‘I do not know,’ said Grace slowly. ‘He writes that she sent him word last night, but how?’
‘He gave her his direction, naturally.’
‘No, he did not.’ Grace shook her head. ‘I was with him when he tried to tell her how she could reach him. I remember it distinctly because I thought that I should discover it, too, but she cut him short.’ She handed back the paper. ‘Oh, Aunt, I very much fear that this is some sort of trap!’
* * *
Wolf kept his domino close about him as he climbed out of the coach at Vauxhall. The Season had only just begun, but already the gardens were thronging with crowds and that made him uneasy. He had not been here for over ten years and ticket prices had increased significantly, but it appeared to have made no difference to the popularity of the gardens.
He pulled out his watch as he made his way towards the Italian Walk. It wanted but fifteen minutes to eleven and Meesden might already be waiting for him. He thought it odd that she should want to meet south of the river, but perhaps she was as keen as he not to be recognised and that was definitely easier amongst this vast, masked crowd. An avenue of trees led to the Italian Walk, a series of arches and pediments built in the Roman style with statues placed at intervals along its length. Lamps twinkled from the trees and between the pillars. By their dim light Wolf strode on, looking for the statue of Minerva. Had Meesden known, when she chose the venue, that the goddess was said to have conferred upon women the skills of sewing and spinning? He had not thought her so well educated.
The statue he sought was set in a recess at the very end of the Walk, where there were plenty of people, but not the crush to be found around the orchestra and the supper boxes. Several couples were strolling along and a chattering group of ladies and their escorts tripped past as he stepped off the path.
A sudden breeze carried away the noisy chatter and set the leaves rustling on the thick bushes that enclosed three sides of the recess. Wolf had a sudden premonition of danger. He heard a cry and turned as a cloaked woman staggered from the bushes, her hands reaching out before her. It was only as she collapsed against him that he felt the hard projection of the knife handle beneath her ribs. Quickly he laid the woman on the ground, her cloak falling away as he did so. The lamplight showed him it was Annie Meesden, a stain blooming around the knife and spreading over the front of her gown like a huge, blood-red flower. Wolf pulled the knife from her with one hand while with the other he drew his handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it over the wound, although he knew it was too late. There was no life in the sightless eyes that stared up at him.
‘Murder, murder!’
Wolf heard the cry and looked up to find a crowd gathering on the path, staring at him in horror. Four men jumped forward to lay hands on him.
‘Not me,’ he cried, struggling against them. ‘Her killer is back there, in the bushes. Quickly, go after him!’
‘Oh, no, you won’t trick us with that one!’ Leaving three of his comrades to hold Wolf, one of the men knelt by the stricken woman. ‘She’s dead.’ He looked up. ‘And here you are, with the knife in your hand and her body still warm.’
The commotion had drawn more people. There was no escape and Wolf could hear their voices clamouring for the constable to be fetched.
His eyes returned to the bloody body on the ground and with a sickening certainty he knew he had been tricked.
* * *
From the far side of the walk Grace watched in horror as the crowd grew around Wolf, their cries and shrieks like the baying of hounds.
‘No. No!’
She wanted to run towards him, but Richard held her back, saying, ‘There is nothing we can do for him here.’
‘But they will kill him!’
‘No, they won’t. They have sent for the constable.’
‘Can we not go to him?’
‘No,’ said Richard. ‘He is incognito. If I rush to his support it is very likely someone will make the connection.’
‘If only we had come earlier!’
‘You came to Mount Street as soon as you realised the danger,’ muttered Richard. ‘I am only thankful that we were at home.’
Grace nodded. They had arrived at Vauxhall in time to see Wolf heading for the Italian Walk. There had been no mistaking his tall figure, even in the black domino.
‘I do not understand,’ she said now, trembling with the shock of it. ‘The arbour was empty when he stepped into it. And the next moment he is kneeling over a body.’
‘There is a certain familiarity with that scenario,’ drawled Richard.
Grace turned to stare at him. ‘You do not believe he murdered her?’
‘Do you?’
‘No.’ She shook her head emphatically. ‘No, I do not. I was watching closely. She was not there when he walked in and I did not see her enter from the path.’
