Love and Death in London by Pascal Francine

Author:Pascal, Francine
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-01-26T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

When Elizabeth and Luke emerged from the wax museum, the sun had dropped behind the buildings, sinking the city streets in shadow. A cool, slightly damp breeze fingered Elizabeth's hair. It's going to be another foggy night, she guessed. A good night to get home early . . . and stay home!

"Is it really that late?" Luke asked as the bells of a nearby church chimed the hour. "We didn't have any tea—you must be ravenous."

"I wouldn't mind a bite to eat," Elizabeth admitted.

"Then do me the honor of dining with me," Luke said gallantly. "There's a wonderful old pub a few streets from here—a bit fancier than the Slaughtered Lamb. They have a fireplace big enough to roast an ox—it'll warm you up in no time."

The invitation was enough to make Elizabeth feel warm inside. The wax museum had given her the creeps, but she couldn't deny she'd enjoyed an excuse to be close to Luke. She was happy to extend their excursion for an hour or two longer. "Sounds divine," she said with a smile. "But what about your father? Isn't he expecting you for dinner?"

Luke shook his head. "I tend to come and go as I please. He won't wait for me—we rarely have a meal together."

Tactfully, Elizabeth let the subject drop. Luke's tone verged on gruff; it didn't encourage further inquiry. Poor guy, she thought, her heart swelling with pity. To be motherless, and for all purposes fatherless, too!

The Gloucester Arms was bustling and bright. Within minutes, Luke and Elizabeth were tucked away at a cozy corner table, big plates of hearty stew and crusty homemade bread in front of them. Slipping out of her cardigan, Elizabeth dug into her food, suddenly starving.

"I feel like I haven't eaten in days," she said, tearing off another piece of the warm bread. "I guess all the excitement at the Journal is giving me an appetite."

"You mean Lady Wimpole's dog?"

Elizabeth gazed somberly at Luke. He looked back with clear, honest eyes. I might as well tell him, she decided. Maybe he can help me make sense of it all. "The dog is only part of it. You heard that Lucy Friday quit, didn't you?"

"Sure. Everyone at work was talking about it. She had a falling-out with old man Reeves."

"That's an understatement." Elizabeth leaned forward, lowering her voice. "Lucy accused Reeves of covering up the murder of Dr. Neville. He suppressed her story of what really happened—that's why she quit."

Luke's eyes widened. "What really happened? You mean, they know more than they printed?"

Elizabeth nodded. "Lots more. And Jessica and I know it, too, because we were there . . . at Dr. Neville's house. We looked in the window and saw. . . and saw . . ." Suddenly, the memory seemed too terrible. She couldn't go on.

"What?" Luke prompted gently. "What did you see?"

"Doctor Neville lying on the floor, dead. Lucy was there, and two men—Lord Robert Pembroke Senior, who owns the Journal, and Andrew Thatcher, the chief of the London police.

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