Chapter 5
Chapter Five
L eo went straight to Charles Street after leaving the morgue. As she took the walk at a fast clip in a sleeting rain, she thought of what Jasper had said earlier, about the possibility that the Inspector wouldn’t be himself. It irritated her, even hours later, that Jasper had thought she might forget that January 15 was a black day for Gregory Reid and that the days surrounding it were equally gray and gloomy.
She might not have stayed on to live with the Inspector as Jasper had after those first two months when they were both there together or taken his name and become accustomed to calling him Father , but she’d remained close to him. Gregory Reid had been a family man who wasn’t ready to no longer have a family, and so now, looking back, it made perfect sense that he’d offered up his home and his affection to two children who’d needed it.
Jasper had been a bit older, just starting on his way to becoming a young man, and no relative had been available to show up and claim him as Claude and Flora had done for her. There had been no reason for Leo to stay. And yet, the Inspector had never been able to mask his bittersweet regret that she could not have. At least Claude had benefited from the Inspector’s care. He’d left his position as a surgeon in a tiny, ill-equipped hospital on the island of Crete to return to London, but with no home and no job, he’d been ready to go back, this time with Leo in tow. That was when the Inspector had stepped in.
The windows inside the house on Charles Street glowed with gaslight as she approached, her fingertips chilled. She sometimes imagined how things might have been had Claude and Flora not materialized. If instead, they’d elected to let her grow up here in this fine home, with a large bedroom and delicious food from Mrs. Zhao’s kitchen to eat every night at the dinner table with the Inspector. And Jasper, of course. He might have become a sort of brother—though she wasn’t at all certain she liked that idea. She’d had a brother. Jacob.
Given her perfect memory, it was odd that Leo could remember so little about him. Except, of course, for what happened on that night. A night that always loomed large and unwieldy in her memory. Three years older than Leo, Jacob had enjoyed teasing her about her favorite doll, Miss Cynthia. The porcelain doll had rosebud lips and glossy black curls, a flowered blue dress with lace and silk ribbons, and a pair of leather shoes able to be slipped on and off, along with white silk stockings.
That night, after dinner, Jacob had taken Miss Cynthia’s shoes and hidden them. Leo had grown angry—so angry that she’d stomped on his foot. Shocked at her violence, he’d retaliated by grabbing Miss Cynthia and throwing her to the floor. The doll’s porcelain leg had cracked into several pieces, and her cheek had broken off completely. Sobbing and furious, Leo had collected the shards and her doll and run upstairs, ignoring Jacob’s claims that he hadn’t meant to do it.
Leo hadn’t gone to her room, which she’d shared with her younger sister, Agnes. She’d taken the stairs to the second level, then opened the door to the attic. There, she could be alone with her grief. There, no one would be able to find her.
The sleeting rain dripped down the back of Leo’s neck as she stood outside the Inspector’s home, and the chill of it brought her back to the present and her purpose. Leo brought down the knocker, and a few moments later, Mrs. Zhao was greeting her warmly and ushering her into the house. The air inside was filled with the savory scents of roasted meat and vegetables.
“Mr. Reid is having a good day,” Mrs. Zhao said. “Will you stay for supper?”
Ever since watching Jasper eat his Cornish pasty earlier, Leo had been longing for some of Mrs. Zhao’s cooking. “I will, thank you.”
Before she could make her next request, the housekeeper anticipated it and said, “I always prepare too much for Mr. Reid. I’ll send a basket with you for Mr. and Mrs. Feldman too. How is your aunt?”
“Much the same, I’m afraid.” To say worse than before would be far too melancholy. There was enough of that in this house as it was.
Mrs. Zhao sent her toward the study before returning to her kitchen, and Leo took the stairs to the first floor. The Inspector vastly preferred the study to any other room in the house. It was nearly always where she found him, and tonight, like so many other nights before, he was seated in the quilted leather chair behind his desk with a newspaper spread out before him, a cigar smoldering in the ashtray at one elbow, and an empty crystal whisky glass at his other. If not for the sallow pallor of his skin, the frail hands holding the paper, and his soft chuff of a cough, Leo could have fooled herself into believing everything was normal.
He looked up, and the bright blue eyes that had always radiated kindness shone once more.
“My dear Leonora.” His gravelly voice cracked with disuse. The Inspector pushed himself up, and Leo tried not to notice how thin he’d become. Thinner than the last time she’d visited two weeks ago. Her heart twisted.
“Oh, do sit down, sir, I’ve not come to put you out of your favorite chair,” she said, injecting a falsely bright note into her tone.
“I’ve been sitting all day,” he said, “and a gentleman stands when a lady enters the room.”
“I admit, it is a pleasant change. None of the gentlemen I see on a regular basis are usually able to stand when I enter a room.”
It was just the sort of humor he appreciated. Morgue humor , he’d once called it, and Leo thought it an apt term. He cracked a laugh, which quickly turned into a hacking cough.
She rushed forward, but he put up a hand. “I am fine.” He then crinkled his forehead. “That is to say, these aren’t my final breaths just yet.”
