Page 39 of Method of Revenge
“All right then, we’ll wait until after dinner, over a cherry cordial,” he said. She peered at him, now utterly confounded. A mischievous smile tucked the corner of his mouth. “Don’t worry, I still can’t stand the stuff. I’ll be drinking whisky.”
Leo exited the house after Claude and Flora, smothering a grin. “You know, you can be rather charming when you aren’t being such a scowling bear.”
Chapter Twelve
The understated elegance of 23 Charles Street never failed to impress itself upon Leo. The signs of wealth were obvious, though they were masked somewhat by time and a touch of neglect. The wine-red carpet had faded toward pink; the floral wallpaper was out-of-date; the furnishings were aged, though polished to a high shine by the scrupulous Mrs. Zhao. The Inspector had kept things exactly as they’d been when his wife and children had been alive. In some ways, the inside of the house felt like it had been trapped in amber, isolated from the rest of the world.
Located just off St. James’s Square, it was an affluent area, home to wealthy aristocrats, politicians, and businessmen. The Inspector must have felt out of place here, surrounded by none of his contemporaries and instead by those who would look down on him for being a member of the working class. As Mrs. Zhao greeted their party gaily, Leo wondered if Jasper, too, felt the snub of his neighbors. Might that be why he’d nurtured a friendship with Lord Hayes? Or why he’d been courting Constance, an aristocrat herself?
Mrs. Zhao, pleased by their unanticipated arrival, assured them that she had indeed cooked a meal that could provide for them all. She ushered them into the little-used sitting room to await her summons to dinner. Jasper left the room soon thereafter to deliver the complaints file to the study and, presumably, to prepare for dinner. Claude made small conversation with Flora, who needed a few reminders of where they were and why. Leo felt at home in the sitting room as they waited for the meal, yet also a twinge of friction. It might have just been due to the presence of her aunt and uncle here at the house on Charles Street. She’d had two worlds from the age of nine onwards. In one, she had her beloved uncle and reluctantly accepting aunt; and in the other, she’d had the Inspector and Jasper. They didn’t often mix.
Things eased a little after sitting down to eat. Jasper ignored the chair at the head of the table where the Inspector had always sat and took the one at the opposite end, with Flora and Claude settling into chairs to his left and Leo to his right. As Mrs. Zhao brought in a tureen of soup, Claude and Jasper turned to business. They discussed an emerging theory that the whorls and ridges of a person’s fingerprints, which were known to be individual to every person in the world, might be used to identify and connect criminals to their crimes.
“I could begin pressing the fingertips of unidentified corpses onto a stamp pad and then transferring them onto paper to include in their postmortem report,” Leo said with a spike of excitement.
Flora, who’d been spooning up her soup, then letting it spill back into her bowl again and again, made a disgusted noise in the base of her throat. She dropped her spoon against the rim of the bowl, muttering to herself, “Corpses, corpses.”
Leo held still, aware of her blunder. Claude hushed his wife and helped her to grasp her spoon again before guiding it toher mouth. It was a caring, yet heartbreaking, display. Perhaps feeling as if he was intruding on the moment, Jasper turned to Leo.
“Sergeant Lewis and I visited Miss Morris’s address,” he said, his voice low. Leo was glad for the change in conversation. She’d been curious as to what he’d learned after leaving Mr. Henderson’s factory.
“The landlady confirmed Regina Morris hasn’t been there in a month. She had shared her room with another young woman, a Miss Putnam, who has since taken on a new roommate.”
“What did Miss Putnam have to say?” Surely, the roommate would have known Regina was pregnant. She might even be able to identify the baby’s father.
“She wasn’t in. I sent Lewis to the coffeehouse where Miss Putnam works. I should receive his report in the morning.” Jasper set down his spoon; he’d begun to dally with it as Flora had been.
“And you met with Mr. Carter?” He nodded but hesitated to give anything more. She wasn’t about to let it stand. “Well? How did he react when he heard Regina was dead?”
Jasper sat back in his chair. “He’s like a reptile. Cold, unblinking. I don’t know if he felt anything at all.”
From her one conversation at Scotland Yard with Andrew Carter, Leo agreed. He guarded his thoughts and feelings better than anyone she’d ever met, even better than Jasper, whose own expressions were so often unyielding.
“Did he know about the baby?” Leo asked softly.
“If he’s to be believed, no. He did mention Miss Morris had family. An aunt in Liverpool. I have the address.”
Although Regina had already been buried in a pauper’s grave, Jasper would contact Regina’s aunt to inform her about her niece. To question her as well, she imagined. Anyone with a connection to Regina would have to be.
Mrs. Zhao arrived with the main course of roasted veal, potatoes, and carrots, and for several minutes, Flora held court, explaining—more than once—that it was exactly as her mother used to make for their family. Leo tensed as she ate. Any mention of Flora’s family often led to talk of her sister, Andromeda, and then, ultimately, to the murders. Thankfully, they made it through the meal, and the four of them retired to the study for after-dinner drinks.
As Jasper poured glasses of cherry cordial, Leo looked to the low table, where Mrs. Zhao made a habit of placing the newspapers. TheIllustrated Police Newswasn’t there, even though she presumed Jasper hadn’t canceled the Inspector’s subscription. Had he removed it from the table on purpose, so she wouldn’t see it?
She said nothing as Jasper brought two glasses of cordial to Claude and Flora, who were busy inspecting the bookshelves.
“All right,” he said upon his return to Leo’s side. “Tell me what you found in the complaints file.”
Putting the bothersome article from her mind, Leo focused on the typed reports she’d memorized earlier. Quietly, she recounted the stories of the most serious complaints against Henderson & Son Manufacturing, starting with the older woman who died after putting up her own wallpaper.
“Her son accepted the settlement from Mr. Henderson’s solicitor and signed a contract to never seek more compensation or to sell his story to the newspapers,” she said. “But his recorded statements did imply that he was unsatisfied and was only accepting the conditions because Mr. Henderson was a powerful and connected man, and he, a middle-class, unconnected one. He thought the courts would automatically side with Henderson.”
“So, he might hold a grudge?” Jasper suggested after he sipped his whisky.
“Maybe. But it’s been three years since his mother’s death. Why would he enact his revenge now?” Leo moved on. “However, there is a much more compelling complaint, filed by a Mr. and Mrs. Terrence Nelson.”
As Jasper listened to the tale of the Nelsons’ two children ripping down their recently-installed wallpaper—the color scheme heavily pigmented with the iridescent green of fruits and vegetables—his interest built. She noted it in the lowering of his drink and the lift of his chin.
“When was this?” he asked.
