Page 60 of Solving Sophronia

The evening breeze felt pleasant after being in the crowded room. They stepped down to the manicured gardens, following one of the pathways between borders of shrubs and flowers. Wrought-iron gas lamps stood at intervals between the trees and benches, giving patches of light.

Once certain they would not be overheard, Jonathan turned to his companion. “What have you discovered, Miss Miller? Anything new? Or have you already found and arrested the murderer?”

She smiled dryly at his attempted humor. “My friends and I have spoken to nearly every person on the suspect list. Only a few remain, and I would not be surprised if the others are even now interviewing them.” She glanced back at the assembly hall, then continued walking. “Miss Thornton has the list, and you will see the pool of hunting club members unaccounted for between six and seven on Monday night is quite small. I think we may be very near to finding the killer.”

Jonathan was surprised at how efficient the young ladies were. Of course, the results would not be entirely accurate. People forgot details or purposely left them out when questioned. But the amount of work this saved the police force was phenomenal. “I can’t thank you enough for your help,” he said. He swept his arm down, motioning at his jacket, then touching the mustache. “I had my reservations about the plan tonight, but it was well-thought-out and is likely to result in an arrest.” He clasped his hands behind his back as well, giving a satisfied nod. “If Lady Sophronia hadn’t stumbled upon the crime scene Monday evening and recognized the faults in Jane Duffin’s gown, these deaths would likely have never been solved.”

Miss Miller studied him with one raised brow. “I don’t think many men would admit that.”

“You don’t have a high opinion of many men, do you, Miss Miller?” He kept his voice light, not wanting his words to sound like an accusation.

She frowned. “If you were ignored your entire life and treated as though your opinion didn’t matter, you would feel the same.”

The young woman obviously had no idea what life was like for a homeless orphan in a slum, but Jonathan didn’t argue. Though he did not know much about women, he knew when to remain quiet.

“You see firsthand how valuable women are in this investigation, and yet, would the police force ever allow a female constable?” Miss Miller’s voice grew demanding. “A female detective?”

“The Pinkertons in America employ lady detectives,” he said. “And I hear they have been very successful. But police work is dangerous, miss,” Jonathan couldn’t help adding. “I would not wish you or any woman to encounter the things I see on a daily basis in Whitechapel.” He knew without looking that his answer had angered her.

“Because we are fragile little flowers,” she said in a sarcastic voice.

Jonathan stopped walking and turned to face her directly. “Miss Miller, three years ago the constabulary was sent to apprehend a violent street gang. We found their headquarters at the dockside, and half of our number circled behind to cut off any escape.” He reached for his fob before again remembering he didn’t wear it. “I was with those at the front entrance. We hoped to take them by surprise, but they were ready for us.”

Jonathan clasped the hilt of his sword, needing something for his hands to do. “I was at the very front of the battering brigade, and we breached the door—I, the first inside. But the force of breaking through the door caused me to stumble. The first round of enemy bullets flew over my head.”

He shook his head, breathing heavily through his nose as he tried to get through the story with no emotion.

“My closest friend was directly behind me.” He swallowed, trying to push down the lump growing in his throat. “The man as dear to me as any brother. I watched him die. And it should have been me.” Jonathan crossed his arms. “I would never wish that experience on anyone—especially not a young lady.”

“And only men are capable of enduring pain?” She scowled, but he could see that his story had affected her. “A woman’s strength would surprise you, Detective, if she were only permitted the opportunity to prove herself.”

“I—” He cleared his throat, knowing that whatever he said next would be the wrong thing, wondering how he’d come so close to tears again, and cursing the fact that they’d ever gotten onto the subject at all.

“Sir!” Sergeant Lester came up the path behind them at a quick pace.

Jonathan didn’t think he’d ever been so happy to hear the man’s voice. He spun. “What is it?”

“Merryweather found a witness. He waits to speak with you in the stables.”

At last.

“Shall I send Lady Sophronia to the stables as well, Detective?” Miss Miller said. “Or would you rather I bundle her in cotton and set a nanny to watch over her?”

“Yes, if you please.” Jonathan ignored her sarcasm. “She’ll want to hear as well.”

He inclined his head in a farewell and started with Sergeant Lester toward the stables as the lady walked back toward the ballroom entrance.

Sergeant Lester motioned toward the departing woman with a thrust of his chin. “Best watch yourself with that one.”

“Too right,” Jonathan agreed. He slowed, not wishing to risk Sophie’s displeasure should they question the witness without her.

They crossed the gardens, following the intersecting pathways, and neared the stables on the far side of the assembly hall. The area was darkened, lacking the gaslights that lit the rest of the property.

Footsteps approached, and both men turned quickly.

“What is it?” Sophie asked, her voice breathless. “Did you find the killer?”

“Not yet, my lady,” Sergeant Lester replied. “Merryweather found someone willing to talk.”

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