Leo didn’t chastise him for joking about his own death, even though it was on the tip of her tongue to do so. He wouldn’t want her to coddle him, so instead, she snapped open the kiss lock on her tapestry handbag and reached inside.
“That is lucky for you then. It would be a shame not to have anyone to share this with,” she said while pulling out a small bottle of his favorite cherry liqueur.
With a little bounce in his step, he rubbed his palms together as he rounded the desk and went straight to the sideboard. Leo joined him, and as soon as the bottle of Grants Morella was uncapped, he poured two glasses. Leo tapped her cordial glass against his, and they each sipped.
“You do spoil me,” he said as he led them to the leather Chesterfield in front of the hearth, inset with a coal brazier. It was warm, though the burning coal left a haze in the air. Wood was too expensive for a policeman’s purse, and for the last seventeen years, that was what he’d been running this household on. Following the deaths of his daughter and his only grandchildren, the Viscount Cowper had rescinded Emmaline’s dowry. The house, however, had been a gift, and with or without Emmaline, it legally belonged to Gregory Reid.
“Now, tell me what happened with that burglar,” he said.
Leo lowered her glass slowly. “How did you hear of it?”
“Nathaniel, of course,” he answered, referring to his good friend, Sir Nathaniel Vickers, the Commissioner of Police. The two men had entered the Met as constables together; Sir Nathaniel, however, had joined the army for a time, and when he’d returned, he’d shifted his focus to prison reform and the penal service, eventually rising to Commissioner of Prisons. From there it had been a short jump to Commissioner of Police.
The Inspector, however, had preferred to stay a detective. That was where his talent lay, and he’d been proud of it.
“I should have known,” Leo said, resuming her sip. Sir Nathaniel called on a regular basis. He’d lost his wife in childbirth, not very long after Emmaline Reid had died. Neither widower had remarried, and the two had found much in common, standing together against the social expectation of taking second wives.
“I am perfectly fine,” Leo insisted. “The intruder took a bag and a necklace and then ran off.” She chose to omit any details that might worry him—or inspire him to want to sift through possible motives. Though ill, he was a detective at heart and loved a good muddle to sort out.
Peering at her with skepticism, he seemed to know that she was holding back. However, before he could press her, she changed the subject.
“Mrs. Zhao said it’s been a good day. How are you feeling?”
He grumbled, endlessly annoyed by the topic of his own health. “Shipshape,” he answered as he sipped his cherry liqueur. “I should be back at the Yard any day now.”
Leo raised a brow, accustomed to his sarcasm. They both knew it was what he wanted but would not be able to achieve. Turning serious, the Inspector set down his glass on the end table beside the Chesterfield and got to his feet. “I have something to show you.”
Her curiosity rose as he shuffled back to his desk. There, he opened one of the deep-bottomed side drawers. He kept old case files there—the investigations that he’d been unable to solve but on which he’d never quite given up. A shiver ran up her spine as he took out a thick folder.
There was no need to inquire as to which case this was.
She set her cordial glass next to his and stood as he came back toward the sofa with the folder.
“I want you to have this, Leonora,” he said. She didn’t reach for it. Her hands hung unnaturally heavy at her sides.
He’d never stopped trying to solve the murders of the Spencer family. Seeing the file now, at least two inches thick, she marveled at the extent of his work. The backs of her eyes stung.
“You know what it is?” he asked when she continued to stare.
“Yes.”
He ran his hand over the worn brown cover, the spine frayed from being opened and closed, time and again. “My case notes. Interviews and research. Some leads, though none of which ever gave answers. A few crime scene photographs you might not wish to see. Everything is in here.”
Not everything.
There was one thing from that night Leo had kept to herself. She’d never spoken of it to anyone. It certainly wouldn’t be in the file.
She’d been trying for so long to put the memories of that night behind her, but they persisted. They’d formed a fortress-like wall around other memories from before the murders, ones she wished she could remember. It was as if Leo’s life before had been lost; there was only that one night and what came afterward. If she were to look through the Inspector’s file, blurred memories might become sharper. And the ones that had remained sharp over the years could very well slice her open again. Already, her mind was a cluttered trap. Everything she saw became a photograph in her mind; a picture she could mentally draw up and look at, concentrating on different aspects and elements that most minds chose to forget.
“I’m not sure I wish to see any of it.”
She clasped her hands together and rubbed her thumb along the two parallel scars on her right palm. The ridges were like a talisman. A reminder to keep breathing.
“If that is what you wish, I understand.” He set the folder beside their cordial glasses. “Do with it what you will. I just needed to give it to you before I was gone.”
Her eyes welled. “Don’t speak like that.”
“My dearest Leonora,” he said, his hollowed cheeks creasing with an effusive grin. “Promise me something.”
She frowned and blinked rapidly to clear away the hot tears. “That depends on what it is.”
The Inspector laughed. “Wise lady.” After another light chuckle, he became solemn again, then grasped her shoulder. “Don’t open it until you are absolutely sure you’re ready.”
Leo nodded. She could promise him that.
The door to the study opened, but it wasn’t Mrs. Zhao announcing supper, as Leo had expected. Jasper, dressed in a well-cut evening suit, stepped in.
