A Rose Before Dying Read Online Free Page A

he’d find the murderer.

Chapter Three
    Churning thoughts diverted Charles’s
attention as he strode down the busy streets of London after
leaving Electra in her stall. At the corner, he stepped out into
the road without pausing. A sudden clatter on his right made him
glance in that direction. A pair of grays dashed toward him. A
graceful phaeton barreled along behind, driven by an elegant but
obviously impatient gentleman.
    Charles stepped back onto the walkway.
    A small child stood in the street, staring
gape-mouthed at the horses galloping toward her.
    Without thinking, he sprinted forward. He
grabbed the child around the waist and dashed to the safety of the
footpath on the opposite side. The hot wind of the wheels gusted
against his back, propelling him faster. The stones beneath his
boots shook with the passage of the vehicle. Breathless, he managed
to escape although he stumbled over the stone curb. By the time he
turned around, the carriage was already rattling toward the next
intersection.
    The child squirmed in his grip. He released
it. “Are you hurt?”
    “Nuh-uh,” the child stuttered. Despite the
dirt caking the creature’s thin cheeks and lank hair, Charles
realized it was a girl. She appeared to be approximately four or
five years of age, although it was difficult to be sure. Her face
was pale beneath the grime, and her fragile bones jutted sharply
beneath her thin skin. Her clothes were naught but rough gray
tatters that could originally have been any color of the
rainbow.
    “Where is your mother?” he asked, more
harshly than he intended.
    She stared up at him, her eyes gleaming rich
blue.
    He looked around, searching for any adult who
might claim her. Nearby, an elderly man leaned against a wall,
watching him.
    “You there! Do you know this child?” Charles
moved her to face the old man. She leaned her back against his
knees as if his presence behind her was somehow reassuring. It made
him feel simultaneously gratified at her trust and guilty about his
desire to be rid of her as expeditiously as possible.
    The ragged man spit into the alley. Then he
smiled, showing a complete lack of teeth. “Aye. She be little Rose.
Rose Barlowe, if I remember a’right.”
    “Where is her mother?”
    He laughed again. He was certainly merry for
someone blessed with a lean and hungry look and no teeth. “St.
Saviour’s, my fine gentleman.”
    The Single Women’s Graveyard.
    Rose’s mother must have walked the streets.
Evidently she’d been none too successful at it, either, for it
claimed her life. He glanced at the child. She gazed up at him as
if he were an angel descending from Heaven with a pot of stewed
chicken and a fragrant loaf of bread. Beneath his palm, her
shoulder felt as delicate as a sparrow’s wing. When she shifted to
scratch a scabby elbow, her bony shoulder blades dug into his
legs.
    What would she do alone in London with no
mother or father?
    Unless she was lucky enough to die, she’d
undoubtedly follow in her mother’s footsteps within the next year
or so. It was a tragic fate for a child with such innocent blue
eyes.
    “She must have family—a sister? Aunt?”
    “We must all have such. For all the good it
does.” He glanced over his shoulder into the dark alley and jerked
his shabby jacket more closely around his bent shoulders. “She’s
yours. If you wants her.”
    Thick distaste rose, bitter in his throat.
Charles turned away. The tiny girl wrapped her slender fingers
around the index finger of his right hand, clearly determined to
hang on. Even with her frantic grip, he was aware of how incredibly
light—and weak—she was. It would take no effort to shake his hand
and walk away.
    It was the sensible thing to do. How many
times had he walked past her before, unaware of her presence?
    “Can you walk a few blocks?” he asked,
wondering as he did so, exactly what he was going to do with her.
He lived in temporary bachelor apartments with a valet and maid who
came days to