Constable Munt, also in attendance, deposed that at three o’clock on Sunday morning, while patrolling Milk Street, he received information as to the discovery of the two deceased. There he noted that the bodies had sustained severe injuries to the chest cavity, the nature of which will, respectfully, not be expounded on in deference to the constitutions of this newspaper’s most esteemed readers and the family of the two deceased. The constable’s report was corroborated by two witnesses, employed at a neighboring slaughter-house, that had summoned him thither. Those witnesses went on to say that they saw no evidence of a weapon of any description laying nearby, nor of their having noticed any persons of interest thereabouts. Dr. Wheatstone was at once sent for and the bodies removed to the mortuary.
This incident is now the third in a series of macabre, unsolved slayings in which each victim was found eviscerated and dispossessed of certain organs. The coroner has ruled the deaths as a result of exsanguination.
The inquiry is ongoing.
Emma carefully folded the newspaper as her bile rose to the fore. Scarcely a moment later she heard the vigorous footfalls of her uncle approaching the parlor, and she hurriedly shoved the paper beneath her skirts.
Her uncle entered the room with an epistle clasped in his hand and upon his face he bore a mischievous grin. “You will never guess what I have here.”
Milli gasped, her eyes brightening. “Tickets to the Full Moon Ball!”
“Even better. I have just this moment received an invitation to dinner.”
Milli suddenly threw her arm over her face and groaned. “Do not tell me we are to dine again at the Stapletons. I cannot bear it.”
“We?” Emma gave a snort. “You begged off the last time, if you will recall.”
“Yes, and I missed out on meeting an Ottoman Prince!”
Their uncle became suddenly very interested in the state of his cuticles. “Am I now to understand, Milli dear, that you wish not to accompany us?”
“Will Eunice Baggot be there?” Milli had still not removed her arm from across her eyes.
“Decidedly not at this particular dinner party.”
The tricksy look in their uncle’s eyes might have escaped Milli’s notice, but it did not, however, escape Emma’s. Immediately, she guessed the invitation had not come from the Stapletons. The knowledge wrought a strange flutter of premonition in her belly for which Emma could not account. “I have an engagement that night,” she blurted unthinkingly before she could stop herself.
Her uncle looked momentarily taken aback. Then his gaze narrowed over the top of his spectacles as he said, “I have not yet disclosed the contents of the letter, so how can you possibly know which night to avoid, hmm?” Having made his point, he pushed his frames up onto the bridge of his nose and perused the letter. “I daresay you shall both be delighted to know that we are not to dine with the Stapletons Friday next, but with Lord Winterly and his sister.” He lifted his shrewd gaze to Emma, disregarding the happy squealing of his younger niece. “There now, what have you to say to that?” But he promptly lowered his gaze to scan the contents once more, ostensibly indifferent to what she might have to say to that. “It seems our Emma has caught herself an avid admirer.”
After a moment, Emma recovered her composure and settled in her mind that it was not her company Lord Winterly sought, it was the amiable Milli that Victoria wished to see. What else could she think? He had made it known to her that her churlish words had not gone unheard, so there was no other explanation for the invitation other than that Milli was being favored by Victoria and she, Emma, was to be tolerated. The haut ton were not the easiest coterie to infiltrate and, though her uncle was fairly flush in the pockets, he was still considered only merchant class and, therefore, beneath the notice of most, if not all, nobility.
Uncle Haywood pressed his lips together in consternation, regarding Emma’s reaction with obvious disapprobation. “Well, you needn't look so shocked, girl. Your face is pallid. Are you ill?”
Emma cleared her throat awkwardly, not wishing to pique his suspicion. “I am well, but as to the letter, surely we need not go, Uncle.”
“Not go?” He seemed stupefied by the idea.
“No!” cried Milli, shooting Emma a dirty look, “I must go!”
“Ay, we had better go.” Her uncle considered the note again with a bespectacled frown. “Wouldn't wish to insult his lordship, now would we?” With that he made to leave, but halted and looked about the room as if he had forgotten something. “I can’t seem to recall where I left The Times? I thought it was in the library.”
Emma flushed, but it was Milli that answered. “I rolled it up and bludgeoned a fly with it earlier.”
“Well put it back, for pity’s sake.” Uncle Haywood’s mouth flattened. “And next time you feel inclined towards insecticide use the Lady’s Magazine instead.”
When he left, Emma turned a scowl at her sister. “You needn’t have lied for me.”
“Then you ought not to have smuggled it under your skirts like a thief.” She held her hand out and waited till Emma handed The Times over.
“Borrowing is hardly stealing,” said Emma. “I hope you are not making a habit of telling fibs, Milli.”
“Well, if I am then we make a jolly pair—the liar and the thief.”
“Do be serious.”
“I shall be if you stop being so tiresome.” Then Milli hugged The Times to her breast as though she was hugging Victoria herself. “Gads, we have very little time to prepare.”
“Prepare for what?”
“Our gowns and coiffures for the Winterly dinner, of course! There is so much to be done, Emma. How can you be so nonchalant about this?”
“We have a week, you silly creature. At all events, I have already decided on my gown.”
“I insist you wear the red organdy, for it looks very pretty with your dark hair.” Having delivered her edict, Milli flounced from the room with an airy skip, leaving Emma to brood in the parlor.
For what possible reason would a viscount and his blue-blooded sister want to associate with the nieces of a tradesman?
On the eve of the Winterly dinner party, Mr Haywood’s household was fraught with excited energy. It was all, by and large, due to the youngest Miss Rose’s frenetic preparations. But that was nothing to the upheaval that struck the townhouse on the day itself. The ladies maid rushed about the upper rooms as she saw to both her mistress’s needs and the silk-laden young general. Emma watched the madness ensue, twisting her small gold crucifix between her fingers. Her nerves had become ever more taut as this day had approached, now it was time.
Apart from her stays, and the little red sprigs adorning her hair, she had, for the most part, seen to her own toilette and finished above an hour ago. She and her uncle had since been waiting in the drawing room for the other two to join them. In the end—perhaps to vex her sister—Emma had chosen not to wear the red gown of Milli’s choice.
At length the small party was assembled downstairs and the carriage brought around. Emma could not help but admire the elegance of her sister’s gown. It was a light blue silk creation with gold trim at the bodice, hem, and sleeves. Her hair was beautifully curled and lifted into a high chignon that was contained within a golden diadem.