Chapter Seven #2
He raised a hand. “I assure you, Miss Elderwood, that we did our very best to uncover the whereabouts of your sister. But the policy of the Metropolitan Police is to retire an investigation after two months. We are a very busy police department, in a very dangerous city. We cannot afford to search endlessly for one woman, no matter her station.”
“But there was no body,” Elswyth said. “Persephone could very well be alive, even. Held captive somewhere. She could have run away. I do not see any reason to declare her dead, or to—”
“Yes, yes, Miss Elderwood, and we are still offering a reward for information about her whereabouts or the whereabouts of her remains. We will tirelessly investigate each new piece of information that is provided to us, but Miss Elderwood…” The man sighed, as if what he was about to say weighed on him heavily.
“We have not received any information. And when a woman has been missing for this long… I cannot think of a single one who has turned up, in my tenure here. Alive, that is.”
Elswyth ignored his comment and fished in her reticule for her commonplace book. “That is another reason that I came here today,” she said. “I believe I have new information for you. I’ve discovered something. In her rooms.”
Inspector Reed, leaning back in his chair, looked at her as though something were funny.
Then he smiled, never showing his teeth.
“Of course, Miss Elderwood. While it is unusual to take new evidence after a case has been closed, we are of course dedicated to finding Lord Devereux’s niece. What have you found?”
“A message. A hidden message.”
He paused. “A letter?”
“Well, no. Are you familiar with floriography?”
“Flower arrangement, correct? My wife has dabbled. But of course she always has a new hobby.”
He smiled as if this were meant to be ridiculous.
“No—it is a language of flowers. Carefully crafted and deeply complicated. Here, I’ve brought this as well.”
She took out her reference book on floriography and handed it to him. He put on his spectacles and read the title. “The Language of Flowers, Being a Reference Guide for Ladies, Lovers, and Poets,” he said. “How… intriguing. Well, Miss Elderwood, I suppose I can have this book entered in evidence.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about,” she said, frustration rising. “I found a bouquet in her bedroom. A bouquet with a threat concealed in it. In floriography.”
“I see. What sort of message did you see in this bouquet?”
She bristled. Why did she feel so small? “I did not see a message. Someone sent my sister a message. A warning,” she said. She pushed her notes toward him, tapping the page. “See? Rhododendron. It means Beware, I am dangerous.”
The inspector looked at her hastily scrawled note. “Of course. So do you know who sent these rhododendrons?”
“No, I do not.”
“Was there an accompanying note? A calling card?”
“No, but—”
“And do you have these flowers with you?” Inspector Reed asked.
She clenched her jaw. “It is at home. I came today unexpectedly.”
“So, you have no incriminating letter. And even if you did, you do not know who sent it. What you have is a bouquet of dead flowers, received months ago, by one of the social season’s most popular debutantes. Is that correct?”
“I am not insane, Inspector Reed,” Elswyth said. Even as she did, she felt tears prick at her eyes.
“No, Miss Elderwood, you are grieving. I deal with this sort of thing all the time—denial can lead us to believe that there is some hope our loved one yet lives, no matter how improbable.”
Elswyth clenched the folds of her gown. “Improbability does not necessitate impossibility,” she said. “There was no need for you to declare her dead. It could hinder the investigation—make people less inclined to come forward with information.”
The inspector gave her a sympathetic look.
“That was done as a kindness for your family. So that you could put her to rest. And, Miss Elderwood… in cases of the nobility, often these things are better forgotten. If she was taken, as you say, would you want your sister’s name in every penny newspaper, making all kinds of terrible speculations about her fate? ”
“If it meant seeing her alive again, then I would not care what anyone said,” Elswyth said, raising her voice.
The man gave her that sympathetic look again, and it made her want to scream. “I know how difficult this must be, for one so young as you, and for a member of your sex—how emotional you must be.”
“I am not angry because I am a woman! I am angry because you refuse to find my sister!”
Before Elswyth realized it, she was standing, and her voice echoed into the hall.
Outside the office, passing people stopped to stare.
The outburst had been waiting inside her, she realized.
Biding its time for months, until she could meet this man, this man who insisted her sister was dead.
She can’t be, she thought. She can’t be. Not Persephone.
Inspector Reed seemed surprised at her outburst—likely, he did not expect such volume from such a delicate young lady, however wracked with feminine emotions she might be.
