The Auditor of Whitechapel
ACT ONE The fog rolled through Whitechapel like a living thing, thick and yellow as old brandy, and Arthur Crawford pulled his collar tighter against it as he stepped over the threshold of the tenement on Dorset Street. The woman who had hired him—Lady Cecilia Windsor, or so the card on the mantelpiece read—had been specific: find the three, understand them, and report back. Nothing more. The...
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