Chapter 9 #2
Leo replaced the cork and, after taking another thorough look at the swirled glass, placed the tube in her pocket to give to Jasper when next she saw him.
She then assisted Connor in cleaning and dressing the corpse, and Leo even spent a little time tidying Helen’s blonde hair with a comb.
She styled it afterward to cover the incision on the woman’s scalp as well as the two depressions near the front of her skull.
The result was satisfactory, though not perfect.
A few hours after they’d begun the postmortem, the bell above the lobby’s front door chimed, signaling a visitor to the morgue.
As it was nearly ten in the morning, Leo hoped it would be Jasper.
He’d gone back to Harrow the previous night to question Anthony Dalton and the rest of Helen’s family, a task that could not have been easy, especially as he’d probably needed to rouse them from their beds.
Jasper had hoped to return to London before noon today, and sure enough, when Leo entered the lobby, it was to find the detective inspector.
He was not alone: Anthony Dalton and Frederick Cowper stood with him, their suits well-pressed and tidy.
Jasper’s clothing, on the other hand, was a bit creased, his honey-blond hair unruly as he removed his bowler.
Though neatly trimmed, his golden bristle did give him a rumpled appearance.
He’d always been handsome, but now that Leo had given herself permission to note it, even just to herself, his attractiveness had seemed to increase.
She tried not to smile at him, as smiling was not something one should do when about to discuss the death of a loved one with family members.
“I’ll let the coroner know you’ve arrived for the formal identification,” she said, then turned to go back into the postmortem room.
“Must I truly see her?” Mr. Dalton asked, loud and brusque enough to stop her in her tracks. “If you and the inspector are certain it is Helen, then I don’t see the point.”
He appeared pale and a little sweaty along his forehead. Nerves, she presumed.
“I’m afraid it is protocol,” Jasper answered. He nodded for her to continue, and Leo went to inform Connor that Helen’s husband and uncle were here for the viewing.
He shed his stained canvas coat and tall, vulcanized rubber boots—neither of which Leo required, as she stood far enough away from the autopsy table during examinations to not risk splatter reaching her—for a more presentable coat and shoes.
Together, they wheeled the table bearing Helen into the viewing room.
It was no surprise when Mr. Dalton did not do more than briefly glimpse at Helen once the sheet had been pulled down to reveal her face.
Whether it was discomfort or something else wasn’t clear to Leo.
Frederick Cowper, however, kept a steady, if somber, gaze on his niece.
It was still such an odd thing to consider that he was her uncle.
But perhaps that was only because Leo’s only uncle was Claude, an elderly man.
Connor cleared his throat. “Mr. Dalton, were you aware of your wife’s condition?”
Anthony peered at him with narrowed eyes, as if to impart that his question was an annoyance. “Condition? My wife was perfectly healthy.”
“Healthy, yes,” Connor was quick to say. “However, Mrs. Dalton was carrying a child at the time of her death. About four months along, in fact.”
Anthony’s face blanched. He shifted his awe-filled eyes to his wife and stared at her, no longer appearing squeamish. Only stunned.
“No. That is… That is not possible. You must be mistaken.”
“Mr. Dalton, the coroner is not mistaken,” Jasper said. “Why do you claim the impossibility of her condition?”
Anthony hinged his loose jaw, then, with a return of his composure, stalked from the room without answering. Jasper followed, while Frederick slipped his hat back onto his head and sighed.
“They could not have children,” he imparted to her and Connor, his voice constrained.
Leo moved into the lobby with Frederick, while Connor began to roll the table back into the postmortem room.
Anthony had gone to the lobby door, as if ready to leave.
His hands were locked into fists. “It appears Helen was having an affair after all, Inspector. If she was with child, it was not mine.” His attention was fixed on nothing that she could discern, and Leo had the sense that he could not make eye contact with them due to shame.
“A riding accident, many years ago, left me unable to…” He glanced at Leo, then away again.
“It doesn’t matter. She was deceiving me with another man, clearly. ”
He'd cut himself off, but Leo had an inkling as to what he’d been about to say. That the accident had made it so that he could be a husband in name only.
“Do you have any idea whom she was seeing?” Jasper asked.
“None at all. She kept to herself most of the time,” he answered, sounding petulant again.
