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The entire thing was shrouded in shadows. So, he silently followed the harlot, hoping she would help him untangle this mystery one thread at a time.

“As I’ve said previously, we keep meticulous records of every gentleman who enters the private chambers. However, before they reach the chambers, there’s the settling hall.” They traversed the huge hall in silence, and she continued leading him up the stairs. “This is the settling hall.” She swept her arm toward the benches and armchairs intermingled with flowerpots and statues, located in a strategic way to grant people an illusion of privacy.

“Settling hall?”

“Mm, yes. A long hall with settees and sofas where they get to flirt and kiss before settling on a specific woman.”

“Kissing a harlot?” Ford shuddered at the idea.

Madame Tricheuse cocked her head to the side and narrowed her eyes at him. “Does that idea offend your sensibilities?”

Ford looked her squarely in the eyes and answered honestly. “Offend my sensibilities? Not at all. But kissing a woman on the mouth who has been with hundreds of men, putting her mouth on different parts of their body, sounds unpleasant.”

She licked her lips, and for a moment, it looked like she would say something, but she turned away.

“Apologies if I offended your sensibilities,” Ford noted.

Tricheuse walked along the hall a few paces ahead of him. She glanced over her shoulder at him and raised a brow. “I am a simple whore, Monsieur Gunning. It takes a lot to offend me.”

Perhaps he had not offended her, although it was obvious by her demeanor that she did not appreciate his remark. However, she was anything but a simple whore. There was something about her… something he could not quite figure out. Simple would not be the word he would use to describe her.

Madame Tricheuse paused at the end of the long hall, just beneath an arched entryway. She leaned on a tiny podium and turned in a flourish of her skirts. “The hostess stays here,” she said, continuing as if nothing was amiss—and perhaps it wasn’t. Perhaps she didn’t care about his opinion at all. “And whenever a gentleman is ready to go up to the private chambers, he takes the woman he selected and they go to their assigned chamber. Occasionally, a client doesn’t need a settling period. He knows who he wants, and he either requests her ahead of time or inquires about her availability upon his arrival. If his desired woman is available, the hostess leads the way and leaves the man to wait for his… companion. However, an inconspicuous gentleman can slip inside once the hostess is away from her spot. The corridors are shadowed, and one can stay there unnoticed, waiting for his prey.” She drummed her fingers on the podium as she spoke.

“There is another way, of course.”

She turned away one more time and led him into the area of the private chambers. “Every private room in our brothel has watching chambers.” She threw him a coquettish glance over her shoulder. “For a price, gentlemen—or ladies—can watch the intimate interactions of our private guests.” She unlocked the door to a small chamber with nothing but a chair and a narrow side table inside. “At the time of the murder, a couple of gentlemen were inside those chambers. They weren’t watching the room where the murdered man was, but it is possible one could have snuck out of his chamber and lain in wait for the now-murdered gentleman to arrive. Then he could have slipped back into the watching chamber or used a special exit leading to the back door.” She left the private chamber and showed Ford a narrow corridor leading to the cramped staircase.

Ford walked toward Madame Tricheuse and plucked the candelabra from her fingers. She didn’t resist. He then walked through the corridor, down the steps of the back exit until he encountered the door. He turned the handle and peeked outside. The door didn’t have a handle from the outside. In fact, the door didn’t even look like a door from the outside. Another secret passage.

“No, there is no way for anyone to enter through this door from the outside,” Tricheuse said behind him as if reading his mind.

“Unless someone opened it for their conspirator.”

“Unless that,” she conceded.

He stepped back inside and closed the door. This case was turning out to be more complicated than he’d ever anticipated. There were multiple ways someone could sneak the murderer in without anyone else ever realizing the murderer was inside. He needed to comb through every person who had ever accessed this place and then every person they might be associated with. This case would take forever to solve.

Ford scrubbed his face with his hand. “Walk me to the room where Lord Portsmouth was murdered.”

Madame Tricheuse leaned in, the heady scent of jasmine enveloping him, and gently took the candelabra again. “Follow me.” Her voice was low and quiet, and it had the odd power of chasing butterflies around in his stomach.

Of course, it could just have been his gnawing hunger.

The walk from this corridor to the room where the murder took place was less than one hundred steps. Ford stood by the dried blood in the room, looking around.

The bloodstain was only three feet away from the door. The murdered man’s wound was deep in his stomach, which meant the murderer was facing him. The poor man was probably ambushed.

Bloodstains…

“Place the candelabra on the floor, please,” Ford commanded.

Madame Tricheuse complied.

Ford lowered himself to his hunches and looked around the room. There were no bloodstains leading toward the door. No bloodstains were leading in any other direction, either. He needed to retrace his steps to the back exit once more and see if even a drop of blood would indicate to him that the murderer had taken off in that direction. He had probably wiped his blade clean before sheathing it, but his hands and clothes would still have blood on them. Would that blood drip to the floor?

He took the candelabra and walked around the room, squinting at the floor. Nothing.

His stomach rumbled loudly, but he ignored it.