Chapter 16 #3
The policeman dropped his eyes to the desk between them.
When he raised them again, the expression in them was as gentle as his voice.
“I do not know your brother,” he said. “But it is an unfortunate fact of our times that many men, when faced with marriage and fatherhood, shirk their duties. Our offices are full of women searching for their missing fiancés.”
Caroline shut her eyes. But still she saw the woman on the bench of the anteroom, clutching her infant.
“You’re right.” Her voice was colder than she had intended, but she went on. “You do not know him.”
“Perhaps there was a mistake,” Sergeant Corbet said evenly. “Perhaps there is more to discover. I can send a letter, if you wish. To the management of the SS Oceanic in Liverpool. Request a copy of the ship’s manifest.”
Caroline’s anger deflated like a pierced dirigible. Her quarrel was not with this man, who had only ever treated her with respect and kindness. “Forgive me,” she said. “The stress of…of the past months—”
“It is I who should apologize for offending you.” Sergeant Corbet’s blue-green eyes were wide, entreating. “I do not know your brother and should not have made assumptions.”
A well of hopelessness opened inside Caroline, threatened to swallow her. What if Charlie was already in New York? What if she never saw him again?
“Have you learned anything more about the boardinghouse?” Sergeant Corbet asked. “Anything to confirm or dismiss your suspicions?”
“No,” she said. “No, I’m afraid not.”
For all her snooping, all her eavesdropping, she had no answers, only more questions.
Rab, and Mary Jane, and Charlie. The blue flowers in the garden, illuminating the tale of Saint Ciwa, filling the fields in Caroline’s dream.
There are no such things as monsters. Except for the one that chased her as she slept.
“What about the commissioner?” Sergeant Corbet asked sotto voce, with a glance over her head at the closed door. “Have you seen him again?”
“No. But he will be there tomorrow. For the full moon supper. And when my duties are done, I shall linger in the servants’ staircase and listen.”
Sergeant Corbet made a strange, jerky movement, as though he had begun to reach for her hand but stopped himself.
“Miss Foster. That seems an unnecessary danger. If these men…if they are involved in the murders…surely there must be another option. A less dangerous option. Is there anywhere in the boardinghouse that you have not searched? Any place where evidence might be hidden?”
The padlocked door on the second floor. And Rab’s bedroom.
“Yes,” Caroline said through the sudden dryness in her mouth. “There are two rooms I have not entered.”
“Start there. Don’t put yourself in more danger than necessary. Not when the most dangerous man in England might be seated at that supper table.” He swallowed, and she saw in his face the quelled urge to touch her, to comfort her. “Please.”
She would not stay meekly in her room with the door locked. Not when she might learn what had happened to Charlie, or anything connecting the Full Moon to the murders. Not when she might save the next life.
But Sergeant Corbet was only concerned for her safety, so she smiled weakly at him and said honestly, though misleadingly, “I will try to find a way into the locked rooms.”
He exhaled. “I’m off duty tomorrow, but I’ll try and swap shifts with one of the other lads. If I am successful, I’ll bring my men to Old Montague Street. Keep an eye on the boardinghouse.”
The thought of him out in the night, with his thick truncheon and straight back, comforted Caroline.
“If you believe yourself in danger, Miss Foster,” he went on, “if you believe your hosts are onto your secret, come here straightaway.” His eyes flicked up to the ceiling. “It’s not the sort of lodgings you’re used to, I’m afraid. But it might be the safest building in the city.”
“And if you are not here?”
True, the boy at the counter had been kind, but another officer might send her back into the night with a cold sneer. And another thought occurred to her, one even more frightening than passing the darkest hours on the streets of Whitechapel.
“What if the commissioner is here?” He didn’t seem like the sort to pay any attention to the help. But Mr. Jacobs had drawn every eye to her that last full-moon supper. “What if he recognizes me?”
Sergeant Corbet considered her for a long moment.
“I realize…” He paused, choosing his next words.
“I realize how forward this may seem, Miss Foster. And please do not mistake me. I have a sister; I am no stranger to the fragility of a single woman’s reputation.
But my landlady rents rooms—nothing fancy, mind.
But reputable and clean. If you find yourself in trouble, if you cannot come here, for whatever reason, go to Fairclough Street.
The brick building above the greengrocer.
If you ask for me there, you will be treated with kindness, even if I am out. ”
Caroline was struck, for the second time, by how much Charlie would like this man. “Thank you,” she said evenly.
“I only hope someone might do the same for my sister, if she ever found herself in trouble. And I believe, Miss Foster, that you are dancing on a hornet’s nest.”