Page 28 of Method of Revenge
“Thank you,” he said, without putting it on.
“Were you out dining with Miss Hayes?”
Jasper took a long breath, seeming uncomfortable with the question.
“Forgive me, I shouldn’t have asked.” Leo started away from the table, wishing she’d held her tongue. He always grumbled when she brought up Constance.
Jasper caught her wrist as she passed him. The surprising touch brought her to a stop, though more than just her feet went still. Everything inside her went quiet too.
“I’m not upset you asked.” His fingers flexed lightly around her wrist. They were warm and unexpectedly coarse. “It just wasn’t an enjoyable dinner.”
“Oh?” Leo’s interest in what had happened piqued as Jasper frowned. She grew increasingly aware of his hand on her wrist as he continued to hold it.
“It’s nothing,” he said after a moment. His grip lightened, then let go. As her arm fell back to her side, the pads of his fingertips brushed past her palm. A bewildering shiver raced along her spine.
Jasper held her gaze, and she wondered if he’d witnessed the shudder. But then, he moved past her. “I’ll go out through the back.”
It would, after all, be unseemly for a gentleman to enter or leave through the front door at so late an hour and with Leo in her nightrobe too. She suddenly felt discomfited at having had tea with Jasper while wearing her night things. And her hair in wrappers, for heaven’s sake!
“I’ll come around tomorrow at nine o’clock,” he said as he opened the kitchen door, which emptied into a narrow lane used for deliveries.
“Goodnight,” she said, but he’d already closed the door behind him.
Chapter Ten
It had been a clear, cold night, and as Jasper took a seat on a bench inside Trinity Square just before dawn, the pale face of the moon still hung on the horizon, surrounded by sharp stars. He’d barely slept, and not just because he’d had to set out well before sunrise to make his meeting with Bridget O’Mara. Dawn was the only time of day she could leave her busy tavern without anyone observing, and he didn’t want her to be caught.
No, he'd barely slept because of his visit with Leo the night before.
Jasper had left Rouget’s in a hansom cab, fully intending to return home. But as he’d sorted through the Carter case and plotted out his next moves, he’d redirected the cabbie. He needed to speak to Regina Morris, and as Leo had seen the woman in the hooded cloak at Striker’s, it made sense to bring her along with the hope she might recognize her. He’d also planned to scold her for questioning Andrew Carter. But when Leo let him into the kitchen, wearing her nightrobe, slippers, and hair wrappers, his bad mood had transformed into amusement.
At the kitchen table, conversation between them had been easy. He’d been transfixed by her fingers as they slid along the brim of his hat while she mused over the case. But he’d made a mistake. He shouldn’t have touched her to stop her from pushing past him. Hell, he’d practically been holding her hand. He’d been surprised at how small and delicate her wrist had been within his grasp. Leo hardly ever gave the impression of being fragile, but now and then, she let down her guard, and he could see it.
The chill of the pre-dawn air helped to drive out the disturbance he’d felt just under his skin since leaving her a handful of hours ago. He sat on the bench, his hands deep in his pockets to stave off total numbness. The gardens of the square had grown bleak and brittle over the winter, and from where Jasper sat, the equally austere Tower of London was a gray stamp against the coming dawn. The fortress, surrounded by tall walls and a dry ditch, had held scores of prisoners over the years, most of them accused of treason to the Crown. There was some irony that the meeting point with Bridget O’Mara took place within view of the notorious Tower Green, where those found guilty of treason were relieved of their heads.
Should anyone from within the East Rips ever learn the Jugger’s doyenne whispered their secrets to Scotland Yard, she could very well meet a similar end. It wasn’t as if she took the risk out of the goodness of her own heart. She’d only agreed to the deceit when her own life had hung in the balance.
A few years ago, she’d been taken into custody for killing her husband. Billy O’Mara, ex-convict and all-around rotten apple, had broken his neck after being pushed down a flight of steps at the tavern he owned. A tearful and shocked Bridget had confessed to giving him the shove. He’d been knocking her about, as he usually did, and she’d finally had enough. Detective Chief Inspector Coughlan didn’t have any reason not to book herand send her to what would be a quick and damning trial. But instead, he’d given her a second option. Keep her eyes and ears open to news of the East Rips and the Carter family and agree to assist the police on an occasional basis, and all charges would be dropped. Billy O’Mara’s death would be ruled accidental, and she would be free to return home to her young son.
Jasper didn’t like summoning her. He would have rather let her go about her life. However, she was an informant, and he needed to know what the chatter was among the East Rips regarding the poisoning of Gabriela Carter.
A woman, cloaked and hooded, appeared across the square. Jasper stood. With the sky still a bruised blue, and only a few streaks of orange to hint at the coming sun, he couldn’t make out her face, but it was certainly Bridget. She was tall for a woman, standing at nearly six feet, and was generously figured. She possessed a distinctive sway of her hips when she walked too, and now she cut through the lawn and toward his bench, direct and blunt as usual.
“I got five minutes,” she said upon greeting him. “My boy’s feverish, and some sailor is out back of my pub, half-pissed. What do the bobbies want with me this time?”
Bridget was as stern as any East End woman who owned an alehouse would need to be, but Jasper thought he knew why Chief Coughlan had softened toward her. Despite being a little older, around forty, she was striking in appearance. Perhaps her finest feature was her big, doe-like brown eyes, which constantly looked to be pleading for mercy. He imagined they could easily mesmerize any man with half a heart, especially when they shone with tears.
“Andrew Carter’s wife,” Jasper said, getting to the point, just as she preferred. “You’ve heard what happened?”
Bridget nodded. “’Course.”
“What have you been hearing?”
She drew the flannel wrap she wore closer around her and shrugged. “Nothin’ much. Everyone’s too scared of sayin’ the wrong thing, what with him actin’ half-mad.”
Jasper nodded, understanding. Drawing Andrew Carter’s attention at any time was unwise; while he was mourning his wife and hunting her killer, it would be downright stupid.
“But you’ve heard some talk?” he pressed, knowing she had. The Jugger was a popular place near the St. Katharine Docks and was busy all day and night, except for these early morning hours.
