Her Saving Grace Read Free Page B

to be delivered to Dr Worthington first thing in the morning.
    ***
    “Nathaniel, come in, come in,” the Doctor said, and stepped back from the door to allow the other man to enter.
    “Have you discovered anyth ing else about the body?” Nathaniel asked eagerly.
    “No, I intend to take a closer look later today.”
    “Then what is so urgent that you asked me to attend first thing?” Now he was slightly irritable.
    “I was burglarised last night.”
    “Are you all right?” His annoyance fled.
    “Yes, yes I'm fine, and I don’t believe that anything was taken.”
    “Nothing?”
    “Not that I can see.” The doctor led Nathaniel to his workshop.
    Nothing had been moved since the night before, save for the remains of the broken oil lamp, which had been cleared up.
    “The papers on my desk were disturbed and the lamp broken, but that is all.”
    “And you’re sure nothing was taken?”
    “I am.”
    “Why would someone break in and not take anything?”
    “I disturbed them, perhap s they didn’t have time. I came in just as the blighter was jumping out of that window.”
    It was logical but Nathaniel didn’t quite believe it. He went over to the window and peering out, found a scrap of cloth caught on the frame, clearly having been torn off.
    “Did you get a look at him?”
    “Not much,” Worthington admitted. “He was dressed all in black but slight, short, like a youth.”
    “I doubt a youth would be our killer, so what did he want here? I suppose he could be working for someone else, doing their dirty work and trying to discover how much we know.”
    The front door bell interrupted them and they both made their way there.
    “It’s a little early for patients,” Worthington noted, checking his pocket watch. “Mrs Hyde isn’t even here yet.”
    Nevertheless, he opened the door.
    “Good day.” The elderly gentleman there said. The quality of his clothes indicated that he was in service but he kept them in pristine condition. “Is one of you Doctor Worthington?”
    “I am.”
    “I have a message for you.” He handed the letter to the doctor.
    Worthington reached into his p ocket for a tip but the man held his hands up. “I'm not a messenger, Sir, simply doing an errand on behalf of my employer. No payment is necessary.”
    The accent was refined, Nathaniel noticed. If he had to bet money, he would say that this man was a butler, only he was too old and hunched in the back to be a butler any longer.
    “Good day, S irs.” He tipped his hat and turned to leave.
    Worthington closed the door and broke the seal on the letter, frowning as he began to read.
    “What has you so interested?”
    Worthington glanced at the second page, then handed the letter over.
    Dear Doctor Worthington,
    I apologise for writing to you in this fashion but the local constable refuses to believe that this man could be my father. In fact, he doesn’t eve n believe that my father is missing.
    However, I know that he would never willingly leave his family and I strongly believe that it is his body that was discovered.
    My father ’s name was Charles Howard, he was a respected lawyer who worked for the War Office, and he disappeared in April 1814. He was 5’10” inches tall, of stout but not overly large build, and had grey and white hair.
    I realise that neither this description, nor the sketch of him that I have enclosed, will help you discover if the remains that you have, belonged to my father, but it might help you to know that my father had a few distinguishing marks.
    A scar over his left temple that went into the hairline.
    He was burned on the back of his right hand as a child and as well as scarring, the surrounding tissue is puckered.
    There is a brown mole on his neck, under his left ear, perhaps a quarter of an inch in diameter.
    Finally, he suffered a bad fall from horseback when I was a child. He fractured his right leg and although the limb was saved and splinted, it never healed properly and he suffered