Page 32 of Solving Sophronia

He popped another into his own mouth and moved back to crouch down and study the closet floor.

A knock sounded from the doorway.

“Sir?” Constable Merryweather stood in the doorway.

“Come in, Merryweather.” Detective Graham stood again, motioning with his hand. “What have you found?”

Constable Merryweather inclined his head toward Sophie. “My lady.” He turned back to the detective, pulling a battered notebook from his belt and shuffling through the pages. “According to a Liza Miller in the kitchen, George Lewis did indeed receive a visit from a young lady in a blue dress Monday evening.”

“And did Liza Miller see what became of them?” Detective Graham asked.

The constable shook his head. “Said the pair of them left the kitchen, holding hands and giggling and figured they were headed off to...” He winced, glancing at Sophie. “Ah... talk privately.”

“And that’s the last she saw of them?” Detective Graham said.

“Yes, sir.” Constable Merryweather turned a page in his notebook. “I also spoke to the stablemaster, a Mr. Parker. He confirmed that Nick Sloan was indeed working Monday. Said he was here all night, from three in the afternoon until past midnight, cleaning the stalls.”

“Do you believe him?”

The constable straightened his tunic and nodded, tucking the notebook back into his belt. “He appeared to be answering honestly, sir. And as far as I could discern, he had no reason to—”

“Sir!” The pair of constables from outside entered the room. The smaller man rushed forward, holding out a wad of white cloth with rust-colored splotches. “We found this in a bin.”

Detective Graham took it from him. The cloth made a thudding sound when he set it on the low table in front of Sophie.

She leaned forward, recognizing the wad was comprised of cloth napkins wrapped around something about the size of a short boot. And the cloths were most obviously covered in dried blood.

The detective pulled apart the stiff napkins, revealing a brass statue of a rearing horse.

He and Sophie looked at one another, then to the side table, where an identical statue stood beside a vase of flowers.

The detective gripped the horse around the middle and hefted it in one hand as if preparing to strike something with it, then turned the statue upside down and looked closely at the base.

“Oh my,” Sophie gasped, nearly choking on the peppermint.A heavy object with a straight, sharp edge.“The murder weapon.” Now that she looked at the side table, it seemed obvious the matching horse was missing from the arrangement. She turned a page in her notebook and started a new sketch, trying to push away the light-headed feeling that came over her.

“I believe you’re right, Miss Bremerton.” Detective Graham set the statue down. “Good work, lads.” He sent the men away to speak to cabbies between Mayfair and Chelsea.

“But how did nobody notice anything?” Sophie said, not caring that she spoke with the sweet still in her mouth. “Surely a murder is noisy. And there is the matter of a body—or bodies. How did the victims end up in Spitalfields?”

“It’s true,” Constable Merryweather said. “With the river so close, why not dump them there? Why take the time and effort to transport the bodies through the city when the risk of being caught was so much greater?”

“I don’t know,” the detective said.

“Perhaps to divert police attention from the assembly hall, hoping the murder would not be traced back here?” Sophie offered.

“It’s possible,” Detective Graham said. “There are still a good many unanswered questions.”

Merryweather looked through the window. “Do you suppose the blood on the sill is from pushing the body out of the window?”

The idea was preposterous. “Surely not,” Sophie said. “It would have certainly been seen. And people don’t just drop bodies from windows. It’s... barbaric.”

“Murder is always barbaric, miss.” Detective Graham’s voice was tight.

Sophie suspected he was holding back a laugh at her outburst. Well, let him laugh. She was not the one with the ridiculous theories. She kept her gaze purposely away from Merryweather, lest she see him laughing as well. This whole business was becoming more confusing and more horrifying with each discovery. It frustrated her, and she did not care to be mocked on top of everything else. “Certainly the blood is from the murderer escaping,” Sophie said.

“Could be both,” Detective Graham said. He joined Merryweather at the window, looking down. “If a carriage was waiting in the lane, it would be easy enough to escape quickly.”

“With the bodies.” Merryweather nodded. “Do you think he had an accomplice, then?”

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