Page 40 of Courier of Death
He arched a brow. “You didn’t like her.”
She had the good grace to look contrite. “Nevertheless, I am sorry.”
He was only sorry for how long he’d strung Constance along. Maybe it was because deep down, Jasper had known she was courting him out of defiance of her parents, her role in society and the life she’d been born into. She’d been pushing against others’ expectations for her and perhaps the unpolished detective inspector from Scotland Yard had been an exciting addition to her rebellion. It might not be generous toward her, but in his gut, Jasper suspected it to be true.
He was also now willing to admit that Constance’s own suspicion had possessed some legitimacy.Your precious Leo.The echo of her bitter comment would not quit his mind…much like his thoughts of the woman seated across from him in the cab.
He thanked Leo for her sympathy with a nod and hoped the topic would be dropped. The silence lasted until they arrived in rural Holloway in North London, outside the imposing castle-like prison. The driver let them off at the wrought iron gate, and Jasper paid him to wait. The visit would be brief, if it was permitted at all.
“Gracious, it truly is a fortress,” Leo said, her eyes turned upward at the Gothic castellated stone towers and ramparts. A high brick wall surrounded the entire premises.
The rain had tapered to a drizzle, wetting their shoulders as they walked between the Governor’s House and Chaplain’s House toward the solid, iron-bolted gate centering the porter’s lodge. Jasper brought his fist down upon the gate, and a pair of prison guards in uniform greeted them with expectant, wary once-overs. As he’d hoped, his warrant card gained them access inside the walls of the prison, but they were made to wait inside a small room in the lodge while the chief warder was summoned.
When he arrived, dressed in a uniform distinct from the other warders, he did not welcome them warmly. He inspected the warrant card closely before asking their business with his prisoner.
“I’m investigating a murder. The victim may have been connected to that of the Scotland Yard bombing, for which Mrs. Stewart stands accused,” Jasper replied. “I have questions for her.”
The chief warder, Mr. Vines, pursed his lips, his walrus mustache wriggling. He peered at Leo. “And what does this woman here have to do with your investigation?”
Before Jasper could answer, Leo spoke for herself, her annoyance with the chief warder evident. “My name is Miss Spencer. I am known to your prisoner and may help ease the questioning process.”
Mr. Vines sniffed his disapproval but granted them both access. He led them into the graveled courtyard, where the three-story ragstone exterior of the juvenile wing stretched to the left and the female prisoners’ wing loomed to the right. The spring flowers and greening shrubs that bordered the wall drooped morosely in the rainfall.
An inner warder greeted Mr. Vines at the wicket gate and showed them into the reception hall of the main prison. A large staircase led to the central halls of the prison cells for the juveniles and women in this first building. The men’s cells werein another building, separated by an exterior courtyard. The reception warder, Mr. Smythe, joined them and, after a hushed conversation with Mr. Vines, took over and guided them forward into the long reception hall. At the far end were the women’s receiving cells.
“As Mrs. Stewart has not yet been tried or sentenced, she is currently being held here rather than in general detention,” Mr. Smythe explained.
He approached a woman warder, standing guard outside a line of steel doors. The woman wasn’t tall, but she was broad and muscular. Jasper would have placed a steep wager that she could easily hold her own should any ruckus erupt. “Visitors for Mrs. Stewart,” Mr. Smythe said to her.
The warder kept an impassive expression and knocked upon one of the doors before promptly unlocking it.
“Miss Hartley will stand guard with the door open while you visit,” the reception warder said. “Ten minutes.”
He stepped aside, allowing Jasper and Leo entry. The whitewashed cell walls were unadorned, except for a list of the prison’s rules and regulations for the occupant to read if they were capable. A dark-haired woman stood timidly near the back of the cell, her hands clasped in front of her as she waited to see who had come.
“Oh, Miss Spencer.” The barest tremor of disappointment crossed her face. She realized it and shook her head. “Forgive me, I mean no insult. I was hoping to see my husband. He hasn’t been to visit since yesterday morning.”
“It is perfectly understandable why you’d wish to see him,” Leo replied.
Mrs. Stewart’s attention turned to Jasper, and he felt her scrutiny. “You are a police officer,” she presumed. He knew he had the look of one.
“Detective Inspector Jasper Reid.”
Like any well-trained hostess would, she invited them to sit at the fold-down table attached to the sidewall. There were just two chairs, so Jasper stood while she and Leo settled themselves. Above them, a gas jet went unlit, draping the cell in gray shadow. The single window, near the ceiling, was barred and permitted little of the bleak, outside light to filter in.
“Thank you for coming to see me,” Mrs. Stewart said. She sounded exhausted, and by the untidy state of her hair and the dark smudges beneath her eyes, it looked as if she had not slept well. The narrow cot, without so much as a pillow, was likely one reason why.
“I see you were released from Scotland Yard,” she said to Leo. With a shaky grin, she added, “I’m glad.”
“Mrs. Stewart?—”
“Please, call me Geraldine. I consider you a great friend for braving these prison walls to visit.”
“Then you must call me Leo,” she said and, at the other woman’s surprise, explained, “It is short for Leonora. I was named after my father, Leonard.”
“Leo,” Mrs. Stewart said, trying out the name. “Latin for lion, I believe. It has strength.”
Jasper hadn’t thought of that before, but it was true. The moniker suited her perfectly.
