Who Slays the Wicked by C. S. Harris EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Author: C. S. Harris
- Language: English
- Genre: Amateur Sleuth Mysteries
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
London: Friday, 1 April 1814
Bloodred and splayed wide as if in panic, the dried handprint
stood out clearly against the white, freshly painted inside panel
of the town house’s front door.
Jenny Crutcher was crossing his lordship’s grand black-andwhite marble-tiled entrance hall, humming to herself, when she saw
it. She drew up, one fist clenching around the handle of her broom as
she glanced in dismay at the golden glow of the rising sun filtering in
through the fanlight above the door. A housemaid in any normal
gentleman’s establishment would have been shocked by such a
discovery. But Jenny had worked in Viscount Ashworth’s Curzon
Street residence for six years now. Little shocked her anymore.
She was a slight, underfed woman with a pinched face and dull,
straight fair hair that combined to make her look older than her
twenty-six years. Once not so long ago, folks had called her a pretty
little thing. But Jenny didn’t mind her fading looks too much. Freshfaced young housemaids had a tendency to catch his lordship’s eye,
and Jenny had more than enough trouble in her life already.
Frowning at the blood, she hurried off to fetch a bucket of water and
a rag. She didn’t have time for this; she’d been working since before
dawn, and there was still so much to do before the master came
down.
“Blast,” she muttered when water splashed over the rim of the
bucket as she set it down on the marble tiles. More work. It wasn’t
until she was on her hands and knees, wiping up the spilled water,
that she noticed the blood on the door’s handle. She cleaned that too,
surprised to realize the door was unbarred. His lordship’s aged
butler, Mr. Fullerton, always made a big show of ceremoniously
lowering the bar on the front door every morning. But the old man
wasn’t up yet.
In a normal household, it would also be the butler’s responsibility
to bar the door at night before retiring. But that task was often
delegated to his lordship’s valet for reasons Jenny understood only
too well. Forgot something, did we, Digby? Jenny thought, allowing
herself a faintly malicious smile. She was not fond of the nasty little
valet.
Leaving the bucket of bloody water for later, she scurried off to
work her way through the rooms of the first two floors, throwing
open curtains, collecting dirty wine and brandy glasses, and
straightening the disorder left from the night before. She worked in
concert with the second housemaid, Alice, the two women dividing
the tasks between them in a familiar routine they’d developed over
the years. By the time they climbed the stairs to the floor where the
Viscount kept his bedchamber, it was already past ten o’clock.
Fortunately, his lordship was never up before noon, so they should
still have plenty of time to sneak into his room, quietly make up the
fire, leave fresh water, and be away before he stirred.
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