Page 66 of Solving Sophronia

“I’ve seen the newspaper, my lady.” Jonathan kept all inflection from his voice, worried he’d betray his anger—or his hurt.

Her brow furrowed again. “Yes, well, we must figure out what to do. I have already—”

“I have come to inquire after the constable.” Jonathan pushed past her. “Please excuse me.”

“Detective?” She sounded confused. She spoke softer and much slower now. “I—would like to talk with you. Please.”

He spun, his hands in fists at his sides. “You lied to me, my lady—betrayed my trust, manipulated me—to get your story. Well, now you have it, and I have nothing else to say to you.”

Her eyes were wide, and he pushed aside his guilt at seeing the hurt in them. “But I didn’t know.” Her lips shook as she spoke. “The story was published without my permission. I promise I—”

“Sergeant, if you please, will you escort the lady out?” Jonathan motioned to Sergeant Lester. “We’ve police business to discuss.”

Sophie stood her ground, putting her hands on her hips, her bag hanging from her elbow. “Will you not listen to me? Not even after—”

“I shall not make that mistake again.” Jonathan’s voice was low as he tried to hold back his anger but was not fully successful.

Sophie spun and started away, shaking off Sergeant Lester’s outstretched hand as he tried to escort her. He followed behind instead.

Dr. Peabody raised a brow, but that was the only indication that he had overheard the conversation or might disagree with Jonathan’s treatment of the young lady.

Jonathan continued on as if nothing had happened. He pointed with his chin toward the injured man in the bed. “How is he?”

“As I was telling the lady,” Dr. Peabody said, “the constable’s wound is clean. We removed the bullet without any problems, and very little damage was done internally.”

“Has he woken?”

The doctor nodded. “For short periods. But staying awake for an extended time seems difficult for now.”

“Is that typical? Will he heal?”

“If his wound doesn’t develop an infection, he should be back on his beat in a few weeks.”

Well, that was one good thing to come out of this day.

Sergeant Lester returned, his expression still glum. He offered a file to Jonathan. “Lady Sophronia asked me to give you this. Said she’s sorry for being nosy.” He shrugged.

Jonathan took the folder, glancing at the name on it.Tom Stackhouse?What was she playing at? And why did everything inside him want to run after her and beg her forgiveness?

“And this, sir.” Sergeant Lester gave him Sophie’s notebook.

Jonathan pulled a chair close to the bed, resting his head in his hands. Anger was the easier emotion, and he concentrated on that, feeding it until it obliterated the hurt—but as hard as he tried, he couldn’t rid himself of it completely.

Chapter 20

Sophie forced herself to keepher head up and walk with dignity down the hospital steps, not wanting to make a scene. She could cry later. She held herself tightly, lest she break down. How could Jonathan believe she was capable of such manipulation? Why hadn’t he listened to her? Her heart was shattered, and she was alone. Her family, Society, and now the man she trusted—the man she thought she might love—were all against her. And she’d never be a news reporter now.

Everything hurt, and she felt wrung-out. She wanted nothing more than to climb into bed after a decent breakfast and sleep for hours. Perhaps she’d wake and discover this was all a terrible nightmare. She tightened the clasp on her bag, glad she’d thought to give the file to Sergeant Lester. At least Jonathan might find some comfort in that regard.

“Miss Bremerton?” A woman wearing an apron over her worn dress and a kerchief around her hair stopped in front of Sophie, giving a curtsy.

Sophie studied her, for a moment unable to think how the woman might know her name.

“Oh, you don’t remember me.” Her face went red. “Beg your pardon, miss. I’m Martha Payne.”

“Of course. You are Freddy’s mother.” Sophie smiled. “I am sorry I did not recognize you right away; my mind was elsewhere. How nice to see you.” She was relieved to see that the woman was safe.

Martha glanced up at the hospital. “I heard Ernest—Constable Merryweather—was injured.” She clasped her hands together. They were red and rough, with cracks on her knuckles. “Do you know if he is all right?”

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