He stood inside the antechamber doorway, the curtain drawn all the way back to reveal little more than a storage space.

Seeing me turn, he said in a low, tight voice, “Do not come here.”

Surely he knew I was not going to obey. I crossed the room. “What is it?”

He sighed and motioned inside the antechamber. I leaned in to see two large, full sacks heaped upon the floor—both tied at the top with rope, one with an ominous dark patch staining the hessian.

“I hope they are full of bottles too,” I said, without hope.

He looked at me, mouth pressed into resignation. “You are going to do this with me, come what may, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Hold the candle, then. I’ll open the sacks,” he said.

Since I did not wish to be the one to open them, that seemed like a good plan.

We crouched on either side of the closest sack. I placed the flagon on the stone floor and Evan passed me the candle, or what was left of it, since it was almost burned out. Still, it had enough wick to show us whether a woman lay inside. There was no mistaking the metallic smell of blood or the glossy smear of it across the gray slate. Evan dug his finger into the clumsily tied rope and released the knot. Gently, he pulled down the hessian.

Her hair was still in its braided bun, her pale face unmarked but for a split lip. A bare shoulder showed the sweep of collarbone beneath pearly skin, then the sudden red pulp of flogged flesh. Someone had closed her eyes, or perhaps she had died with them shut. Her gown and reticule had been stuffed into the bag beside her body, her own blood staining the little blue knitted purse.

Evan leaned closer and pressed his fingertips to her poor bruised throat. I loved him for his hope, but we both knew what he would find.

He sighed. “Yes, she is dead.” He gently pulled out the reticule and passed it to me. “Maybe it will have some clue to where she belonged.”

I stared down at the pretty purse. “They killed her.” I blinked, my sight blearing with tears: pity and horror, but mostly fury. I rubbed them away with the back of my hand. “They killed her for pleasure.”

“And most likely a wager,” Evan said. “I would hazard this is Catherine Hollis from the wager book.”

I drew in a sharp breath. “I think I know what the numbers meant beside her name.” My scalp crept at the heinous realization. “It is time. The numbers are time.” I looked across the room at the handsome longcase clock. “That is why they have a clock in here.”