Page 77 of Solving Sophronia

“In Whitechapel?” He glanced along the narrow street, at the crowds moving between vendors. Horse leavings and garbage piled in the gutters, and the smell of bodies and animals in close quarters hardly created the atmosphere for a pleasant afternoon constitutional.

“Perhaps we might find a cart with meat pies?”

Jonathan spread his hand in the direction of the food vendors.

Sophie gave instructions for her driver to wait.

As they made their way through the crowds, Jonathan kept a hand at the small of her back and an eye on the bag hanging from her elbow. Though it was still day, the area was not safe for a young woman in a costly gown.

They purchased meat pies and continued on, walking in silence as they ate. He didn’t have a route in mind, but after a few moments, Jonathan realized they were walking toward Spitalfields and steered her in the direction of the Porky Pie. At least there, they could speak in relative privacy. He sensed she had something to say, and perhaps he did as well. If he could only find the courage.

Finishing his meat pie, he crumpled the greasy paper into a ball. His hands were sweaty as he tried to put words in his mind to the things he wanted to tell her. They arrived on Wentworth Street, and Sophie glanced up the road. “Oh, I know where we are.”

“Perhaps a drink?” he suggested.

Sophie nodded, breaking off a piece of her pie’s pastry and biting into it.

Luckily the pub was quiet before the evening rush. Jonathan and Sophie sat at the same table they had the first time they’d come. That night seemed an eternity ago, when in reality it had been only a week. The server with the scarf around her hair brought their drinks, and once she left them alone, Sophie set down the last of her pie.

Jonathan handed her a handkerchief for the grease.

“Detective, I promise I did not authorize that article to be published.” She rubbed the handkerchief on her fingertips.

“You do not need—”

“Please, let me explain.”

He nodded.

“I left my notebook unattended. I should have been more vigilant with the information you entrusted me with. The newspaper editor found the pictures and my notes and printed them without my permission. I would never have done that to you, Jonathan.”

The sound of his Christian name on her lips made him pause, his heart catching.

“The investigation means more to me than just information for an article.” She folded the handkerchief on the table. “Youmean more to me.”

She didn’t look up, but her cheeks darkened at the last sentence, turning her words into cannonballs, smashing holes in the barricades around Jonathan’s heart.

“I should have known it was something like this,” he said. He looked into his glass as he spoke. “I should have given you the chance to defend yourself instead of forming a conclusion and—treating you as I did.”

“You felt betrayed,” she said. “I do not blame you for your anger.”

“I should not have lost my temper. It was inexcusable.”You mean more to me as well.He thought the words but could not make himself say them.

They sat in silence for a moment. Jonathan took a long drink and set the glass back on the table. “Sophie, that folder you gave me—”

“I should not have been so presumptuous,” she said. “It was no business of mine; I just wanted to know... to understand you better.” Her cheeks were aflame.

“I thank you for it,” Jonathan said. He reached for her hand. “It was... it meant...” He shook his head, frustrated that the words didn’t sound right. “I needed it.”

She smiled, squeezing his hand. “I’m glad.”

He finished his drink and glanced at the window, not wanting to be in Spitalfields after dark. “We should go.”

As they walked back, Sophie slipped her hand through his arm.

“Will Miss Propriety find a home at a different newspaper?” Jonathan asked.

“I think, unfortunately, she has written her last column.”

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