Page 26 of Solving Sophronia

After making certain Sergeant Lesterhad the remaining interviews of the household well in hand, Jonathan sent for constables to meet them at the Belcourt Assembly Hall, and he and Lady Sophronia left the Greys’ house for Chelsea.

While the carriage made its way through the quiet streets of Belgravia, Jonathan glanced to the side, considering the young woman who sat next to him. Lady Sophronia Bremerton was very much an enigma. And while Jonathan considered himself to be an exceptional judge of human nature, this young lady was a puzzle he had yet to solve. In less than a day she’d repeatedly surprised him, and each time he thought he’d reached an assessment of her nature, she proved him wrong yet again. Was Lady Sophronia the impertinent snoop he’d encountered at the murder scene, the smug aristocrat who’d withheld the victim’s identity, the hopeful journalist who wished only for a chance to further her career, the hesitant trespasser in a high-Society house, or the gentle woman who’d comforted a servant with kind words? Were all of these attributes the facets of a complicated woman? Or was each a mask exhibited deliberately to manipulate a situation and achieve a desired result?

He was, both by nature and as a result of his occupation, a distrustful person. But in spite of Lady Sophronia’s contradictions of character, she had, at moments, seemed very genuine. Her emotional reaction to entering the dead woman’s room had surprised him, as well as her kind treatment of Miss Primm. Neither response had felt contrived.

Jonathan would certainly not have been as patient with the weeping servant. And he didn’t flatter himself thinking he’d have done a better job questioning her. Lady Sophronia’s understanding had produced more information from the woman than he could have collected with his tried-and-true tactics. He grudgingly admitted to himself a feminine perspective, in some situations, was perhaps not the worst idea.

“Is that a bullet?” Lady Sophronia asked.

Her words shook him from his musings, and he shifted in his seat to better speak to his companion. “Pardon me, my lady?”

“If you don’t mind, Detective, while we are working, I would prefer you call me Miss Bremerton. And introduce me as such.”

“I hardly think that is appropriate.”

She wrinkled her nose, her expression thoughtful. “Being referred to asladymight put people off. I don’t wish to jeopardize our investigation because someone is intimidated by the title.”

She was probably right. People were likely to be on their guard speaking to the daughter of a nobleman. Getting information from witnesses was difficult enough without the added layer of caution. And here was yet another of the woman’s surprising attributes. He didn’t imagine many would so readily obscure something as powerful as a title in order to put others at ease. But he also didn’t imagine many peers or their families participated in murder investigations.

“Very well, Miss Bremerton,” he said.

“Thank you.”

He felt the cold of his watch fob and realized the ornament was the object of Miss Bremerton’s earlier inquiry. “Itisa bullet. It... ended the life of a friend of mine.” A lump constricted his throat, and he was surprised he could still be so affected after all these years.

She leaned closer, squinting to study it. “Rather macabre. I wonder that you keep it.”

The question in her tone didn’t seem to be criticizing, only curious. “It is a reminder,” he said.

“Of your friend?” She glanced up from her scrutiny, her gaze meeting his.

Saying yes would be easy enough, and it would end the conversation, but he owed Tom more than that. The bullet was a reminder of so much more than the man who’d given him a chance when the world would just as soon have been rid of another orphan pauper. He felt the bumps and ridges of the lump of metal with his thumbnail. The fob represented not only the loss of his mentor but also his own failure that day.

“It reminds me to take nothing for granted.” He held up the bullet between two fingers, reinforcing the small size of the deformed lump of lead. “That something small and seemingly insignificant can change everything.” His voice was raspy, and he cleared his throat as he let the chain drop back against his waistcoat.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “He must have been important to you.”

“Yes.”

“What was your friend’s name?”

“Tom Stackhouse.” Jonathan hadn’t spoken the name aloud since the funeral three years earlier. Hearing it made his heart ache. But at the same time, it was of some comfort that a new person would hear it and know Tom had lived. “He was the best man I ever knew.”

“High praise indeed.” Miss Bremerton gave a soft smile. She turned to look out the window, leaning back to get a better view of the road ahead. “We are nearly there.”

Jonathan was grateful for the change of topic. Breaking into tears on the way to apprehend a murderer would seriously undermine his competence as a representative of the Crown.

When they reached the assembly hall, a woman led them to the administrative wing of the building. They passed through a waiting room and were shown into the manager’s office. Upon their entering, a slender man with wire spectacles and a thin mustache rose to greet them.

“Edgar Smudgely.” He motioned to the seats in front of his extremely tidy desk, and once Miss Bremerton and Jonathan were seated, he sat behind it and clasped his hands together on the desktop. “How may I be of assistance?” Mr. Smudgely’s dark hair was parted quite precisely and appeared to be plastered to his head.

“Detective Jonathan Graham, and this is my associate, Miss Bremerton.” Jonathan set his hat on his knee and pulled aside his jacket to reveal his badge. “Mr. Smudgely, are you aware that one of your employees was murdered two nights ago?”

“Oh my.” He opened his eyes wide, the effect magnified by his spectacles. “Who?”

“George Lewis,” Jonathan said.

“He was a footman, I believe,” Miss Bremerton added.

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