Page 40 of Solving Sophronia

“None taken.” Jonathan looked up the road in both directions, then turned to face the sergeant. “Do you really consider this crime scene to be the place for a young lady of genteel breeding?”

Sergeant Lester frowned. “I suppose not.” He motioned toward the corpse with a tip of his head. “Grisly one today, isn’t it? But I did find a nice rat.” He patted the lump in his jacket pocket. “Perhaps Lady Sophronia might come to the station house on occasion. Having an artist at hand could be advantageous. If a witness were to describe a criminal to her as she drew—”

“I’m certain Lady Sophronia has better things to do than to sit around H Division, sketching criminals,” Jonathan said before the sergeant could finish. The man’s words stirred up an uncomfortable combination of feelings. The mixture of enjoyment at Miss Bremerton’s involvement in the Jane Duffin case and the resentment that his own station in life was so utterly inferior twisted inside him, warring against each other. He felt foolish at his ease in her company and the pleasure he took in sharing the case with her. He’d seen the way the young lady had looked around the tenement building the night before. If she’d any idea of his origins... the places he’d lived made the Paynes’ small flat look like a palace in comparison.

He popped a peppermint into his mouth and offered one to the sergeant, hoping it would keep the man quiet as well as ease the discomfort in his own stomach brought on by the odor of the remains. Speaking about Miss Bremerton dredged up emotions that were... complicated. And Jonathan didn’t appreciate complicated.

The photographer’s carriage arrived at the same time as Dr. Peabody’s, and the sergeant helped carry the photography equipment through the worksite of the burned building. Jonathan walked with the doctor, leaving the medical students behind at the hospital wagon.

When the photographer saw the body, he cursed and cringed away, holding his nose.

“Come on, then.” Sergeant Lester spoke in an encouraging voice, patting the man on the shoulder. “’S not so bad, once you get used to the smell. Now, where do you want this tripod?”

As the sergeant and photographer arranged the photography equipment, Jonathan and Dr. Peabody stepped closer to the body.

“What do you think, Doctor?” Jonathan asked. “Can you estimate a time of death?”

Dr. Peabody leaned forward on his cane and squinted through his spectacles. “Hard to tell without examining the internal organs. But based on the bloating and the smell, I’d estimate he’s been dead at least three days.” He pointed to the muddy patches. “Moisture could have exacerbated the process, however.” He tipped his head to the side and crouched down, leaning his cane against a pile of bricks as he looked closer. “Cause of death is likely a blow to the head.” He pointed to a dent in the man’s skull. “But you undoubtedly deduced that already.”

“All right, sirs, if you please,” the photographer called. “I’m ready.”

Jonathan and Doctor Peabody stepped to the side.

Sergeant Lester held the flashgun and lit the powder when the photographer removed the cap from the photo box’s lens.

Even through his closed eyes Jonathan saw the burst of white light as the powder ignited.

The photographer replaced the cap and informed them the photograph would be delivered to the station as soon as it was processed. He dismantled his tripod as he spoke, anxious to leave.

Jonathan thanked the man, and Sergeant Lester walked with the photographer back to his carriage.

“Anything else on the two in the morgue?” Jonathan asked the doctor as they returned to the body.

“I’m afraid not.” Dr. Peabody shook his head. “Is that peppermint I smell?”

Jonathan gave the doctor a sweet, and the pair rolled the corpse onto its back.

Both turned away quickly, holding their hands over their noses; the putrefaction smell was now, if possible, even stronger.

Jonathan held his breath and poked fingers into the dead man’s pockets, hoping for a clue to his identity. The man’s clothing was ordinary. A wool jacket, trousers, a worn shirt, and a necktie. He appeared to be neither wealthy nor impoverished—a typical working-class chap. He had no hat, and his hair was brown with a bit of gray, giving a slight indication of his age. The waistcoat pocket contained a simple pocket watch. No engraving. Jonathan turned to the jacket pockets.

“The young woman from Monday night’s crime scene—Miss Bremerton—called on me early this morning,” Dr. Peabody said.

Jonathan paused, and in his surprise he accidentally breathed in through his nose. He coughed, stomach wrenching, and looked at the doctor through watering eyes. “What did she want?” That Miss Bremerton had continued investigating on her own annoyed him, especially after she’d given her word not to. “She didn’t demand to see the bodies, did she?” He reached across to search the pockets on the other side.

“No, nothing of the sort,” Dr. Peabody said, turning the dead man’s head to the side and studying the damage. “Similar to Mr. Lewis’s wound,” he muttered.

“Doctor?” Jonathan prompted. “Miss Bremerton’s visit...”

Dr. Peabody looked at him through his spectacles, then blinked, appearing to remember what he was saying. “Yes.” He laid the head carefully back on the ground and lifted a hand to study the fingers. “As neither Miss Duffin nor Mr. Lewis has any family to speak of, Miss Bremerton made arrangements for the victim’s burials.”

Jonathan stared at the doctor, but this time he remembered to breathe through his mouth.

“Very considerate of her, don’t you think?” Dr. Peabody set down the hand and wiped his palms on his trousers. “Have you any more pepper-

mints?”

Jonathan gave the man another sweet, and his mind turned over what the doctor had said. The information touched his heart in a way that surprised him. Jane Duffin was just one of the penniless victims in a city that pretended its lower classes didn’t exist. But Miss Bremerton was different. For some reason, she saw what others of her class didn’t. And she cared.

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