Gibson looked up from cutting himself a slice of mutton. “Why’s that?”
“A dagger and a kitchen knife. Think about it: Who brings two knives to a murder?”
Gibson chewed thoughtfully. “Someone who knows how to kill with a dagger but realizes he needs a bigger knife to steal his victim’s heart?”
“Exactly.”
“In other words, our killer planned to take Pelletan’s heart.”
Sebastian nodded.
“Bloody hell,” Gibson said softly. “But . . . why?”
“That I can’t even begin to guess.”
Gibson reached for the pitcher and poured them both more ale. “Did you go to Cat’s Hole?”
“I did.” He told Gibson, briefly, what he had found there.
“You didn’t by chance find Pelletan’s heart while you were having a look about, did you?”
“No. But there was a pig rooting in the passage when I arrived.”
Gibson grimaced. “Bad luck, that.” Pigs were notorious for eating anything and everything, human body parts included.
“You didn’t see the heart last night?”
“No. But then, I don’t have your ability to see in the dark. And I was a wee bit preoccupied with other things.”
“How is your patient doing?”
“She awoke this morning long enough to tell me that her name is Alexandrie Sauvage and she has rooms in Golden Square. I’ve sent a message to her servant, telling the woman her mistress is alive but injured.”
“Would it be possible for me to speak to her?”
Gibson shook his head. “She was restless and in pain, so I gave her a few drops of laudanum to help her sleep again. The possibility of bleeding in the brain still exists, so she needs to be kept as quiet as possible.”
“Do you think she’ll survive?”
Gibson looked troubled. “I don’t know. It’s still too early to say.”
Sebastian shifted his position to stretch out his legs and cross his boots at the ankles. “I had an interesting conversation with one Mitt Peebles at the Gifford Arms in York Street. It seems Damion Pelletan was with a small group of Frenchmen who hired the entire hotel three weeks ago. They then turned off most of the hotel’s staff and replaced them with their own servants—their own French servants.”
“Why would they do that?”
“Presumably because they’re worried about spies. I could be wrong, but I suspect Pelletan was here as part of an official delegation sent by Napoléon to explore the possibility of peace with England.”
Gibson stared at him blankly. “What?”
“I recognized Monsieur Harmond Vaundreuil, the man you say came to identify Pelletan’s body. I didn’t know his name, but I’ve seen him before. With Jarvis.”
“But . . . peace? Is it possible?”
“Six months ago, I would have said no. But Napoléon just lost half a million men in Russia and barely escaped with his own life. The Prussians and the Austrians are turning against him, and there’ve been rumors of plots in Paris. I’m not surprised to hear he’s sent a small delegation to London with instructions to quietly put out peace feelers.”
“And Alexandrie Sauvage?”
“I have no idea how she fits into any of this. But last night, a Frenchwoman and her male companion came to the hotel, asking to see Pelletan. He left shortly after talking to them.”
“You think Alexandrie Sauvage was that woman?”
“It makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“So who was her companion?”
“That I don’t know.”
Gibson nudged away his plate. “When she was awake, she told me why they were in St. Katharine’s.”
“Oh?”
“She says Pelletan had agreed to go with her to see a sick child who lives in Hangman’s Court. She and Pelletan were on their way back from visiting the little girl when they were attacked.” Gibson pushed up from the table. “I promised to go there this afternoon and take a look at the child. The mother’s a poor widow.” He looked over at Sebastian. “Care to come along?”
Chapter 8
“What’s wrong with the child?” Sebastian asked as they wound through St. Katharine’s tangle of mean streets and dark, tortuous lanes. The sun was a distant golden ball in a frigid blue sky, but there was no warmth in its brittle light. Ice crusted the mud and manure beneath their feet, and the lips of the grimy, ragged children playing in the gutters were blue with cold.
“It’s a little girl of three. I’m told she was healthy enough until recently. She had the sniffles and a slight rash a couple of weeks ago but seemed to get over it. Then suddenly she couldn’t move her legs. She’s been getting progressively weaker and weaker, with the weakness slowly moving up her body, first to her back, then to her arms. Last night, she was having difficulty breathing. It sounds as if something is affecting the muscles in her body, and now it’s hit the walls of her chest.”
“Sounds . . . frightening,” said Sebastian.