Chapter 6 #2
They departed the coach at the end of Green Dragon Alley. Sergeant Wycombe’s gig was parked in front of them, and there was also a police van.
Sergeant Wycombe led them into the narrow alley, and Tilda saw Teague up ahead. She walked faster, both eager and dreading to see what they’d found.
Miss Chadwick’s body lay supine between two doorways, next to an empty crate.
She wore a simple gown of light blue and her feet were bare, though Tilda noted they were not very dirty.
Her dark hair was partially pinned up, but several strands lay flat against her cheek and neck.
The bodice of her gown bore four long tears caked with blood, and her torn flesh was exposed beneath.
Her face was red, almost as if she’d been burned.
Tilda surmised that she had not been dead very long.
“A resident down the alley found her about an hour ago,” Teague said. “I’ve constables interviewing people in the alley, and then they’ll move to the surrounding neighborhood.” He glanced over at Wycombe. “Check on their progress, please.”
With a nod, Wycombe took himself off with haste.
“She’s not wearing the nightgown the maid described,” Tilda noted.
“Perhaps the kidnapper provided her with a gown,” Teague suggested.
“One that fits her very well.” Tilda’s gaze flicked to Delia’s bare feet. “But no shoes or boots. Despite that, her feet are surprisingly clean.” Tilda surveyed the area. “Do you think she was killed here? Given the state of her feet, I doubt she walked along this alley.”
“Agreed,” Teague said. “It appears she was placed here after she was dead, but I don’t know why.”
“It may be because Lucy Scales was attacked here by Spring-heeled Jack in 1838. Lord Ravenhurst and I met with former Inspector Hopkins yesterday. He told us all about the investigations into the two attacks in February 1838.”
Teague clenched his jaw. “Damn.”
Tilda and Hadrian shared the other information they’d learned from Hopkins the day before.
“You say Spring-heeled Jack spat blue flames in Miss Scales’s face, and she was temporarily blinded, as was Chadwick’s coachman last night,” Teague said. “I’d thought Miss Chadwick’s face looks as if it may have been burned.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” Tilda said.
“We’ll see what the coroner says.” Teague gestured toward her mutilated chest. “I’d say this was definitely made to look as though Spring-heeled Jack killed her, especially knowing he scratched Miss Alsop in a similar way.”
“There can be no mistaking that intention,” Tilda said in agreement.
“Mr. Chadwick was also scratched, though the wounds were on his face.” She crouched down to closely investigate the body.
The cuts on Miss Chadwick’s chest were much deeper than her father’s had been.
She could have died from blood loss, but Tilda suspected that would have taken quite some time.
She shuddered to think of the horrible death this young woman might have suffered.
A lump caught in her throat, and she blinked away tears as she rose.
She needed to rein in her emotions. There could be nothing worse than gaining a reputation as a detective with an excess of sentiment.
Hadrian’s eyes fixed on her as his brow furrowed. She was torn between wanting him to hold her and not wanting to show her vulnerability. The former was completely inappropriate in her current situation. She needed to behave in a competent—and stoic—manner.
Tilda glanced up at Teague. “Do you think she died from blood loss?”
“It would appear so, but I hope not.” He seemed to have arrived at the same awful conclusion as Tilda. Teague lowered himself next to her and studied the body for a moment. “Actually, I think it’s possible these wounds were made after she was killed.”
“You could be right,” Tilda said, narrowing her gaze. “I don’t think there’s enough blood here. It’s also possible she was tidied before being moved.”
Teague nodded. “The majority of the blood would be wherever she was killed. I didn’t note any defensive wounds.”
Tilda looked closely at Miss Chadwick’s hands.
They were not scratched, nor did any of her nails appear broken.
“I don’t see any marks that would indicate restraint on her wrists.
” She glanced at Miss Chadwick’s ankles and could only see part of one beneath the hem of her gown.
“Did you see any evidence of restraint on her ankles?”
“I did not.” Teague rose. “But we’ll see what the surgeon concludes after he performs the autopsy.”
Hadrian offered his hand to Tilda as she straightened. “I don’t understand why she was killed instead of returned to her parents,” he said. “The kidnapper received the ransom. And it certainly seems as though she was killed after the money was received.”