“Father,” he said, though his attention stuck on her an extra moment. He frowned. “What’s happened?”
She turned away to dab the corners of her eyes.
“Nothing at all, my boy.” The Inspector went to the sideboard to pour cherry liqueur into another cordial glass. “Leonora has brought my favorite.”
Jasper grimaced as he took the small crystal glass. “You know I can’t stand the stuff.”
“One sip,” the Inspector said brightly. “I’ll make you a lover of it yet.”
“I sincerely doubt it,” he replied, though he still tossed the drink back. Predictably, he hacked and stuck out his tongue.
The Inspector winked mischievously at Leo. “It seems Jasper is already sweet enough.”
They both grinned at the absurdity of calling him such a thing. Jasper cut them a wry look before going to the sideboard and pouring himself some single malt.
“I thought you were having dinner with Miss Hayes tonight,” Leo said, eyeing his black tails, white waistcoat, and crisp, black necktie. The elegant clothes fit him well, accentuating his handsome looks. They could not refine him, though. Not fully. There was an innate intensity to Jasper, one that lacked polish but inspired respect.
“I do.” He contentedly sipped his scotch. “I thought I’d stop here first.”
Leo held her tongue. She’d announced earlier that she would be visiting the Inspector; did Jasper truly think she would upset him over the morgue break-in? He must have raced here to be sure she hadn’t.
“That was good of you,” the Inspector said as he clapped Jasper on the shoulder. He seemed to lean on him a bit, and Jasper put an arm around his father’s shoulder. “I wish I could stay awake to visit, but I’m afraid I’ve suddenly grown tired. I’m for bed, my son.”
Jasper set down his scotch and tried to guide the Inspector to the study door, but he was waved off.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” the Inspector assured them, sending Leo a departing nod. “Goodnight, my dear.” He lingered a moment, as if wanting to say something more, but then decided against it and left.
Jasper, observant as ever, slid his eyes to the worn folder on the table, then to Leo. He looked less than pleased.
“You know what it is?” she asked, echoing what the Inspector had asked her.
“Of course. He’s been obsessed with it for as long as I’ve known him.” Jasper took another sip and tugged at his collar.
Though it felt like reaching her hand over an open flame, Leo picked up the case file. “There are others in his desk drawer, not just this one.”
“None he looks through as much as yours.”
She didn’t know if he was disapproving or simply stating a fact. Jasper was notoriously difficult to read. He hardly ever gave anything away in the tone of his voice or in his inscrutable expressions.
Leo took the file back to the desk and returned it to the drawer. “Have you ever looked through it?”
“No.”
She frowned and slid the drawer shut. He’d never approved of the Inspector’s obsession , as he’d described it. But sometimes she wondered if Jasper’s disapproval was, in truth, only bitterness. Leo was the one with a tragic story and a mystery that had eluded the Inspector. Jasper, on the other hand, had been an orphaned street urchin who got into trouble with the law.
“Nothing worth talking about. I’m a dime a dozen,” he’d said before on the few occasions when Leo had asked what his life had been like before being taken in by Gregory Reid. When she’d realized that he was never going to speak about his childhood, she’d quit asking.
She joined him by the hearth now, picking up her cordial glass on the way. “Where are you taking Miss Hayes for dinner?”
He checked his fob watch. “The Albion. I should probably go.”
She sipped the last of her drink. “You don’t sound very enthusiastic about the evening.”
Jasper put away his watch, making a face. “I’m plenty enthusiastic.”
Leo suppressed a grin. “Are you two becoming quite serious then?”
“Why do you ask?” From the shocked way he peered at her, one would have thought she’d just asked him to commit a murder.
Leo collected the other cordial glasses and set them on a tray to bring to the kitchen. “Can I not ask questions?”
Jasper finished his scotch in a single toss. “About the woman I’m courting?” he answered, pausing halfway through to consider. “No.”
She narrowed her eyes as she brought over the tray. At times, he could be such a stick in the mud. “Very well. Then you can’t ask questions about who is courting me.”
Bristling, he set his empty glass on the tray. “You aren’t even seeing anyone.” Then, in doubt or perhaps disbelief, he asked, “Are you?”
Leo nearly laughed at the confusion pulling his dark blond brows together. She wasn’t seeing anyone at all, but it was amusing to tease him.
The study door opened again, and Mrs. Zhao entered. She wasn’t alone. On her heels was Jasper’s fellow officer, Detective Sergeant Lewis. He held his hat in his hands, a look of urgency in the taut press of his mouth.
“Sorry, guv, but I thought you might be here.”
Jasper walked forward, alert. “What is it?”
“A body’s been found.” He cast an apologetic glance toward the housekeeper. He didn’t spare Leo the same look, but she wasn’t offended. He already knew her sensibilities did not require an apology.
Leo set the tray down, curious as to why he’d gone to the trouble of seeking out Jasper here at the Inspector’s home rather than waiting until the following morning when he arrived at the Yard. But then Lewis explained: “The constables who reported it say he bears a striking resemblance to the man Miss Spencer described as the morgue intruder.”