Solving Sophronia (The Blue Orchid Society, #1)

by Jennifer Moore

  Seeing her, the other gentlemen stood.

  “Count Branković, there you are,” Miss Miller said. “The two-step is about to begin, and you did promise to partner me.” She wagged her finger, giving a teasing reprimand.

  “Oh,” Jonathan said. “I beg pardon, miss.” He set down his drink, excusing himself to the rest of the table, then offered his arm, leading the young lady from the room.

  When they reached the entry, he let out a breath, glancing around to make certain they were alone. “That was quick thinking, Miss Miller. Another moment and I believe I’d have been exposed.”

  She shrugged, looking pleased with herself. “A gentleman needs to be rescued by a lady every now and then.”

  Jonathan laughed, feeling giddy with the relief that coursed through him. He glanced back over his shoulder, making certain they’d not been followed. When he turned back, a new worry occurred to him. He winced. “I beg your pardon, miss. I hope you don’t expect me to actually dance the two-step—not that I oppose your partnership—but I don’t . . .”

  “Of course not, sir.” She curled her lip, scoffing as if the idea were preposterous.

  Jonathan didn’t know whether her words were meant as an insult, but his gratitude to the young lady overrode any offense. “Then, perhaps a walk in the gardens?”

  “If you’d like.” She nodded but didn’t take his arm again. Instead she clasped her hands behind her back, preceding him as they walked along the edge of the ballroom and out through the doors onto the assembly hall’s patio.

  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.”

  They followed the long wooden building, and as they drew closer, they saw Merryweather waiting with another man. The two were dressed in working clothes and stood beside a doorway, backlit by lanterns.

  The stables were set far enough away from the assembly hall that the noise and smells of the animals wouldn’t disturb the guests. Most of the horses and carriages were in the large yard beyond where the drivers and stable staff tended to the animals, and Jonathan could hear the sounds of the men socializing as they waited to return the guests home. He glanced back at the assembly hall. The ballroom windows glowed in the darkness, and a few others showed light behind their curt
ains. Music drifted out through the ballroom doors.

  He didn’t think his and Sergeant Lester’s departures had been noticed, but he wasn’t certain about Sophie’s. Beckoning with a flick of his hand, he motioned the group toward a shadowed area. In the moonlight the group could still see one another but would be inconspicuous at a distance from the assembly hall.

  “Now, what have you, Constable?” Jonathan didn’t bother with introductions or niceties.

  “Sir, this is Ned Tucker—works here in the stables.” Merryweather stood straighter, holding himself at attention in spite of his lack of uniform. “Claims he saw something Monday night.” He tipped his head. “Tell ’em what you told me, Ned.”

  The stable hand shuffled his feet, looking nervous. Not unusual for a person dealing with the police. He glanced at Sophie, as if uncertain whether he should speak in front of her.

  “Go on, then,” Sergeant Lester prompted.

  “Didn’t think much of it at the time, you see—not until Mr. Merryweather started asking questions.”

  Jonathan cleared his throat, giving a nod to urge the man to continue but not allowing himself to look too eager and risk putting the man on his guard.

  “Monday night we were on our toes, sir. Gentlemen coming and going at random. Some carriages were hardly here for an hour before we were sent to retrieve them. Others stayed longer. But one . . .” He looked over his shoulder as if he could see the carriage through the building. “One remained long after the others were gone. We reckoned the gentlemen had gone along to another event with a friend. But the driver had no orders to leave, so he stayed.” Ned shrugged. “Stablemaster had sent the other lads home but kept me here to muck out the stalls while we waited for the owner to return or send word.”

  “And did he return?” Sophie asked.

  “Aye, and that’s the strange part, my lady.” He looked back again. “The two gentlemen didn’t arrive by cab. Returned on foot. Came by way of the river.”

  Two men. Jonathan’s mind worked through different scenarios. Had they abandoned the furniture wagon and walked back to the stable yard to prevent a cabby from identifying them? Or was this merely a coincidence? Or could they even trust Ned Tucker’s story? He seemed even more nervous than was usual during inquiries.

  “Did you recognize the gentlemen?” Sergeant Lester asked. “Or remember the name of their driver?”

  “Driver kept to himself.” Ned shook his head. “Don’t know the gentlemen’s names, but I saw the pair again tonight. Arrived together, same as before.”

  “Can you describe them?” Jonathan asked.

  “Fancy-like, sir. And the carriage had a crest on the door.” He gave a meaningful look at that bit of information. Jonathan nodded. If the man was correct, the suspects were noblemen—or at least, rode in a nobleman’s carriage.

  “The one in particular stood out,” Ned said. “He—”

  A whistling sounded by Jonathan’s ear.

  Ned Tucker dropped.

  Jonathan grabbed Sophie, pulling her to the ground just as another whistling sounded overhead.

  Merryweather cried out.

  “We’re under fire!” Jonathan called as another shot hit the stable behind him. “Get down!”

  Sergeant Lester pressed against the wall next to him. They were exposed, sitting out here in the open, with no idea of the shooter’s location.

  “Inside,” Jonathan said, not sure who could hear or who was able to follow the order. Ned was most certainly hit, and perhaps Merryweather as well.

  At a crouch, he pulled Sophie along the side of the building and pushed her through the doorway, pressing her against an inside wall. He covered her with his body, chest against her back and chin on her head. More shots hit the doorframe.

  Sophie trembled, and he put his arms around her. “Sergeant!” he yelled. “Are you hit?”