“That is what we must determine.” Teague glowered at nothing in particular. “If we can.”
Anger boiled up in Tilda. “If I were the kidnapper and received that much money, I would be well away from England by now.”
Teague sent her a grim look. “I’m trying not to think about that. I can’t fathom a reason why the kidnapper would wait a day after receiving the ransom before killing her and leaving her here.”
Tilda couldn’t either. “I think that’s likely a clue.”
“Agreed,” Teague said with a nod. “As much as this has been made to look as if Spring-heeled Jack killed her, I can’t believe this is related to the attacks thirty years ago. This kidnapper—and killer—has simply stolen the legend.”
“Detective Inspector,” Wycombe’s voice carried down the alley.
“Excuse me for a moment,” Teague said before hastening toward the sergeant.
Hadrian immediately dropped down next to the body.
Tilda knew he’d been waiting for an opportunity to touch Miss Chadwick.
He withdrew his glove and put his hand on hers.
His gaze was fixed on the wall beyond the young woman, but his features were blank.
He stared like that, still as a statue, for several moments, which gave Tilda hope.
The longer the vision, the more likely it was he saw something helpful.
She turned to glance back down the alley and saw Teague and Wycombe part ways. Teague started toward them. Tilda turned back to Hadrian. “Teague is coming.”
Hadrian blinked then removed his hand from Miss Chadwick’s before rising.
“Quickly, what did you see?” Tilda asked, unable to contain her urgency.
“I had two visions. The first was Miss Chadwick in a drawing room or similar environment.” Hadrian kept his voice low.
“She wore a rose-pink colored day dress and stood in front of a large landscape painting. I felt a sense of anticipation. Since I saw Miss Chadwick, it wasn’t her memory.
I couldn’t see anything that would lead me to guess whose memory I experienced. ”
“It could be anyone who touched her, including her family who most certainly would have seen her as you described,” Tilda said. “And the second vision?”
“I refocused my mind on Miss Chadwick’s kidnapping and death. That’s when I saw a flash of her sitting on her bed. She did not appear alarmed or afraid. I was in the process of gathering more details within that vision when you interrupted me.”
Tilda felt an immense wave of frustration. If only they could reveal Hadrian’s ability to Teague. But would the detective inspector believe them? Or would he refer Hadrian to a lunatic asylum as his great-uncle had been?
“That could also have been the memory of one of her family members or even her maid,” Tilda said just before Teague returned. Setting her disappointment aside, she turned to the detective inspector. “Did you learn anything helpful?”
“Wycombe spoke with a witness who said they walked by this spot two hours ago, and Miss Chadwick wasn’t here.”
“She was placed here in broad daylight?” Hadrian said.
Teague nodded. “Very recently, too.”
“And nobody noticed who did it?” Tilda asked in disbelief.
“Nobody we’ve spoken to so far, but the constables have many more interviews to conduct.” Teague blew out a breath and frowned deeply as his gaze dimmed. “I need to inform the Chadwicks that we’ve found their daughter.”
Tilda’s stomach clenched. “I need to return Mr. Chadwick’s payment.” She’d completely failed at the objective for which she’d been hired to complete.
“Now may not be the best time for that,” Hadrian said gently.
“I’ll leave it with the butler,” Tilda replied. “I can’t hide from the Chadwicks. I failed to accomplish what they hired me for.” She turned to Teague. “Did you learn anything from your inquiries there yesterday?”
“The retainers are all incredibly distraught, but we couldn’t discern any specific motives for kidnapping and certainly not for murder,” Teague explained.
“We could not determine how the kidnapper entered the house. The window was open, but to reach it, he would have had to climb the side of the house. I think we all agree he didn’t jump,” he added wryly.
“He had to have found a way inside as well as the location of Miss Chadwick’s bedchamber. It raises questions, frankly.”
“How do you suppose the kidnapper left with Miss Chadwick without her waking the household?”
“That is another mystery, but I’m inclined to agree with Mrs. Chadwick, that her daughter was likely drugged.” Teague met Tilda’s gaze. “She indicated she’d said as much to you the other day.”
