Page 23 of Method of Revenge
Jasper eyed the unappetizing, pale green puree in the bowl before him. “I’m not very hungry.”
“I’m sure you would be if Mrs. Zhao were the chef here,” Oliver said with a laugh as he sat back in his chair, relaxing as he sipped his drink.
He didn’t appear interested in the food either; his attention was thoroughly ensnared by Miss Derring. Despite the suggestive glances being exchanged between them, Jasper doubted he would see Miss Derring on Oliver’s arm again after this evening; the viscount fell in love on a weekly basis. Sometimes nightly.
“What does that housekeeper of yours cook for you?” Constance asked as she spooned up her soup. “I do so look forward to meeting her and asking what your favorite foods are.”
The levity of his dinner companions’ conversation didn’t usually rub him the wrong way. Tonight, however, Jasper felt ill at ease in their company.
Shifting in his seat, he queried, “Why? Do you plan to cook them for me?”
He doubted Constance had ever cooked a meal from scratch in her life.
Across the table, Miss Derring’s eyes flashed and cut to Constance, whose expression instantly cooled.
He sighed. “Forgive me, that was rude.”
She made no reply, pretending instead that he hadn’t spoken.
The murmuring of the restaurant’s other guests and the soft strains of a violin grew louder as silence engulfed their table. Oliver raised a brow at him in lighthearted reproach.
“Our Inspector Reid, always so serious.”
He was correct; Jasper tended to be serious, not easygoing and affable like them. It didn’t win him many friends, or even acquaintances. He had yet to determine what someone like Constance saw in him. She was as beautiful and charming as she was lively and modern. Her job atTheTimeswas a dramatic break from her expected role of an aristocratic lady. As wascourting a police inspector. Jasper keenly felt the differences in their backgrounds, with his always on full display.
Oftentimes, when he and Constance went out together, she was able to distract him from whatever miserable case he was investigating at the Yard. With her cheery disposition and glib humor, she was adept at drawing people to her, Jasper among them. Spending time with her felt like a retreat from reality, and ordinarily, he enjoyed the escape. Lately, however, he’d started to feel torn between the world Constance lived in and the one he inhabited.
He’d learned to stop talking about his work, as she had made it clear that she did not enjoy hearing about the grittier side of London. And yet, it was what his life revolved around; he spent more time at Scotland Yard than he did in his own home.
Thinking of 23 Charles Street now, he suddenly longed for the comfort and solitude of his study—though he knew he very well might find Leo there again. He pictured her seated in the Inspector’s large chair, as she had been last night, her legs tucked up underneath her as she stared at her family’s case file on the desk. She’d taken it with her this time. Though, he was nearly certain she still hadn’t opened it.
“I’d wager Jasper’s far too practical for favorite dishes, Connie,” Oliver went on. “If he could, he’d exist on criminal cases alone. And whisky.”
Oliver toasted them before taking another sip. It was enough humor to move along the conversation, and Constance joined in, first telling her cousin not to call her Connie, and then discussing the gossip column she’d typed that day forTheTimes. Jasper followed the first few comments but soon lost interest as his mind turned toward Gabriela Carter’s murder.
He’d spent the afternoon going through the list of employees Bloom had sent to the Yard. He, Lewis, and Constable Warnock had divided up the names and called on the waiters, eventhe ones who had not been working the night of Gabriela’s poisoning.
None of them—seven in all—had been noticeably big or tall, with large hands ill-suited to serving gloves, as Andrew Carter had described. None had heard of a Regina Morris, and all had given explanations of where they’d been and the names of witnesses who’d confirm their alibis. It was looking more likely that the poisoner had stolen a bundle of black and white livery from either a storeroom at Bloom’s club or from another waiter on staff. However, all waiters could produce their liveries when asked to do so.
By the time Jasper had turned his mind to visiting Miss Morris at Henderson & Son Manufacturing, it was already five o’clock. The trip to Wapping would have put him there past five thirty, and the young woman, whatever her position there, would have likely left for the day.
And then there had been his dinner with Constance and Oliver to prepare for this evening.
Jasper kept his hand on his snifter, slowly swirling the light amber liquid inside. It caught the glittering gaslights from the chandeliers and glowed. So did Constance, Oliver, and Miss Derring, it seemed. The three of them looked relaxed and merry inside this posh restaurant, while he, as usual, felt like a dark rain cloud about to split open on their sunny afternoon.
“I take it the Carter poisoning is what has you in a twist,” Oliver said.
His friend was correct, but Gabriela’s wasn’t the only murder troubling him. There were some leads for her case and plenty of pressure from the Met to solve it. The same could not be said for the murder of the Jane Doe that continued to preoccupy him.
The Inspector had kept a desk drawer full of files belonging to unsolved cases that had haunted him, Leo’s included. That the Jane Doe had been bludgeoned to death was horrific, but thatshe’d also been carrying a child had disturbed him even more deeply. He was cognizant as to why. Jasper had lost his mother in much the same way—a brutal beating. And while the Jane Doe hadn’t yet been visibly with child, his own mother had been. The baby that would have been Jasper’s sibling had died as well.
“The poor woman,” Constance said, dabbing the corner of her mouth with her napkin. “I typed the notice of her wedding last month, though I thought she was mad for wanting to marry a known criminal. I’d wager the poisoned drink was meant for him.”
“I considered that possibility,” Jasper said. “But it doesn’t line up with what we know so far.”
He expected them to ask what that was. Then, he would have to tell them he wasn’t at liberty to say. But their interests rested elsewhere.
“I can’t believe it happened at Striker’s Wharf,” Miss Derring said. “Have you been, Constance? It’s an exciting place. The Blue Monsoon is to die for.”
