Gilbert pulled Carmichael close on the footpath outside the home of Mr. and Mrs. Lacy, parents of the latest victim. “I hardly think now is the time to be grinning.”

“I would stop if you would cease looking at your pocket watch.” He assumed an innocent expression. “Eager to get back to your sweetheart, are you?”

Davis made an odd sound, abruptly cut off.

Gilbert simply stared at his friend and the Bow Street Runner and shook his head. Carmichael had been teasing him mercilessly about Anna, much to Davis’ amusement. But Gilbert also understood why his oldest friend was making a fuss over his new status as a soon-to-be-married man. It was sudden, the last decision he’d ever wanted to rush into. It was yet another way Carmichael hoped to distract himself from missing Angela Berry and what might have been if she’d lived. It was easy to forgive Carmichael his little digs. “The Lacys are expecting us, yes?”

“Yes.” Carmichael smiled tightly. “The mother will weep.”

“All mothers do.”

“Do they? I wouldn’t know from my own experience.”

Perhaps not. The late Lady Carmichael had been a cold one, more interested in status and appearances than offering her only son any sort of affection. That was why Carmichael had so often visited him in Kent. The late Lady Carmichael had never been at home and had flitted about society, seeking attention and amusement at the expense of her relationship with her son. She had ignored her husband, too, and the late Lord Carmichael had lived his own separate life to the full in London.

Gilbert rapped the knocker and they were shown into a drawing room shrouded in black crepe already; with the drapes almost fully closed against the outside world, he shivered. The family, father Percy and mother Beatrice, were flanked by their oldest son and younger daughter, John and Rhea. The victim had been the middle child, and he could see her features in each person before him.

“Thank you for agreeing to see us, Mr. Lacy. Mrs. Lacy. Please accept our sincere condolences for the loss you have suffered. You know Lord Carmichael of course, and this is my associate, Mr. Davis of Bow Street.”

Mr. Lacy nodded, a sharp dip of his chin, and bade them sit.

“Carmichael here has likely explained why I wished to speak with you today. Your daughter’s death must be solved of course, but I am afraid to say there are other deaths that might be connected to this killer’s actions. Every little detail could be important. Would you repeat again what you remember of the evening?”

The father seemed to shake himself awake. “Yes, well. Our carriage arrived to take us there after nine and we drove directly to the ball.”

“We arrived before ten,” the mother murmured. “I heard Lord Thwaite’s clocks chiming the hour not long after Myra took to the dance floor the first time.” Mrs. Lacy sniffed back her emotions. “She danced with her father first, and then was claimed by Lord Carmichael.”

Gilbert consulted his notes, as Davis looked on over his shoulder.

“Her later dance partners were Lord Grindlewood, Lord Bellows and Lord Wade,” Davis murmured, and all present nodded to confirm.

“Between sets, do you recall who she spoke to?” Gilbert asked Mrs. Lacy.

“Oh, everyone we knew most likely,” the grieving mother promised. “My daughter was well liked by all.”

Gilbert wet his lips. “Did she go off without one of you, other than to dance?”

“Just the once.” Her mother lowered her chin. “She never came back.”

Young Mr. Lacy shook his head, and Gilbert watched him a moment before speaking. “Whatever you tell me will not be spread about to harm her memory. I swear it.”

The brother drew in a shuddering breath. “She was alone and unchaperoned for a few moments an hour before she disappeared,” her brother confirmed.

The family turned as one to stare at young Mr. Lacy until he spoke again. “She walked the ballroom with me for a time and then begged to cry off,” he said.

“Cry off?” Davis asked.

Mr. Lacy squirmed. “Yes, she withdrew,” he muttered.

Gilbert glanced at Davis. “To the ladies’ retiring room.”

“That is where she said she wished to go. I don’t know if that was true or not now.” Mr. John Lacy nodded, glancing a little guiltily at his mother, who was staring at her son in horror. “I didn’t consider it dangerous to let her walk there alone,” he promised. “It was just the retiring room. She must have drunk too much punch earlier.”

“And it may not be important at all,” Gilbert said quickly to allay John Lacy’s fear that he’d let his sister down.

