Page 45 (1/2)

Chapter One

London, England, 1866

If it could have spoken, the tea table would have groaned Biscuits, oranges, cordial, and two sorts of preserves were only the beginning of the burdens that Judith had forced the poor furniture to carry Sandwiches and scones were still to coar boas filled; the teakettle stood ready to do justice to the s that she had purchased at far too high a price The paper in the front parlor had been scrubbed clean, and a cheery bouquet of violets, obtained froirl down by the market, decorated the side table

It had been three er brother, and nothing—nothing—would stand in the way of his hoht Alured out that last unfortunate bit of business with her sisters, it would be everything in truth

“There” Judith scooped the orange cat off the table

Carae and no doubt interesting collection of things to push onto the floor, and sheher purpose frustrated Judith set the sandwiches in her place That left only…

“Theresa,” Judith called, “where did you put the scones?”

No answer Judith peered down the hall; nobody looked back at her except Squid, another one of Theresa’s cats He licked a paw and regarded Judith with suspicion and a swishing tail

“Theresa!” she called

“What?” Her youngest sister was not in the kitchen plating pastries She stood at thein the front rooure half-hidden by the curtains that Judith had so painstakingly sent out for washing

Judith sighed “Ladies don’t say ‘what’ They say ‘your pardon,’ or ‘yes, Judith’”

“But I said ‘what’” Theresa puzzled this over with a frown “So either ladies do say what, in which case you stand corrected, or I am not a lady, and I don’t need to say ‘your pardon’”

So her But no; that was just Theresa And there werematters

“What did you do with the scones?” Judith asked

“Your pardon?”

“What did you do with the scones?” Judith repeated

“Your pardon,” Theresa shot back

“For the love of mallards” Judith inhaled and made herself count One mallard Two mallards Three… “I did not mean that you were only allowed to say ‘your pardon’” Her patience felt like an act of herois ‘what?’ like a common scullion Please answer my question”

“Oh, I understood what you meant,” Theresa said “But you said ‘what,’ and I know you consider yourself a lady I was just correcting you”

“I said ‘what’? No, I didn’t”

“What did you do with the scones,” Theresa repeated “Although I have to admit that ‘your pardon did you do with the scones’ sounds extrelish”

One mallard Two—no Neverto help She’d given her sister one solitary task the entire : Take care of the scones How hard could it be?

She took a deep breath “Theresa Where are the scones?”

Theresa frowned and looked around, as if trying to figure out where she’d set them The small front parlor wasn’t what their family had once had Once, Judith wouldn’t have had to make the sandwiches herself, nor even place them on the table Once, the dishes would have been porcelain and her younger brother would have been escorted by a pair of foot his way home from the station on foot

But there was no point counting once-upon-a-times Once was not no there were sandwiches and there was a table, and while Judith still had breath in her body, there would always be a welcome home

Assu, of course, that she ever found the scones

Despite Judith’s haphazard efforts to teach her sister deport in her hands Her fingers, seely of their own accord, pulled a bit of hair loose froed on her head

“Scones” Judith tapped the single eer

“Right” Theresa slowly nibbled that strand of hair “Those I got distracted”

Soht Theresa stupid She wasn’t, not remotely She was just the kind of clever that cared so little for what others thought that it was often mistaken for stupidity When she could h to read, she understood everything But she was always distracted—or, at least, she was always distracting herself She’d been difficult from the moment she was born

“Concentrate,” Judith said “Start fro You took the scones from the oven Then what happened?”

“No, before that,” Theresa corrected “I got distracted by the body on the front stoop”

Judith winced “Drat Not another dead rat At least tell et at this one, too?”

Theresa turned back to the“I don’t think we should blame Squid for this body It looks huue”

Judith’s —she crept forward and looked through the curtains “Oh,” she heard herself say, as if froht I don’t think Squid is at fault…”

“Of course not,” Theresa said “He is really an excellent cat”

Judith’s eyes didn’t see Once upon a time, there had never been bodies, not anywhere on the family properties

She had, in fact, believed that tihborhood they lived in was cramped and crowded, b

ut it was at least safe Or so she’d thought It—she found it easier to think of the thing before her front door as an it—lay, liles, all aard turns and disjointed twists Ragged hair—possibly blond beneath the cap—obscured the face A scarf in a fluttering greenish-blue wound around the neck

Eton blue Her heart ca was too sain with a painful thud as she recognized one last detail: A knife handle protruded from the chest

“Wait here,” she said sharply

Once upon a tiht have screamed, but she was beyond an attack of the vapors Lady Judith Worth—that poor speciht once have collapsed in a swoon—had been through too much to hesitate now She turned the key in the front lock and thrust the door open

A breeze, scented with smoke from the factory three streets doafted in The street was ray and cold for su with bits of rubbish that had collected in the gutter Thirty yards down, almost hidden by the mist, Old Mother Lamprey stirred a common pot by the side of the street Awarily from side to side Alas, nobody looked as if they’d just left a corpse behind

Speaking of corpses Judith took a step forward, squinted at the thing, and let out a sigh of relief No wonder the limbs had see had never been living It was a set of clothes stuffed with hay, the sort of straw guy that lorious bonfire in early November

But it was July Guy Fawkes Day was a distant memory And this was not just any set of clothes; it was the blue-fabric unifornia Whoever had left this grotesque thing here had thrust a knife through ould have been the heart of the corpse, spearing it to the top post of the railing It was a rusted blade with a splintering handle, but a knife didn’t have to be sharp to cut to the point

Judith had seen the same tableau before It had been in the caricatures of her father that had hung in all the gossip-shop s: stabbed through the heart and buried at the crossroads, as all suicides had once been

There was a reason she had no use for once-upon-a-times