CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Rachel grimaced and set the toast with its black, sticky spread back onto the plate. Reluctantly she swallowed the bite, and shuddered. “That is disgusting,” she said, eager for a sip of tea.
Aubrey chuckled and reached for the discarded toast.
“So, as I was saying,” she said, pointing to a document on her phone, “the Fairbank case ledger confirms the Bow Street Runners found the staff of 8A Park Crescent dead in the basement, kitchen, and service quarters. No specifics on their manner of death. Only that they were.”
“And do you believe this fantastic tale?” Aubrey asked.
“How can I not? Not only is it detailed in Polidori’s writings, it’s registered in official magistrate documentation.”
“But do you believe it?” he asked through a mouthful of toast.
She leaned ba
