Chapter Twenty-Six

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Sunday, 22 August, 1869

Having completed a morning constitutional of unparalleled boredom, Nottidge stepped into the main foyer with Sheridan Lush. Almost immediately a red-eyed barefooted figure rushed toward them, arms outstretched.

Lush raised his whistle to alert the attendants when she called out, “No! Please don’t do that. I must speak with you. It’s very important. Please.” The last word came out as a pitiful sob. Lush’s hand paused in front of his mouth.

Nottidge eyed the girl’s thin shift, unkempt hair, and tears with irritation. Could no one keep these lunatics in check? He would get Callahan to sort out the culprits. He looked again at the girl—quite attractive and prone to a bit of drama—so then maybe he wouldn’t. Here was an unexpected chance to amuse himself: and perhaps trifle with the sanctimonious Lush.

“What’s your problem?” Nottidge asked.

“Ellen’s dead, oh God, Ellen’s dead,” she cried. “Poor Ellen, poor Ellen, all our plans.”

Nottidge hel