Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
T o Leo’s everlasting astonishment, Jasper had still not changed his mind when they’d reached the open yard behind police headquarters. She’d expected him to come up with some reason or another for her to return to the morgue, which she’d closed for the day, or to Duke Street, which was the last place she wanted to go. But all he’d done was instruct Constable Wiley to tell Lewis he’d return shortly. Then, he and Leo had left the detective department together, the eyes of the other officers burning holes into their backs. That was what it had felt like to her at any rate.
“Do you think Mr. Stillman was the man chasing Miss Barrett?” she asked once they were outside.
Jasper squinted against a sudden break of sunlight. “That is what I’d like to find out. I’ll show Mr. Yardley the photograph.”
The witness’s name and place of work had been included in the report, Jasper had explained. Mr. Yardley would be found not far from Trafalgar Square at Kendall and James Furriers, where he was employed as a salesclerk.
“Reid!”
They slowed at a voice hailing Jasper, and crossing under the arch, into the courtyard behind headquarters, was the dashing figure of Viscount Hayes. Oliver Hayes was his good friend, though the connection did inspire raised brows from time to time. A detective inspector and a lord of the peerage weren’t likely to have much in common, but the two had not yet quite caught on to that. When he’d been a police constable, Jasper had arrested Lord Hayes for public intoxication and unruly behavior, which included riding a horse bare-chested down Pall Mall. After resisting arrest and berating Jasper for daring to apprehend a viscount, Jasper had cuffed him across the mouth. Lord Hayes enjoyed telling the story of how the green Metropolitan police constable had followed up the thrashing by saying, “That’s how much I care about your bloody title.” Jasper had then left him in a cell until he’d sobered up.
“Miss Spencer.” Lord Hayes tipped his hat. “It’s been some time since we last met. I hope you’re well.”
The greeting was perfectly polite, and everything a lord should strive for, but Leo saw through it. It was true that they had not seen one another for a time; perhaps once or twice over the last several years, while Jasper had been serving at a few other stations in the city. During those years, Leo had seen Jasper only slightly more frequently. But the viscount had always been a bit standoffish with her. He may have lowered himself enough to remain friendly with Jasper, but to be familiar with a woman who worked at a morgue was the proverbial line in the sand.
“Thank you, Lord Hayes, I am well,” Leo replied, but his attention had already shifted back toward his acquaintance, and she had the distinct impression that her response hadn’t been noted.
“Haven’t seen you at the club lately, Reid.”
The club? Leo peered at Jasper just as he glimpsed toward her. He rocked back on his heels, which he always did when uncomfortable, and replied, “I’ve been busy.”
“So I hear,” Lord Hayes said, his tone teasing. “My cousin is feeling rather neglected lately.”
His cousin, Miss Constance Hayes, probably didn’t have much experience with that feeling. Leo clasped her hands behind her back, impatient to be off.
Again, Jasper deflected. “What are you doing at the Yard?”
“The Home Secretary and I have a meeting with Superintendent Monroe and Commissioner Vickers,” he answered with a wave of his hand, as if a meeting with a few of the most powerful men in London was something trivial. “Will I see you at the club soon? The others miss sparring with you.”
Now Leo’s interest was truly piqued. She stared at Jasper. “You belong to a boxing club?”
Before he or Lord Hayes could reply, their party was joined by two more: the police commissioner, Sir Nathaniel Vickers, and one of his deputy assistants. Tall, broad-shouldered, and lively for his fifty-odd years, Sir Nathaniel strode toward them with the intimidating bearing of a soldier. He’d seen many corners of the British Empire during his time in the army and had been knighted for his heroics in one particular conflict in Africa, the details of which Leo had heard numerous times at the Inspector’s dinner table, whenever Sir Nathaniel joined them. The only indication of his advancing age was a slight limp. He’d been shot in that African skirmish, but rather than make him appear hobbled, the limp pointed toward a resolve of spirit.
“Miss Spencer,” the commissioner said with a friendly smile and a short bow. He turned to his deputy assistant. “You are acquainted with Benjamin Munson, I believe.”
The younger man nodded his head in greeting. Leo had met him a few times. Like Sir Nathaniel, Mr. Munson had served in the army. In Sir Nathaniel’s regiment, in fact. However, with his wire pince-nez, trim mustache, and sedate expression, he reminded Leo more of a scholar than he did a soldier. Not only had he been present for the brief conflict in the Griqualand West Colony, when a territorial dispute with the Boer Republic had led to a bloody clash, but Mr. Munson had reportedly brought the commissioner to safety after he’d been shot. Ever since then, Sir Nathaniel had kept Benjamin Munson close, elevating him in society and in the political sphere.
