Chapter Nine
Sir Arnold Gorrie had a house in Russell Square in Bloomsbury, an address on the fringe of what was respectable. It was decorated with the same garish ostentation that characterized his appearance. Arabella tiptoed along the second floor corridor. Crimson and gold predominated, and every nook and cranny bristled with statuary. He was clearly aping the Prince Regent.
Sir Arnold’s bedchamber was the second door she tried. It was illuminated only by a fire dying in the grate. A four-poster bed dominated the room, looming huge in the shadows.
Quietly, quickly, she locked the door and unlatched a window in case she needed to leave in a hurry. Only then did she take a candle from the bedside table and light it from the fire.
The four-poster bed was even more monstrous in candlel