  “No, sir.” Sergeant Lester’s voice came from the other side of the doorway. “But Merryweather’s down. And Mr. Tucker.”

  Jonathan was impressed at the steadiness in the man’s voice.

  “Shooter’s inside the assembly hall.” The sergeant risked a peek through the doorway. “He’s stopped, I think.”

  “Or he’s just waiting for us to go after the others,” Jonathan said.

  “Can’t leave them there.” Sergeant Lester peeked out again. “And someone must have heard the shots.”

  “Agreed,” Jonathan said. The sergeant was right. The shooter wouldn’t continue to fire, not from his current location anyway. The noise would have drawn attention from the others in the building. Most likely, he was already on the run.

  Jonathan started to move, but Sophie grabbed one of his arms. “No! You can’t go out there!” Her voice was high, and he could hear the panic in it.

  She twisted around, clutching him with both hands now. Tears glimmered on her cheeks in the moonlight, and her breathing came in bursts.

  Inside Jonathan’s chest something cracked. In light of what he’d told Miss Miller only half an hour earlier, why had he permitted Sophie to come? Why had he allowed her to be part of the case at all? He cupped her cheek. “The shooter’s gone now, Sophie. I must help the others.”

  She nodded and leaned her face in to his hand. “Please be careful. I couldn’t bear it if—” Her voice caught, and another tear spilled from her eye.

  “Stay here.” Jonathan pressed a kiss to her forehead and pulled away. He motioned for the sergeant to follow. Keeping low, they made their way back to the others.

  When he reached Merryweather, Jonathan pushed the man onto his back. Merryweather’s chest was wet, but no wound was visible in the darkness. Jonathan pulled off his gloves and touched his neck, relieved to feel a heartbeat.

  “Tucker’s dead,” Sergeant Lester said.

  Jonathan nodded. “Help me move Merryweather.”

  They dragged the constable through the door to where Sophie waited with a wide-eyed stablemaster and a younger boy.

  She retrieved a lantern and brought it close, gasping when she saw the blood on Constable Merryweather’s chest, but she didn’t draw away. She set down the lantern and knelt beside the constable, brushing damp hair from the injured man’s forehead.

  Sergeant Lester pulled open the man’s shirt, revealing the wound.

  Jonathan forced away the painful flashes of memory at seeing a friend lying unresponsive and bleeding. The stablemaster brought some cloth, and Jonathan instructed Sophie to hold it against the wound. She looked much calmer already, and he knew having a task would help keep her panic at bay.

  “Send for Miss Thornton,” Sophie said to the stablemaster, her voice still shaky. “Inside the assembly hall. She is a nurse.”

  The man nodded and motioned for the boy to do so.

  Sergeant Lester stood and used a knife to dig a bullet from the doorframe. He held the bit of metal close to the lantern. “Thirty-eight caliber,” he muttered.

  “A pistol,” Jonathan said. “Easy to hide.”

  “Good aim,” Sergeant Lester said, pocketing the bullet.

  A hunter. Jonathan stood, feeling anger rise inside him. One of his men was down and their best witness dead. He ripped off the mustache and removed his jacket. “Enough games. Sergeant, call for Dr. Peabody. And I want every available officer. Close the stable yard gates. Block the exits. Nobody leaves this blasted party until we’ve spoken to each and every last guest.”

  Chapter 18

  The next morning Sophie left her bedchamber much later than usual. She could already hear her mother and Prissy in the dining room and paused on the upstairs landing, wanting a few more moments to herself before joining them.

  She turned away from the rail, leaning back and allowing all the emotions from the night before to rush over her. The utter terror at being under fire and watching a man die before her eyes squeezed her heart, c
onstricting it in a vice. Her mind had gone completely blank as panic froze her body and thoughts, but Jonathan had known exactly what to do. He’d pulled her to safety, held her, comforted her . . . The vice loosened, and a warmth filled her as she remembered the feel of being held.

  Sophie hadn’t told anyone aside from Mimi and her grandmother’s friends about the dance and her reaction. And though she’d initially balked at the women’s explanation, chalking it up to teasing or the elderly ladies’ misunderstanding the situation, now . . . now she believed they might be right in their assumption.

  Even as he’d directed the questioning of guests and the search of the assembly hall, Jonathan had remained in close contact as she and Hazel tended to the constable and waited for the doctor. Sophie would never have believed herself to be one of those women who wished to be mollycoddled, but she found it a very pleasant sensation to know that Jonathan’s thoughts had often turned to her through the course of his work. He’d been worried for her but had also kept her appraised on the status of the investigation, likely knowing she’d pester him with questions if he didn’t.

  A set of pistols had been found in a storage closet, but they had no identifying marks. Their owner was still unknown. Sergeant Lester believed the shooter, or shooters, had fled. “Wouldn’t linger, waiting to be caught, would they?” he’d asked.

  Once the doctor had taken Merryweather and Mr. Tucker’s body away, Jonathan had insisted Hazel and Elizabeth accompany Sophie home. He’d held her hand as the carriage was sent for, and when the other women had climbed inside, he’d pulled her into a tight embrace. Though he’d said nothing, she’d understood completely. The terror they’d experienced and the relief that they had both come away unharmed—the feelings were impossible to express in words. But they couldn’t go unshared. She’d held him tightly as well.

  A sigh escaped, and Sophie pressed her hands to her pounding heart as she walked down the stairs, savoring the memory of that moment.

  The bliss fled, however, once she entered the dining room.