“Commissioner, Mr. Munson, how do you do?” Leo replied.
It felt like ages since she’d seen Sir Nathaniel, when in truth he’d come to Charles Street for supper in December with his daughter, Elsie. The last many weeks had dragged on, it seemed, anchored down by the Inspector’s rapidly declining health.
“Very well, now that I’m assured you are unharmed,” the commissioner answered. “That was quite a commotion at the morgue that I heard about.”
She smiled, though a bit uncomfortably. “It wasn’t as exciting as it’s been made out to be.”
“That is good to hear. Though, if my Elsie heard tell of it, she’d think you even more fascinating than before,” he said with a fond chuckle.
The commissioner’s daughter, at just seventeen, had been endlessly curious about Leo’s work at the morgue during a holiday supper in late December. The commissioner and Elsie didn’t usually attend the Inspector’s annual supper, but as Sir Nathaniel’s elderly uncle, his only remaining family, had passed away the month before, he and Elsie had been invited to join them. Without ever having a mother figure to school her into minding her manners, Elsie asked a host of questions, some of which had been rather macabre. Constance Hayes, also present for this supper, had chastised both Leo and Elsie with pointed looks. Leo had ignored her censure, while Elsie had simply been unaware of it.
“You may assure her that I am not fascinating in the least,” she replied, though the commissioner furrowed his brow playfully, as if to say he wasn’t convinced.
“At any rate, I’m glad you weren’t harmed.” He turned to Jasper. “And now I hear the same morgue intruder has been murdered?”
“An East Rips gang member, Clarence Stillman,” Jasper reported.
“You’ve identified him? Superb. Any leads?”
“Not yet, sir,” Jasper answered while at the same time Leo said, “Perhaps.”
Sir Nathaniel peered between them. “What’s this?”
Leo pushed back at Jasper’s chastising glare. “There is a possibility that Mr. Stillman is connected to another incident.”
“A very slight possibility,” Jasper added, his voice restrained and teeth gnashing. He’d called her a menace earlier, and he appeared to be thinking it again.
Lord Hayes observed them with an amused grin. “Count me as intrigued.”
“I believe Mr. Stillman also took an item from another body at the morgue,” Leo explained.
The commissioner hitched his chin and waited for her to continue. Over the years and a number of dinners at Charles Street with Commissioner Vickers, she had learned his mannerisms. He clearly wanted to know more.
“A necklace belonging to Miss Hannah Barrett, who was struck and killed by an omnibus two days ago. It was a locket, and inside was a clipping of hair and a piece of paper with some writing on it.”
“Writing?” Mr. Munson echoed, breaking from his silence so far. His eyes narrowed in confusion. “What sort of writing?”
“ Stran—”
But Jasper cut her off by saying, “I’m following up on it.” He punctuated his interruption with another pointed stare, as though he’d have rather smothered her mouth with his hand.
“Good. Keep me informed,” the commissioner said. “Though, don’t hang on to this one if it doesn’t lead anywhere, Reid. There are plenty of cases involving our city’s decent citizens that need seeing to.”
Leo pressed her lips together to prevent herself from objecting. Hannah Barrett had been a decent citizen. Her death shouldn’t be dismissed.
The commissioner tipped his hat and started away. But then paused. “Tomorrow is the fifteenth of January,” he said, his voice lowering. “I imagine you’ll call on Gregory?”
Jasper nodded. He would, as would Leo. She always did on the anniversary of his family’s deaths. Like always, she would accompany them to Kensal Green to lay flowers on their graves.
“Elsie and I may stop in early, but if we can’t make it, give him my regards.” Sir Nathaniel patted Jasper on the shoulder and tipped his hat to Leo again. Then, he and Mr. Munson continued toward headquarters.
“I should follow,” Lord Hayes said, his amusement having dissipated after the serious turn in the conversation. “Good fortune with your investigating, Reid.”
He glanced furtively at Leo, and by his tone, he might also have been wishing Jasper good luck with the exasperating woman at his side.
Grumbling low in his throat, Jasper set off toward the cabs lining the street, waiting to be hired by those leaving the Yard. Leo hurried to keep his pace.
“You’re angry,” she said.
“It isn’t my job to bother the commissioner with the details of a case. Nor is it yours,” he said, flagging an empty hansom cab.
“He was asking about leads.”
“And I’d prefer to bring him evidence, not theories.”