“Because you kept her at arm’s length,” Frederick said.
Anthony spluttered an oath and advanced, fast, but the Cowper heir put his palm against Anthony’s chest and shoved.
“Oh, stop with your theatrics. If you hadn’t pitied yourself so dreadfully, if you’d shown her even a minuscule amount of care, my niece would not have needed to look elsewhere.
It was your own doing, Dalton, and everyone in the family will tell you so. ”
“Perfect, are you?” Anthony spat. “Then why did your sister cut you from her will?”
Flaring tempers in the lobby were nothing new; Leo had seen plenty of scraps and arguments among family members after viewing a dead loved one. Usually, the best way to diffuse the tension was with a bit of guilt.
“The two of you should be ashamed of yourselves,” she said. “Show some respect for the dead.”
It worked, though only because Anthony winged open the door and disappeared through it. Frederick lowered his chin. “Forgive me, Miss Spencer, that was tactless. It’s only that it’s been trying to watch Helen all these years, suffering that selfish fool.”
Jasper went to the door and shut it, then waited until the chime of the bell fell silent again. “Do you have any idea who the father might be, Mr. Cowper?”
“No,” he said with a decisive shake of his head. “Our lives did not often overlap, and she has always been a quiet sort. I would suggest you speak to Dora, her maid.”
“I did attempt to question her on the drive into London,” Jasper said, appearing irked at the memory, “but she was in no fit state to speak.”
“They were quite close,” Frederick said with a grim press of his lips. “Dora will be staying with the Perrys while we are in London. I’m sure she will calm soon and be ready to speak to you.”
“Who are the Perrys?” Leo asked.
“Friends of Mrs. Dalton’s,” Jasper answered, apparently having learned as much earlier while questioning the family in Harrow. “Will you also be at the Perrys?” he asked Frederick.
“No, no, I like to stay at The Great Western Royal while in town,” he replied, naming the fine hotel attached to Paddington Station. “Anthony will also have a room there, I’m sure. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Inspector, Miss Spencer, I believe I will be the one making funeral arrangements for Helen.”
Frederick left the lobby, though he at least closed the door behind him.
As soon as they were alone, Jasper tipped his head back, closed his eyes, and let out a groan. He’d appeared tired before, but now Leo could see the extent of his fatigue. She stepped closer to him and laid her hand on his arm.
“You look dead on your feet,” she said, only realizing the inappropriateness of the maxim when he sent her a wry look. Leo bit her lip. “Sorry. Come have some tea.”
At his sigh, she knew he was about to refuse. “I can’t.” He covered her hand with his, and though he lifted it from his sleeve, he continued to hold on. “I’m sorry, but I need to speak to Helen’s maid as well as to the Perrys. If anyone knows who the father of the child is, it will be one of them.”
“If Helen and her lover met regularly at this spot that was mentioned in the note, he must live close to Cowper Fields,” Leo said. “And if they met the night of the storm, he might have driven her to London.”
The lover could have been the one who came into the bedroom after the blood had pooled. He may have rushed to her side, treading into the blood before then leaving in a rush.
“A horse and phaeton were discovered missing from the viscount’s stables that morning,” he said, absentmindedly running his fingers over her knuckles. “It hasn’t been returned or found.”
She tamped down the shiver along her spine that his distracted touching caused her. “Well then,” she went on, “if her lover is from Harrow and has fled, he will soon be noticed as missing.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” He stilled his fingers and grinned. “I’ll wire Paddington Division and ask if they’ve had any reports of a missing person from Harrow.”
He lifted her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles and, with his mouth lingering against her skin, asked, “Anything interesting during the postmortem?”
Leo wanted to laugh at how unromantic the question was. Yet it also pleased her that he wanted to discuss the case.
“Actually, yes. Though, I’ll need my hand back.” Interest lit his eyes, and when he released her, she reached into her apron pocket.
“Is that…?” Jasper started to say, reaching for the tiny glass vial as she held it up.
“I’m quite sure it is,” she replied. “Helen found the vial Francine wrote about in her letter to us and seemingly hid it in her bun before she was killed. The peacock statue struck the temporal and frontal bones of her skull, sparing the crown and back of the head, so the tube hidden in her hair was untouched.”