Newbury & Hobbes 04 - The Executioner's Heart by George Mann Read Free Book Online Page A

been busy with that Lady Arkwell business—which, as far as she knew, remained unresolved—so Veronica had put herself forward to assist Bainbridge on a number of matters in Newbury’s stead. There’d been that whole scandal about the vicar who’d been disinterring freshly buried corpses to feed them to his son, who’d contracted the Revenant plague, and the matter of the Gozitan midget and his “spiritualist” automaton, who they’d caught fleecing gullible members of the gentry for hundreds of pounds. Those were just two of the more memorable cases they’d investigated together in the last few months. There were numerous others, besides. Yet, for some reason, Bainbridge was more distant from her now than he had ever been before. She couldn’t understand it, and she hated feeling suspicious. She wondered if perhaps she should discuss it with him, but dismissed the idea, at least for the time being. Bainbridge had never been particularly good at discussing such personal matters. He’d probably only take offence.
    The two men turned suddenly at the sound of echoing footsteps in the adjoining room, and she turned to follow their gaze. Two figures were striding purposefully towards them: the willowy mortuary attendant—a weasely, odious man at the best of times, who seemed to revel in his disdain for the police—and Newbury, who looked immaculate in his freshly pressed black suit. He was clean-shaven and appeared to be bursting with energy as he hurried along beside the slightly taller man, beaming at Veronica despite the gloomy, funereal air of the place. She felt her spirits lifting.
    Bainbridge stepped in to intercept Newbury’s path. “You took your time,” he said, morosely.
    Newbury grinned, clapping a hand on Bainbridge’s shoulder as he came to a stop. He caught Veronica’s eye with a sly, mischievous look. “My apologies, Charles. I wouldn’t have kept you waiting in this miserable place if it hadn’t been for the Prince of Wales.”
    Bainbridge raised an eyebrow. “The Prince of Wales? Have they finally managed to get you up to the palace?” The incredulity was evident in his voice.
    Newbury shook his head. “No. He called on me, just a few hours ago.”
    Veronica almost laughed out loud at the expression on Bainbridge’s face as he received this news. “What? At Chelsea?” he blurted out.
    “Indeed so.”
    “Good God. You’ve reduced the monarchy to making house calls, Newbury! What the devil did he want?”
    Newbury smiled. “We can discuss that later. Let’s get this business over and done with first.” He turned to Angelchrist. “Good afternoon, Archibald,” he said.
    “Likewise, Sir Maurice. Always a pleasure.”
    Newbury glanced over at Veronica. “I take it you’ve been introduced to Miss Hobbes?”
    Both Bainbridge and Angelchrist looked utterly crestfallen. “Oh … how utterly inconsiderate of me,” said Bainbridge, taking two strides towards her. “My dear, I’m so sorry. I’ve rather let myself down. I just got caught up in the conversation…”
    “I fear we’ve neglected you, Miss Hobbes. We’ve been a little preoccupied, but nevertheless, it’s utterly unforgivable.” Angelchrist came to join her and Bainbridge, taking her hand. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
    Veronica lowered her handkerchief and smiled. “Indeed, Professor. I’ve heard a great deal about you,” she lied, studying his face to gauge his reaction. He nodded thoughtfully, as if the idea didn’t overly concern him.
    Now that he was standing before her, she had to admit he didn’t seem all that sinister. He was a smart-looking man in his early to mid-fifties, just a little older than Bainbridge. His hair was thinning and grey, and his moustache was neatly trimmed and still mostly black with a few flecks of white. He was shorter than Bainbridge by a few inches, and his face was careworn and friendly and creased easily around the mouth when he smiled. His eyes were a