The door opened. Lt. Woods stepped inside, saluted Detective Inspector Reed, and said, “Sir, is everything all right?”
“Yes, yes,” he said, standing. “Miss Elderwood was just leaving.”
Lt. Woods looked between them, then said, “Yes sir. The employer of the latest victim is here to identify the body.”
“Right. Tell him I’ll be there in a moment,” he said. He stood, gathering the papers from his desk.
“I must apologize, Miss Elderwood, but I’m afraid duty takes me away. I must again share my deepest condolences on the death of your sister.”
He moved to the door, but Elswyth stopped him, speaking. “Inspector Reed—I have one last question.”
He turned, clearly irritated, but forced his best diplomatic smile. “Yes, Miss Elderwood?”
She inclined her head toward the corkboard, where the photographs of the dead women stared blankly back at her. “You are the inspector in charge of the Reaper investigation.”
He looked to the board, then back to her. “I am.”
Elswyth weighed her words carefully. “That must be quite the honor. I thank you for your service. And I understand that you must be a very busy man.”
He nodded curtly, although she could sense a certain pride in his movements. “Thank you, Miss Elderwood. It is not an honor, but a duty.”
“Of course. I understand now. It must have been difficult to investigate the deaths of these women and also search for my sister.”
His face flickered with some emotion she could not make out. Fear, perhaps. Or suspicion. It settled again into that bland, pleasant smile.
“I assure you, Miss Elderwood. I devoted every resource at my disposal to your sister’s case.”
“Thank you, Inspector. Tell me—have you made any progress in discovering the Reaper’s identity?”
The man again paused, his smile never faltering. “We are making great strides. I am sure he will be apprehended soon, and we can all sleep much better.”
They stared at each other for a moment, neither moving. When she did not approach the door, he moved to the corkboard.
“Here—why don’t I share something that we recently discovered? I know how fascinated the public is by this Reaper character. A little peek for you, before it hits the papers.”
He took a large photograph and pinned it to the board. It showed something black and shining lost in pale folds of flesh.
“This is the intestinal tract of Hazel Fairburn,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Can you tell what that is, right there? The little black smudge? It’s hard to tell, I know.”
She swallowed, not wanting to look at the photograph, but not wanting to give him the satisfaction of looking away.
“It’s a grape,” he said, “a red grape. Lodged just beneath the pyloric sphincter. Poor girl didn’t even have time to digest it before she died.
They’ve been found in the digestive tract of each of the Reaper’s victims. Odd, don’t you think?
Fresh fruit is rare in the Rows, even with floromancy—a starving floromancer wouldn’t waste their vitae making fruit for someone else to eat. ”
He considered it again, then caught her gaze. “Would you like a closer look?”
“I’m quite all right, Inspector,” Elswyth said coldly.
“Of course, of course—forgive me. I don’t mean to frighten you with such macabre details.
” He smiled blandly at her again, then made for the door, gesturing her out.
“But it is important to understand the danger present to you, as a woman walking around London alone, unchaperoned. If I were you, Miss Elderwood, I would be very, very careful.”
Elswyth raced down the stairs, pushing past constables, and headed straight for the doors.
Her mind swam with new information, yes, but also with a quickly spreading rage.
She hated that man. Hated what he stood for, what he’d failed to do for her sister, the many ways he continued to fail.
And all of it hidden behind a placid, ingratiating smile.
Mrs. Rose, waiting on a bench in the lobby, leapt up at the sight of her. The scolding started immediately, but Elswyth ignored her, racing to the exits.
“… insane, irrational, reckless, dangerous, disrespectful…”
Mrs. Rose counted off each insult on her fingers, following Elswyth through the doors and into the street.
“… uncivilized, unladylike, unorthodox—”
Elswyth turned on her heel in the busy street so quickly that Mrs. Rose almost slammed into her. “Mrs. Rose. I believe we are done with lessons for the day. If you wish, we may resume tomorrow.”
Mrs. Rose’s mouth dropped open, her fingers still splayed. Elswyth turned around, hiking up her crinoline and walking swiftly away from Scotland Yard. She turned on Whitehall, amid the passing people holding their umbrellas. It had begun to mist, and water clung to her face and gown.
“Just where do you think you’re going!” Mrs. Rose said, following her.