He thought a moment. A quick trip to the retiring room was common, unless she wasn’t really going to that room but met with someone instead. “What was her mood upon her return?”

“Happy, buoyant, in fact,” Mr. Lacy answered. “She seemed as if she’d received good news or amusing gossip.”

So she did meet with someone—a suitor perhaps. “Did she mention what was the cause of her improved spirits?”

“No, and I did not think to ask. I had a dance next and went to find my partner as soon as she returned to Mother. I did not speak to or see Myra alive again that night.”

Gilbert glanced around at the victim’s remaining family. Her parents had been at the ball, not the youngest daughter, so he looked to them first. “Did she mention anything to either of you that might be worth repeating? Gossip, running into a friend? A suitor?”

“No, I was by then in the card room,” Mr. Lacy informed him, face crumpling as if he was about to cry. “I won a thousand pounds as my darling girl lost her life!”

He stood abruptly and departed the room in a rush, which Gilbert understood and did not seek to prevent. Carmichael, however, hurried after him. Gilbert could hear them talking in the hall but nothing of the meaning.

Gilbert turned back to Mrs. Lacy. “And you?”

“I was talking with my friends.” She burst into tears and, like her husband, fled the drawing room.

Gilbert knew abrupt emotional responses were common during an interview with the families of victims. Still, he had so many questions about Miss Lacy’s nature to uncover. He faced the Lacy siblings, who had drawn closer to each other on the settee.

“We are sorry to ask such distressing questions,” Davis began. “But it is important that we learn everything we can about your sister.”

“We understand, sir. We want our sister’s killer brought to justice. It is very good of you all to come,” Rhea promised Davis, sounding much older than her fifteen years and quite sure of herself. He remembered Miss Lacy had spoken to him in a similar way.

Davis smiled warmly and the younger girl smiled back shyly.

Gilbert cleared his throat and brought her attention back to him. “What sort of sister was Myra?”

The girl’s face lit up. “She was wonderful. She gave me some of her nicest gowns, and a gold chain, even though she could still wear them. She told me all about the ton and the important friends she’d made during the last two seasons.”

“I have only recently returned to London but I hear she was very popular,” he suggested, eager to judge the siblings’ reactions to that description. “Particularly with the gentlemen in want of a wife.”

“My sister was admired by many potential suitors,” Miss Lacy claimed proudly. “Her dance card was always full.”

The young John Lacy, however, had folded his arms across his chest and scowled at him.

Gilbert focused on the younger girl. He did not want to tarnish the younger sister’s memory of the recently departed by suggesting something that might not be true but he needed to know who she liked best. The sisters might have shared secrets. “Did she favor one gentleman over another?”

Miss Lacy glanced around him toward the door, looking worried.

“It’s all right to say she did,” Gilbert promised. “I will not spread it about.”

“Well…” She glanced sideways at her brother.

“Tell us,” Davis begged of her. “It could be very important.”

She winced. “She fancied Lord Carmichael quite a bit.”

“I see.” No surprises there. Gilbert was fairly sure his friend featured in any number of young women’s fantasies. “How exactly do you know she favored him?”

“She wrote a poem about him once.”

Davis sat forward eagerly. “Did she send the poem to him or show anyone?”

“No. Never.” The sister shook her head quickly. “I took it from her room after she died so Mother and Father would not know how silly she was about him.”

Davis’ eyes narrowed. “But you read it?”

The young girl nodded quickly.

“Rhea!” John Lacy exclaimed in shock. “How dare you go through her personal correspondence?”

“It was dreadful, John.” Rhea scrunched up her face in disgust. “I knew she had hidden it in her room. She wouldn’t want Mother or Father to read it. They would have thought less of Myra for writing such fanciful imaginings,” the sister whispered to her brother.

Gilbert brought his finger to his nose, indicating he’d keep the secret forever. He did not believe the knowledge that the recently deceased Miss Lacy was writing love poetry about Carmichael would make his friend feel any less at fault.

A servant appeared at the door. “Your mother asks for you, Miss Rhea.”

Miss Lacy offered him a quick smile and excused herself to answer the summons.

