Page 9 of Solving Sophronia

“Wasyoung,” Jonathan said, satisfied that the interloper had gotten more than she’d asked for. “So tell me, Miss Bremerton, is this what you hoped to see? Is it tragic enough for...” His words trailed off when he realized she was not listening but had stepped away and begun to speak with Sergeant Lester. Jonathan scowled and followed her.

“A pleasure to meet you, Sergeant,” she was saying. “What do you suppose happened to this poor woman?”

Sergeant Lester knelt, set down his lantern, and pulled back the dead woman’s collar.

Miss Bremerton knelt on the other side of the body, arranging her skirts around her and then leaning close to study the woman’s neck. “She was strangled,” she said.

“That’s our guess, miss,” Sergeant Lester said. “The doctor will know for certain.”

“How terrible.” Miss Bremerton’s voice was much softer. It seemed she finally understood this was not simply a carnival show but a life cut short in a violent manner.

“Yes,” Jonathan said, coming to stand behind her, glad the exercise had had its intended effect. “It is, as I told you, a crime scene—amurderscene. Of course it is not pleasant. Now, if you’re quite done...” He reached out a hand to assist her to rise.

Sophie Bremerton apparently suffered from convenient hearing loss. She didn’t even glance up as Jonathan spoke, but tipped her head to the side, looking at the body. “She didn’t intend to go out of doors, I think. She wears no hat nor gloves.”

“They may have been stolen,” Sergeant Lester said.

“But not her ring?” Miss Bremerton pointed to the silver band on the woman’s finger. “I do not think it is very valuable, but it is surely more so than a pair of gloves.”

“Perhaps the thief did not see it in the dim light,” Jonathan said. “At this point, we can’t rule out any possibilities. Now, if you please...” He held out his hand again, but as before, she ignored him.

“The gown is very distinctive,” she said. “Custom-made raw silk with Brussels lace.” She sat back on her heels. “But it was not sewn for this woman.”

“How do you know that?” Jonathan asked, curious in spite of his irritation.

“The sleeves are too short.” Miss Bremerton pointed to the woman’s wrists. “And of course the tournure is all wrong for this skirt.”

Sergeant Lester looked up at the detective with a confused expression that Jonathan was certain matched his own.

“Tournure, miss?” the sergeant asked.

“The bustle,” Miss Bremerton said.

Sergeant Lester furrowed his brows. “You mean the contraption that makes a hump on a lady’s bum?”

Miss Bremerton nodded. “I suppose that’s as good a description as any.” Her voice trembled the slightest bit, and Jonathan thought she might be holding back a laugh.

“And how can you tell she was wearing the wrong bustle?” Jonathan asked, wanting to return the conversation to the business of solving the murder.

“You see, here.” She pointed to the bottom ruffle of the woman’s dress. “The rear of her skirts have been dragging. The proper tournure would have lifted the hem off the ground.”

“So we can assume the woman purchased the gown secondhand, without the proper underclothing,” Jonathan said. “While it is interesting, it is not unusual.”

“I agree, Detective,” Miss Bremerton said. “But a dress such as this... its value is very dear. I believe it was made for last year’s Season. The collar design and color were the very height of fashion, and the basque-style overskirt had not yet been replaced by a polonaise.”

The men shared another bewildered look.

Miss Bremerton continued. “If we can discern where the dress is from or how she came to be wearing it, perhaps it would lead to her identity.”

Jonathan didn’t like the woman’s use of the wordweor the way she was taking charge of the investigation. “Obviously, that is—what are you doing now?”

Miss Bremerton had pulled a notebook from her bag and started sketching. “It will be dark soon, Detective. And it looks like rain. I intend to document as much of the scene as possible. Would you move your lantern closer?”

Jonathan plunked down his lantern beside Sergeant Lester’s in front of the lady. His irritation was evolving into something much more like anger. He’d had quite enough of this woman’s presumptions and uninvited observations and intended to tell her. But before he had the chance, Sergeant Lester called to him. “Sir, have a look at this.” He motioned him toward the victim’s feet. “The backs of her heels are scraped.”

“She was dragged here,” Jonathan said. He noticed the young woman’s boots were old and worn. They were nowhere near the quality of the gown she wore. Perhaps Miss Bremerton’s observations about the woman’s clothing would be useful after all. But the idea that she’d offered helpful insight grated at him.

Dr. Peabody entered the alley, his cane making a clicking sound where it hit the paving stones. He nodded to the men and knelt next to Miss Bremerton, showing no surprise at her presence, as was his way. Dr. Peabody was rarely rattled. “How do you do, miss? Dr. Phinneas Peabody. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

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