“Constable Magruder. He sent—says come as quick as may be. He’s found a woman. A dead woman—in a green velvet dress.”

Stray bodies would normally be taken to the nearest coroner—but mindful of the possible importance of his discovery and the need for discretion, Constable Magruder had helpfully had the body brought first to the regiment’s quarters near Cadogan Square, where it had been placed in the hay shed—to the horror of Corporal Hicks, who was in charge of the horses. Harry Quarry, summoned from his tea to deal with this new circumstance, told Grey as much upon his arrival in the courtyard.

“What happened to your suit?” Quarry asked, casting an interested eye over the assorted stains. He rubbed a finger beneath his nose. “Phew.”

“Never mind that,” Grey said tersely. “Do you know the woman?”

“Don’t think her own mother would know her,” Quarry said, turning to lead the way into the stables. “Pretty sure I’ve seen the dress, at Maggie’s place. Certainly isn’t Maggie, though—no tits at all.”

A sudden fear turned Grey’s bowels to water. Christ, could it be Nessie?

“When you say her mother wouldn’t know her—had she . . . been in the water long?”

Quarry cast him a puzzled look.

“She wasn’t in the water at all. Had her face beaten in.”

He felt bile rise at the back of his throat. Had the little whore gone nosing about, in hopes of helping him further, and been murdered for her interference? If she had died on his account, and in such a way . . . Uncorking the bottle of wine, he took a deep swallow, and another, then handed it to Quarry.

“Good idea. She’s niffy as a Frenchman’s arse; been dead a day or two.” Harry tilted up the bottle and drank, looking somewhat happier afterward. “Nice stuff, that.”

Grey saw Tom Byrd cast a look of longing at the bottle, but Quarry kept firm hold of it as he led the way through the brick-paved stables.

Magruder was waiting for them outside the shed, with one of his constables.

“My lord.” Magruder inclined his head, looking curiously at Grey. “What happened to—”

“Where did you find her?” Grey interrupted.

“In Saint James’s Park,” the constable replied. “In the bushes by the path.”

“Where?” Grey said incredulously. Saint James’s was the preserve of merchants and aristocrats, where the young, the rich, and the fashionable strolled to see and be seen. Magruder shrugged, slightly defensive.

“People out for an early walk found her—or rather, their dog did.” He stepped back, ushering the soldiers ahead of him through the door to the tack room. “There was considerable blood.”