The driver, seated on a high bench behind the enclosed two-person cab, came along the pavement, and Jasper gave the address for the furrier shop. The ride was short, as it was just off Trafalgar Square, and Jasper asked the driver to wait as they went in.
“Are you Mr. Yardley?” he asked the clerk who greeted them. The man was short, with a slight paunch, and black hair silvering at the temples.
“You are correct, sir,” he replied jovially, but when Jasper showed him his police warrant card, his expression turned grim. “You’ve come to ask about that wretched business with the omnibus.”
Leo exchanged a glance with Jasper, who seemed equally taken aback by the man’s assumption.
“Yes. I want to know more about the man you claim to have seen running after the victim,” Jasper replied.
The salesclerk firmed his chin and nodded. “I told the constable that a man was chasing her. He ran off right after she was run down, so there wasn’t much the constable could do. Awful business. Just awful.” He shook his head as though gripped by what he’d seen. For his sake, Leo hoped his memories of it would fade someday.
Jasper reached into his coat pocket and withdrew the photograph of Clarence Stillman. In it, he was positioned as all those arrested and booked by the Met were—holding a chalkboard showing his name and arrest date.
“Is this the man you saw?” He handed the photograph to Mr. Yardley, who took one look at it before flicking the edge of the photo with his fingers.
“That’s the fellow.”
“You’re certain?” Leo asked, her pulse rising. The salesclerk nodded confidently as he returned the photograph to Jasper.
“Absolutely. The hairline’s right.”
They thanked him and returned to the waiting cab.
“That settles it then,” Leo said after Jasper handed her up into the carriage. “The locket was the item Mr. Stillman intended to steal all along.”
Jasper wrinkled his nose. The cab smelled musty, and straw had been strewn on the floor to absorb the passengers’ wet soles. But she didn’t think Jasper was offended by those things. Leo groaned. “Come now, Jasper, you cannot still doubt it!”
“I don’t doubt that he wanted the locket,” he said as their driver turned toward SoHo, where Mr. Barrett lived on Great Chapel Street. “I simply wonder what an East Rip just out of prison would want with it.”
Leo thought the answer was all too clear: the paper inside. It had to be some sort of coded message. As they rode on in silence, Jasper glared out the front window at the pair of horses pulling them, as though they’d insulted him. That scowl would certainly frighten his sparring opponents at the club Oliver Hayes had mentioned earlier.
“When did you begin boxing with the viscount and his peers?” Leo asked.
Seated next to her on the single bench, Jasper speared her with a warning look to not start in. He knew perfectly well that it was unusual for a man of his social standing to associate with the aristocracy. But then, the Inspector had also kept one foot inside the elite classes, while his wife had been alive, and afterward too, with Sir Nathaniel. Not for the first time, Leo wondered if Jasper had intentionally mirrored the Inspector by courting Miss Hayes.
“I don’t go often,” he finally answered. But he didn’t want to stay on the subject. “What will you do about Flora?”
“I’ve placed a listing in the paper.”
“ The Times ?”
She suppressed a roll of her eyes. Of course, he would think of that particular newspaper. It was where Miss Hayes was employed as a typist. As the daughter of a viscount’s second son, Constance Hayes wasn’t titled, but she was still a lady, and as such, polite society had expectations of her. She’d turned her back on them, however, by obtaining a job, and more scandalously still, living at a ladies’ boardinghouse. It was marvelously independent and modern of her, and Leo vastly approved.
If only she could bring herself to like Constance, she might wish to be friends with her.
“The Telegraph ,” she answered. “We must hire another nurse, and with any hope, Aunt Flora won’t drive this one away.”
Jasper remained quiet, though she guessed what he was thinking. He’d asked her before: Why can’t you stay home and watch her? Leo was ready to defend the fact that her aunt wouldn’t have allowed Leo to assist her, but Jasper surprised her.
“You said she was saying things you hoped she didn’t mean. What sort of things?”
His intent stare gave her the impression that he was questioning her as he would a crime suspect.
“I’d rather not discuss it.”
It wasn’t the right thing to say to a detective inspector. Jasper crossed his arms and sat back in a stubborn posture. “Why not?”
It was no use avoiding him. And she supposed, other than Claude, the Inspector, and her friend, Dita, Jasper was the only other person with whom she could speak openly about her past.
“She’s suspicious of me. This morning, she wouldn’t let me touch her and screamed about the murders. She asked why I made it out of that house when no one else did.”