Gilbert turned back to the brother. He was on his feet, staring down at him. Gilbert quickly gained his own, sensing without the need for words that this interview was almost over.

“We are returning to the country to bury my sister tomorrow,” John Lacy announced.

“I would attend if it were not so vital to remain in London and continue the hunt for her killer.”

“Thank you,” he murmured. He stepped closer, one eye on the door where Carmichael and Mr. Lacy still spoke together. “My sister was a good woman, or would have been, if she hadn’t been so foolish sometimes.”

Gilbert inhaled sharply, scenting information he sorely needed. “Foolish?”

“She had it in mind to decide her own fate, choose her own husband, much to my parents’ disapproval and mine.”

“Many women want that,” Davis remarked. “Doesn’t make them any less foolish than the men who want the same.”

Gilbert hushed Davis. Getting into a debate over freedom to choose was not what they were here for. “What sort of fellow was she chasing?”

“All of them, at first,” the brother said with considerable embarrassment. “She would have caught one by fair means or foul.”

“Would she have slipped away to meet one of her suitors if she believed she could bring him up to scratch?”

John Lacy nodded, lips pressed tight together.

“Was she as interested in Carmichael as your sister hinted she was?”

“I suspect so.” He pulled a face. “I know Carmichael did not return the sentiment but Myra was definitely trying to catch his eye any way she could. I believe he wasn’t involved in her death but still, he never managed to dissuade her to look elsewhere for a husband.”

Gilbert did not like where this conversation was headed. Carmichael already blamed himself. “Carmichael may not have noticed her particular interest to pay it much thought. He grieves for Miss Angela Berry.”

John Lacy’s eyes widened with shock. “Is Miss Berry dead?”

“I am afraid so. Murdered, too. Carmichael was on the verge of announcing their marriage when she slipped away from a ball,” he shared. “He found her, already gone. We feel almost certain the deaths must be connected in some way.”

“So that’s why Myra couldn’t have him,” Mr. Lacy said in a hushed tone as he rocked back on his heels.

“I beg your pardon?”

John Lacy frowned. “When we first came up to London, nearly two months ago now, someone suggested to my sister that a titled husband was beyond her reach, especially him.”

“Who said that?”

“She never did tell me, but it was someone who must have known the ton well to give advice so freely. Myra was infuriated by the advice and became quite determined to prove them wrong. She declared to anyone who would listen that her heart was fixed on bringing Lord Carmichael up to scratch. She planned to make him fall in love with her as soon as possible.”

“I would have done the same thing if someone tried to deny me my heart’s desire,” Davis mused out loud.

John Lacy nodded, his eyes widening once more. “Do you think the killer disapproved of Angela Berry, too, and killed her to stop her marrying Carmichael?”

Gilbert nodded slowly as he considered the question. Every new bit of information led his enquiry straight back to Carmichael. “Yes.”

“Dear God, my sister must have known her killer. He must, too.” John Lacy sank into a chair as if he had no more strength.

Davis drew Gilbert aside to whisper, “I know he is your friend and innocent of the crimes, but we must look into Lord Carmichael’s affairs again.”

Gilbert glanced quickly over his shoulder. “Carmichael wouldn’t have willingly colluded with a killer. He is too softhearted to wish anyone ill. The killer might hold a grudge against him or might even be in love with him.”

“Agreed, my lord,” Davis promised.

Gilbert pondered the two possibilities with concern. Whoever it was, they had stopped Carmichael from making a match with Angela Berry, someone they must have perceived as unsuitable. “We must keep this conversation between us. I don’t want him knowing anything about this yet.”

Davis pursed his lips. “Very well, my lord. I’ll keep quiet. For now.”

He found a new page in his book to write upon and returned to John Lacy. “Tell me the name of every person you recall your sister speaking to in the last two weeks. Everyone.”

“That’s a lot of names,” Mr. Lacy warned.

“Don’t leave anyone out. Everyone she might have contact with is a suspect. I am at your complete disposal for as much time as you can spare,” Gilbert promised. He needed to know precisely when Myra Lacy and Carmichael had met, and where also.

And then, despite the awkwardness he would feel, Gilbert would put his best friend’s affairs under a microscope…and hope he never learned of it.