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Gideon stepped closer, all but blocking her view of the cadaver. “We will arrange for Mr. Pennington to be taken to the mortuary, Mrs. Coyle.” Only when she looked up at him, and he was certain she would heed his words, that she wasn’t too lost in grief, he added, “I’ll wish to question the staff and any family at home in Mr. Pennington’s household. It would help me a great deal if you would go and inform them. Who else resides at number twelve aside from Mr. Pennington?”

Mrs. Coyle lifted a kerchief from her apron pocket and dotted at the tears on her cheeks. “Miss Lucy Faraday, the master’s niece and ward, and his younger brother, Lancelot Pennington. He resides at Mount Street, now and then, as well.”

“Very well. You may return to the house, Mrs. Coyle, and I’ll be with you and the other staff directly.” Gideon lifted his watch from his waistcoat pocket again. Only minutes had passed since he’d last checked the time, but each of those minutes drew him closer to the hour he was meant to meet Electra. He wished to go and speak to her first, but that was a foolish impulse.

He could glean facts about the deceased from the household staff now. That would help determine how he should proceed in his pursuit of answers about who killed the man.

Gideon strode up the street, glancing at the gutter flowing with rainwater, just in case something had been dropped by Pennington or the person who’d murdered him. He found nothing, and by the time he’d returned to where the two constables stood guarding the body, an enclosed black carriage approached up the other end of Mount Street.

It slowed beside them, and the driver stepped down to shake Gideon’s hand before turning back to collect a canvas stretcher.

Gideon recognized the man, Mr. Palmer, a carriage driver employed by the coroner’s mortuary.

“May I remove the deceased, Inspector?”

“Indeed.”

Both Gideon and Thacker assisted to lift the body of Percival Pennington onto the stretcher. Once he was off the ground, a dark pool of blood, previously hidden from the rain, began to spread out across the wet pavement.

Thacker helped the driver lift the body into the rear of the carriage.

“How soon before a police surgeon can conduct an examination?” Gideon asked.

“I wouldn’t expect until the morning, Inspector.” Palmer secured the rear carriage doors, then tipped his hat at Gideon and Constable Thacker before resuming his driver’s seat.

“Assist Clegg in attempting to rouse someone in each house in this row and the opposite, any that are within view of this spot,” Gideon told Thacker. “We can at least take initial statements and determine whether anyone witnessed what happened here tonight.”

He was keenly aware of Electra’s card in his pocket and that he would, once again, soon be questioning her about the details of a murder investigation.

Everything in him wanted to go to her immediately, but he could not allow sentiment to derail him.

“I’m going to speak to the Pennington’s staff and any family members who are in residence.”

What did Electra know about this man? Gideon didn’t want her tangled in another case. The prospect of dinner with her—as friends, or whatever she would allow them to be—had been almost too appealing to come to fruition.

Most of all, he prayed her name wouldn’t be dragged through the newspapers like it had been during the Becknell case the previous year.

He’d do whatever he could to shield her this time.

Chapter Three

By the time Gideon crossed the threshold of 12 Mount Street, the housekeeper, Mrs. Coyle, and the butler, Mr. Burton, had assembled all the current staff members in the townhouse’s wood-paneled dining room. He was informed that the niece, Miss Faraday, and Pennington’s brother, were not at home.

They all got to their feet when he stepped into the room, and a few glanced at him warily. All looked as if the news of their master’s death had struck them hard.

“This is Detective Inspector Pierce,” Mr. Burton announced. “You must answer him in a forthright manner and as would be befitting a member of Mr. Pennington’s household.”

One housemaid with straw-blonde hair, who looked to be quite young, sniffled and reached up to dash away a tear that slipped down her flushed cheek.

Gideon would normally interview staff members separately, but this evening he was in the very first steps of gathering information about the deceased’s habits and actions on the day that led to his demise. He needed to understand the outline of Percival Pennington's life to understand what had led someone to cut him down just a few steps from his door.

“All of you may sit, if you please,” Gideon said, gesturing to the polished dining table and the dozen chairs surrounding it. “I have a few questions that I will put to all of you to begin, and then I, or a constable, will speak to each of you separately.”

After they’d all taken a seat, he chose a chair near the table’s head and set his notepad in front of him.

“I’ll start by taking your names and what position you hold in the household.” He fixed his gaze on a lanky dark-haired young man.

“Robert Spivey, footman, sir.”