It was a question Leo was sure many people had asked at the time. Though she’d been young, she recalled the public’s fascination with the story. When she’d stayed with the Inspector for those two months, he and Mrs. Zhao would hide the daily papers. But once, she’d managed to sneak one out of the burn basket. And regretted it. The article had detailed the killings, and as she’d read, a drowning guilt had consumed her. The reporter had drawn a vivid picture of the event, making Leo feel as if she were right there, with her mother and father, Jacob and Agnes as their lives ended violently.
Why had the murderer who’d come into the attic that night spared her?
Jasper shifted forward on the bench, his elbows coming to rest upon his thighs. “She can’t think you had anything to do with it. You were nine years old, for Christ’s sake.”
“She isn’t well,” Leo said, repeating what she and Claude had been saying for over a year now, ever since Flora started deteriorating noticeably. “But I do wonder sometimes…”
The hansom slowed in a snarl of traffic.
“What do you wonder?” Jasper asked.
She looked up from her clasped hands. “Why I didn’t die.”
He was a master at protecting his thoughts with a fixed stare, but at her question, Jasper pressed one brow low. She thought it might be an expression of sympathy.
“You weren’t meant to. Not that day. That is all.”
Leo had never liked that answer, and she’d heard it plenty.
“I wasn’t meant to, but my parents were?” she challenged. “My brother? My little sister? Agnes was four. A four-year-old cannot be meant to die.”
Jasper cast his eyes to the straw on the floor. “No child should. But we live in a world where that doesn’t matter.”
It was a bleak outlook, but it was reality. He’d seen plenty in his years at the Met to know it to be true, and so had Leo during her time as Claude’s assistant, unofficial as she was. The bodies of children on his tables never failed to send pangs of sorrow and futility through her, though she tried to erect a wall around herself on those occasions.
The traffic cleared, and their hansom began moving again, picking up speed.
“You’ve never spoken about that night.” Jasper’s voice softened. “Not even to the Inspector.”
“There isn’t much to say,” she replied. “I don’t remember anything until he found me in the steamer trunk.”
There was a tightness in her chest at the lie, but it was what she’d always claimed, and she wouldn’t change her story now.
Jasper stared, unblinking. “It seems to be the only thing you can’t remember.”
She bristled. “That isn’t true. I can’t recall anything before that night, at least not with any clarity.”
One of his brows popped up, as if in disbelief.
“What? Are you accusing me of lying?” she asked, incredulous.
“Are you?” The softness of his manner had abruptly changed, and now she felt like a fool for confiding in him. She imagined plenty of suspects he’d successfully cracked felt much the same. “If you remembered something about that night, you should have shared it with the Inspector.”
Her eyes burned. “I don’t understand your sudden concern. You’ve been telling him to give up on the investigation for years.”
“Only because he was twisting himself into knots, trying to solve what happened to your family and why. He wanted to give that to you, but if you’ve been holding back all this time, keeping secrets?—”
Fury, hot and unhinged, fired up her spine. “How dare you speak to me about keeping secrets, as if you haven’t kept a lion’s share of your own. But have I ever needled you for answers? Can’t you understand that there are some things I just want to forget?”
Out of breath and suddenly stripped of her fury, Leo sat back against the bench cushion. Her heart raced, and her eyes continued to sting. But she wouldn’t let a single tear fall in front of him.
“I understand wanting to forget,” he said, after a few moments of strained quiet. “You’re not alone in that.”
She gave no response, uninterested in engaging in any more conversation. It would only lead to more tension. Jasper had his life before the Inspector too, and just as she’d said, he never spoke of it. In fact, his life before was even more of a mystery than Leo’s.
Perhaps that was what had drawn the Inspector’s interest in him initially. He’d always loved a good tangle. After Jasper’s heroic efforts to stop the runaway drunkard from plowing into Leo that day at the Yard, paired with his stubborn silence afterward when the Inspector treated him to a hand pie from a costermonger, how could he have resisted? At the time, Leo, too, had been slightly enchanted by the skinny teenage boy with bruises riddling his face. He’d refused to speak, not even to say his name.
He still didn’t say much, only speaking when it was required or when something important needed to be said. But now that Jasper had become a man—a tall, broad-shouldered, muscular man—his restraint had a brooding, slightly intimidating nature that hadn’t been present when he’d been a boy.
The cab driver called to his horses, and the hansom slowed. They’d reached Great Chapel Street. Jasper handed her down to the pavement, where several modest, working-class homes were within view. On No. 53, a wreath of black ribbon hung above the door knocker, marking the house as one in mourning.
