assistant more in the future. For the moment, he put her from his mind to concentrate on the bystanders. “How do you know each other?”
Miss Newton spoke first. “We’re friends. Move in the same circles, especially during the Season.”
“Ah, so you’re both hoping to find husbands this year.” It wasn’t a question. This was how the world of the beau monde worked.
Blushes jumped into both ladies’ faces, and they nodded.
“How did you know the deceased?” He glanced at Francesca.
“Miss Anderson. Her father was a merchant who’d apparently made his fortune in the fabric trade,” she said in low tones as she consulted her notebook. “The coin put a veneer on him and meant his daughter was readily accepted into a society teeming with men who need a quick injection of blunt into their coffers.”
“Ah. Thank you.” The urge to grin took hold, but William fought it. She had wit, that was certain. He directed his attention to Miss Newton. “How did you know Miss Anderson?”
She shrugged and then stuck her hands back into a muff she carried, for the February chill hadn’t dissipated even with the noon sun. “We saw each other at society events. She was chasing a title.”
Then she’d mingled within the ton. Just like the last victim. Was that the connection he sought? It was still too early in the investigation. “Did Miss Anderson attend a society event last night?”
The young women tearfully looked at each other. It was the blonde who answered this time.
“I think I remember seeing her last night at Lord Coxhill’s rout. She’d made a sensation amidst the gentlemen there due to her fresh-faced looks.”
And the help of her father’s coin. William had only a passing acquaintance with the young lord in question. He was a newly minted earl.
Miss Newton frowned. “She’d torn her hem, so I helped stitch it up in the ladies’ retiring room.”
“How so?” The information wasn’t relevant.
“Oh, I always carry a needle and thread plus a pair of sewing scissors. One never knows when one will have an emergency.” She giggled and wiped her eyes. “I enjoy embroidery as well and will often take it with me while visiting friends.”
“Ah.” Still, not relevant to the case. Just female babble. When he glanced at Francesca, she was scribbling in her notebook. If she wrote out a transcript of the interview, it would prove infinitely helpful to return to it and look through those words. It might change how he worked cases. “Did Miss Anderson spend time with anyone more than others?”
Miss Newton nodded. “She danced with Lord Wainwright and then twice with Lord Coxhill, I think.” Was that jealousy or surprise in her voice? It was difficult to discern, for she was already emotional.
He tamped on the urge to show a reaction as he exchanged a glance with Francesca, who shrugged. “Did either of the men show a fondness for her over the other ladies in attendance?”
Miss Vernon snorted. “She was easily the prettiest woman there last night, if you go by the reaction from the men. Of course they dangled after her.” A frown marred the overblown beauty of the woman’s face. “Nothing the rest of us could do would gain us notice while Miss Anderson held court.”
“That’s quite true. Though she wasn’t someone I’d call friend, it was frustrating to know she would attend some of the same events we did, which meant an immediate cessation of admirers.” Miss Newton sighed. “And we’re of the ton.”