Page 29 of Method of Revenge
Bridget sighed, her breath clouding the air. “Aye, some. He thought some bloke, what drew him into a game of cards at that club, might’ve lured him from his table so’s that his wife could be offed.”
It was the theory Leo had posed to Andrew, and then Andrew to Jasper.
“And?” Jasper said.
“And the bloke lost two fingers to an East Rip bladesman before Carter was convinced he had naught to do with it.”
Jasper’s stomach dove. “Christ.”
Bridget snorted a laugh. “I say he’s lucky. He’s still breathin’, ain’t he?”
A pair of old men shuffled into the garden square, and a lamplighter was making his way along the street, climbing his ladder to extinguish the gas jets. Dawn slid up on the horizon.
“Has he questioned anyone else that you know of?” Jasper asked.
Bridget nodded, looking fatigued. “Her old beau.”
With a twinge of concern for the chemist, Jasper asked, “What happened to him?”
“I hear he’s still alive too.”
“Hopefully with all his appendages intact,” he muttered, furious with Andrew’s violent approach. How could he count onthe veracity of the answers he received if they were given under duress? It was bloody and brutish, not to mention dishonorable.
Bridget shrugged, as if not caring one way or another if anyone lost a finger or two. She couldn’t afford to be concerned with anyone or anything if it didn’t have to do with her, her business, or her son.
“He’s been searchin’ for a woman, I hear,” she said. “Someone he used to step out with. Can’t find her though.”
“Regina Morris?”
She shrugged. “That could be the name, yeah.”
If Andrew couldn’t find her, Jasper wondered if she’d gone into hiding. If she had, then she was certainly guilty of something. And his trip to Wapping later that morning with Leo and Nivedita Brooks might not bear any fruit after all.
As the rising sun hit the peaks of the White Tower’s four turrets, Bridget cocked her head. “You remind me of someone, copper.”
Jasper never liked to hear that line. “Do I?”
“A woman I knew, went by the name of Vera.”
His spine went rigid, his muscles locking up tight as a heat flashed through him, followed by a surge of cold.Vera. He hadn’t heard that name spoken in a long time.
“Been dead nigh on twenty years,” Bridget continued, still studying his face. “But you’ve got the look of her, you do. I’ve been tryin’ to place it the last few times we met.”
“I don’t know anyone by that name,” he said, swallowing the bitter lie with practiced ease.
“Like I said, she’s dead. Killed, she was. Had herself a boy and a babe on the way when it happened.”
The cold, thin air turned thick and stifling. With a feeling of suffocation, Jasper stepped away from Bridget. He reached into his pocket for his watch, the urge to leave overwhelming.
“What does this have to do with Andrew Carter?” he asked brusquely.
Her doe eyes continued to peer at him inquisitively. “Nothin’, I suppose. Just thought you looked like her.”
He put away his watch. “All right, thank you for your time, Mrs. O’Mara.” He tipped the brim of his hat. “Enjoy the mutton.”
“Always do,” she replied. This time, she wasn’t the first to turn and walk away. Jasper was, and he felt her eyes between his shoulder blades as he left.
His stomach had yet to uncoil by the time he entered the East End for the second time that morning. Though it was only after ten o’clock, his eyes burned from fatigue. His back ached from traveling the roads to Trinity Square, back to Westminster, and then to Wapping. When they arrived, he alighted from the hired cab, relieved to stand and stretch.
