Page 20 of Solving Sophronia

Jonathan took them, angling them so Sergeant Lester could see as well. The first drawing was a rendering of the dead woman’s face, and the second...

“Good heavens.” Sergeant Lester blew out a breath. “This is marvelous.”

Jonathan could not argue. The depiction of the crime scene was incredible. The murdered woman was drawn in detail, as was the entirety of the alleyway, even down to the bottle Jonathan had kicked and the clothes on the lines overhead.

“Look here.” Sergeant Lester pointed. “You can see the scuffs on her boots. And I remember this stack of crates. The entire alleyway looks exactly as it was.”

“This is exceedingly accurate, my lady.” Jonathan said. “How did you—there was not time for you to have drawn this level of detail in the alley on Monday. Did you return to the scene?”

Lady Sophronia’s cheeks were pink again.

“My granddaughter possesses a remarkable memory, the ability to recall details and record them in pictures,” the older woman said.

“The specifics of the memories do not last for long,” Lady Sophronia said. “So I must draw them quickly. That is why I made the initial sketches at the scene.”

“Your grandmother is correct; this is remarkable. And helpful to the investigation,” Jonathan said. The combination of artistic talent and an exceptional memory was an impressive tool. “I’d have sent for a photographer to document the scene, but as you know, it grew dark too quickly. And rain surely washed away any remaining evidence.” He held up the picture. “Can I keep this?”

“Of course. I have another.”

He set the drawing on the pile. “And now, my lady, would you tell me the victim’s name?”

Lady Sophronia opened her notebook, glancing at the page. “Her name is Jane Duffin, lady’s maid to Miss Charlotte Grey on Arlington Street.”

How fortuitous; they were only a few streets away. “And did you speak to the family?”

“No, only the housekeeper. I didn’t wish to disturb them earlier than was appropriate for visiting.”

Interesting that the same woman who unapologetically barged onto the crime scene should now hesitate to offend. “My lady, this is a criminal investigation. Time is of the essence. We need not wait until it is convenient to speak to a person of interest.” Jonathan glanced at an ornate gold clock on the mantel. The hour was past noon. He’d already invested a day and a half into this case and finally had a lead worth pursuing. Rising, he took the drawings from the table and inclined his head to the women. “Thank you for the tea.”

“You are welcome anytime, Detective Graham,” the dowager countess said. “And you as well, Sergeant Lester.”

“A pleasure, ladies.” The sergeant set his cup and saucer on the table, picked up a few extra biscuits, bowed, and started from the room.

Jonathan followed. When he reached the door, he turned back. “Lady Sophronia, are you coming?”

The young woman’s face lit in a smile as she jumped up, kissed her grandmother, patted the dog, and hurried toward him.

Jonathan inclined his head, allowing her to precede him from the drawing room. As he followed, he realized this was the first true smile he’d seen on Lady Sophronia. Her round cheeks held the most fascinating dimples, and her bright-eyed enthusiasm was something Jonathan did not encounter often in a murder investigation. And surprisingly, the sight alleviated quite a lot of the irritation of her company.

Chapter 6

The three retrieved their glovesand hats, and Sergeant Lester handed Sophie into the carriage beside Detective Graham. Since there was room for only two in the police carriage, the sergeant climbed up to sit by the driver.

Sophie fingered her notebook through the velvet fabric of her bag. Despite giving every indication that he did not want her assistance, the detective had acquiesced, and Sophie could neither explain his apparent change of heart nor contain her anticipation. She crossed her ankles to keep her feet from tapping. As they drove, she considered the case, and her mind turned with scenarios. Had Jane Duffin been killed in a lovers’ quarrel? Or perhaps she’d stumbled upon a plot and was murdered for the killer to maintain secrecy. Had she been involved in something illegal?

“You’re nervous,” Detective Graham said.

Sophie glanced to the side and saw that he was watching her. “I’m not,” she began, but following the detective’s gaze to her hands, she realized she was twisting her fingers and gave a sheepish smile. “Well, perhaps I am a bit. I wonder what we shall find. Why was Jane Duffin murdered? And who did it?”

He shrugged. “Don’t expect the answers to be spectacular. Most murders are committed over money or passion.” He held up a finger for each word. “Anger, pride, and of course, some are crimes of opportunity; but usually we find the killer is at the very least an acquaintance.”

“Have you investigated many murders, then, Detective?”

He snorted. “I work at H Division stationhouse in Whitechapel. Yes, you could say I’ve investigated my share of murders. And most are never solved.”

“Why is that?” The information surprised her.

“No one reports the person missing, no family comes forward...” Detective Graham shrugged. “We do our best to identify the deceased and search for the next of kin or, if possible, a friend or employer. But more often than not, the victim remains unnamed and is interred in a pauper’s grave.”

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