“I will lead the interview,” he said, the warning clear. Leo raised her eyes to the heavens but didn’t argue. She would speak if she so chose, and truly, Jasper ought to have known that.
After knocking, they waited on the front step long enough for Leo to think Mr. Barrett wasn’t at home. Or that perhaps he was and was choosing not to acknowledge them. Jasper brought down the knocker again, and soon after, the door opened an inch. Mr. Barrett peeked out.
Jasper held up his warrant card. “Detective Inspector Reid. We met yesterday.”
The door opened further. “Yes. I recall.” He looked at Leo and blinked. “You were at the morgue.”
A blush stained her cheeks as she recalled rambling on about personal possessions getting stored and then forgotten in the crypt. She’d been trying to extend the moment, to give Hannah’s brother time to recognize the locket was missing. To no avail, however.
“Miss Spencer and I have something to discuss with you, if we could come inside?” Jasper said.
Mr. Barrett’s slender figure appeared even more drawn as he saw them in. The house reminded her of her own on Duke Street—a narrow terrace house with outdated furnishings and decor, the carpets worn but well kept. Despite the economical décor, a show of expense was further down the front hall—a telephone had been installed and mounted on the wall.
Bowls of dried flowers and herbs in the small sitting room into which they were led couldn’t completely mask a sharp smell. Something akin to metal. Leo sniffed, and unfortunately, Mr. Barrett noticed.
“I am a locksmith and keep my workroom here in the house,” he explained as he gestured for them to sit.
Leo nodded understandingly as her eyes drifted toward the hearth mantel and some framed photographs there. In the most prominently displayed frame was a portrait of Hannah and her brother. She was seated, while Mr. Barrett stood behind her, his hands resting on the back of the chair. He’d not had a mustache when the portrait was taken, though he did now, the thin tips of which he’d pomaded with wax.
Jasper remained standing while Leo lowered herself into a dainty chair.
“We’re sorry to disturb you, but there is some question surrounding a necklace your sister was wearing at the time of her death,” Jasper began.
Hannah’s brother had taken a seat as well. He kept his back straight, his hands resting stiffly on his knees. A linen bandage covered most of his right hand, and a silvery-gray tinge discolored his fingertips. From his work as a locksmith, Leo deduced.
“Her locket? Yes, I’ve noticed it is missing. I thought perhaps it was taken when she was…in the street after…” He didn’t finish.
“There was a robbery at the morgue the evening your sister’s body arrived. Miss Spencer was present at the time,” Jasper explained. “She believes the thief took your sister’s necklace.”
Mr. Barrett’s eyes pierced Leo’s with instant suspicion. “Why was I not made aware of this earlier?”
Before Jasper could try to answer for her, Leo said, “I was afraid you’d bring a complaint against the morgue. There are already so many, as no one wants a deadhouse in their neighborhood or near their place of business. But I am certain Miss Barrett arrived with the necklace. After the thief placed me in a supply closet, I heard him moving about the room. Then, when I was freed, I saw that the locket was gone.”
He stood up from his chair, his back still rigid. “This thief knew she was at the morgue and came to steal it?”
Leo sat back. He’d concluded that it wasn’t a crime of opportunity, but one that had been premeditated, rather quickly.
“Is there something special about the locket?” Jasper asked.
Mr. Barrett rubbed his bandaged hand as he turned toward the mantel of photographs. “It held sentimental value. It was our mother’s, and when she died, Hannah took to wearing it as a reminder of her.”
That would account for the tarnished, old-fashioned design.
“There was a lock of hair kept inside.” Leo ignored a glance from Jasper, no doubt to remind her that he wanted to do the talking. “Was the hair a memento of your mother?”
“No,” Mr. Barrett’s voice suddenly turned terse. “It belonged to the man Hannah was to marry. As I’ve told the inspector, he died recently.”
“You sound as if you didn’t approve of him,” Leo said.
The lines around Mr. Barrett’s mouth deepened. “He was a criminal.”
Leo jerked her chin, and she and Jasper shared a glance of interest.
“He’d been in prison?” Jasper asked, likely thinking what Leo was—that Clarence Stillman had been an ex-convict. Could this be the connection?
“No, he was too slippery for that. He and his family are well-trained in eluding the law,” he said with a disapproving sniff.
A thrum of excitement beat through Leo. With her fiancé’s criminal connection, it now made sense why Hannah had been secretive with the other nursing staff at St. Thomas about his identity.
“What was the man’s name?” Jasper asked.
Mr. Barrett frowned. “Carter. William Carter.”