“She did.” Tilda brushed her hand along her jaw. “We should have taken time then to conduct these inquiries, but when the second ransom note arrived, I was distracted from gathering evidence. We instead focused on speaking with you.”
“You mustn’t doubt yourself,” Teague advised. “I would have done the same thing upon receipt of the second ransom note. My focus would have been on planning for that as the best way to rescue the victim.”
Tilda acknowledged to herself that she was overwhelmed by remorse and may not be thinking as clearly as she would like. She was aware of Hadrian watching her with concern but kept her focus on Teague. “Thank you.”
“We concluded Miss Chadwick was likely unconscious when she was taken from the house,” Teague continued. “Or that she was complicit.” He frowned again. “We’ve since abandoned that theory, given what we found today.”
“So, Spring-heeled Jack did something to make her unconscious and carried her from the house? Did he then toss her over his horse?” Hadrian’s tone was sardonic and tinged with frustration.
Tilda well understood his sentiment. “We have many questions we can’t answer. Including why Miss Chadwick isn’t wearing the nightgown she was taken in.”
“Do you mind if we accompany you to the Chadwicks?” Tilda asked. “Though I’m no longer being paid to investigate this case, I can’t walk away.”
Teague gave her an understanding smile, and Tilda was glad to see she wasn’t the only detective with sentimentality. “I know you can’t.”
“We’ll meet you at the Chadwicks’ then.” Tilda glanced at Hadrian who gave her a subtle nod in response.
The coroner, Graythorpe, arrived, and Tilda and Hadrian made their way to the coach. They would meet Teague in Belgrave Square when he finished speaking with Graythorpe.
Seated together in the coach as they moved through Limehouse, Hadrian looked over at her. “You don’t need to go into the Chadwicks’ house. I can return the bank note to the butler, and you can wait here.”
Tilda turned toward him, and her emotions spilled over. “You can’t spare me from my duty. I failed the Chadwicks, and I deserve their wrath. Whether it was right or not to contact the police, I did so without informing them, and that was a breach of trust.”
“You absolutely do not deserve anyone’s wrath,” Hadrian said firmly and with a touch of heat.
He exhaled. “I understand you’re upset about Miss Chadwick.
I am too, and I also feel as though I failed her.
But none of this is our fault. I realize now we’ve had good fortune in solving our cases, including one to do with your father that went unsolved for over a decade.
We were bound to have a case like this eventually. ”
“I won’t accept that I can’t solve every case.” Tilda stiffened her spine. “You’re right that I’m upset. However, I cannot allow myself to be this emotional.”
“It’s perfectly tolerable,” Hadrian said softly.
“Not whilst I’m working, especially as a woman.” She needed to be sensible and composed. “I confess it’s difficult having you near in such moments. I find myself wanting your comfort when I should be focusing on the investigation. I’m afraid I’m going to have to rethink our courtship.”
Tilda hadn’t planned to say that, nor had she been thinking it. Her mind was whirling right now.
“You must do as you will.” Hadrian moved his gaze from hers and fixed it straight ahead on the opposite side of the coach.
“I hope you’ll recognize this is a terrible situation, and that you’ve comported yourself extremely well, in spite of it.
Just as you have during all our other investigations, which have also included difficult crimes and situations. ”
He was probably right, but Tilda was not of a mind to give herself any quarter. She did not, however, wish to take her emotions out on him. None of this was his fault.
She looked at his profile, the elegant sweep of his aristocratic nose and the soft outline of his lips above the masculine lines of his chin and jaw.
He was so familiar to her and so very dear.
This was surprisingly difficult—loving someone.
Since her father had died, she really only actively loved her grandmother, and perhaps Mrs. Acorn.
She supposed she felt some kind of love for her mother.
But nothing she experienced came close to the vulnerability she felt with Hadrian. It wasn’t just hard. It was terrifying.
“I only meant that we should rethink the timing of this courtship, not that we should abandon it,” she said, trying to explain the tumult of her emotions without really explaining it. Because she couldn’t.
“Good.” His voice was firm and perhaps a bit brighter than it had been. He slid her a quick glance. “Because there’s no way I’d allow you to abandon our courtship before it’s even really started. I love you, Tilda, and you’re worth fighting for. Don’t ever forget that.”