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Hugh reached for a few clinging twigs of straw. And then, some sprigs of other detritus.

“Straw from the horse stall?” Thornton asked.

“Yes, and that would make sense. But this appears to be some kind of sprig of leaves,” Hugh replied.

Audrey held out her hand, and he placed the small leaves in her palm. She brought it to her nose. “It is marjoram.”

Hugh met his wife’s eyes. In her vision, she had seen a glasshouse, where potted flowers, shrubbery, and presumably, herbs, would have been kept.

“I’ll take Mr. Harwood’s address if you have it, Thornton,” Hugh said.

He would need to call on him and bring him news of his sister’s death. Telling someone their loved one had died, and worse, that they had died by violence, was never easy. It had been some time since Hugh had needed to do so, and it was one part of the job as a Bow Street principal agent that he had not missed.

Thornton scrubbed his jaw, dark with morning bristle and in need of a razor. “Hanover Square, I believe. Would you like me to come with you?”

“I will accompany him,” Audrey said before Hugh could reject Thornton’s offer, which he would have done. He preferred to deliver news of the death and question the brother, at least initially, on his own.

However, having Audrey with him would not be unwelcome. In the past, whenever they would work on a case together, he appreciated her steady hand and perceptive questions.

“If you could keep the body here for a little while longer?” Hugh asked. “In fact, I’ve been given charge of the inquest. This cellar would be a good spot to hold it.”

Thornton sighed heavily. “Here? In my cellar?”

“I wouldn’t mind a little help convening a jury of men, either, as I’ll be occupied investigating the murder,” Hugh replied.

“Oh, is that all?” Thornton rolled his eyes and groaned. “You know, my cook isn’t going to be pleased to have a body stashed here, nor twelve men stomping around the place.”

“Tell Mrs. Dort she has my gratitude,” Hugh said, suppressing a grin.

Thornton threw up his hands. “Fine. I suppose I’ll have to hide the whisky now.”

They started up the cellar stairs, toward the ground floor. They were in the front hall when Hugh recalled something else that he’d planned to ask Thornton.

“One more thing.” Hugh reached into his pocket, and with a cautious glimpse at Audrey, who pressed her lips together tightly, showed his friend the bronze ring. The morning sunlight had shown him the ring’s face more clearly, and he thought the words etched above and below the joined hands—amor meus aeternus—were Latin.

“This was found under Miss Harwood’s body in the horse stall. Her skirt has an opening for a pocket. I believe it could have fallen out.”

Thornton, his sleeves still rolled to the elbows, plucked the ring from Hugh’s hand. “Ah. Odd, that. It looks Roman. Nothing I’d expect a young woman would want to wear.”

“Do you know what it says?” Hugh asked.

“Amor meus aeternus⁠—”

“‘My eternal love’,” Audrey murmured, interrupting Thornton.

“An ancient Roman wedding ring, perhaps?” he suggested, returning it to Hugh.

He tucked the ring back into his pocket. “Messinger’s son is away on the Continent on his tour. Presumably, he would visit Rome?”

“Might he have known Miss Harwood and sent it to her?” Thornton asked. “Antiquities and trinkets make fine souvenirs. I sent a few old coins to my brother James while I was on my tour, which the uncultured cretin then decided to gamble away.”

“Victor Messinger was adamant that he did not know who the young lady was,” Hugh replied.

“Maybe he didn’t,” Thornton said, “but that doesn’t mean his son is equally unaware.”

Hugh nodded, thanked his friend for his help, and apologized for the inconvenience, before seeing himself and Audrey out through the front door.

“Tobias didn’t go on a grand tour,” Audrey pointed out as they walked toward Carrigan. “Genie said that he’d elected to sit it out even though many of his friends went.”