"Nasty goings on there," Thompson said. "I believe a man must be deep in pocket and long in pedigree to even cross the threshold."

That left me on the doorstep. A barrister who lived on what people paid him to prosecute cases likely would be left on the doorstep as well.

"I will have to send for Mr. Chapman and tell him the disagreeable news," Thompson said, sighing. "And he’ll have to identify the body. Not a happy errand."

"Do you mind if I am present when you question him?" I didn’t necessarily relish watching a man look upon the dead body of his wife, but Chapman had the most motive for killing her. Peaches had been cuckolding him, and Chapman’s chambers were near to the Temple Stairs. Chapman might well have discovered his wife's affair with Lord Barbury, met his wife in the Temple Gardens, quarreled with her, and killed her.

I could not rule out Barbury, either, despite his impassioned plea to me to find Peaches' killer. He was an impatient man, as I'd observed. He could very well have been angry and jealous, and he was a large man, easily able to kill such a delicate young woman as Peaches.

Both men had strong connections to her; it was likely that she had been killed either by one of them or because of one of them.

"You’re welcome, if you like," Thompson said. "Sir Montague Harris told me things about you. He's astute as they make them, for a magistrate, and I've learned to trust him." He slanted me a look that said he'd be interested to see what I did, if not explicitly sharing Sir Montague's trust in me.

Sir Montague Harris, magistrate from the Whitechapel house, had attended an inquest last summer at which I'd been called to give evidence. I’d been impressed with the man's common sense and pointed questions, even if the magistrate in charge had found him irritating.