Solving Sophronia (The Blue Orchid Society, #1)

by Jennifer Moore

  Her eyes were wide, and he pushed aside his guilt at seeing the hurt in them. “But I didn’t know.” Her lips shook as she spoke. “The story was published without my permission. I promise I—”

  “Sergeant, if you please, will you escort the lady out?” Jonathan motioned to Sergeant Lester. “We’ve police business to discuss.”

  Sophie stood her ground, putting her hands on her hips, her bag hanging from her elbow. “Will you not listen to me? Not even after—”

  “I shall not make that mistake again.” Jonathan’s voice was low as he tried to hold back his anger but was not fully successful.

  Sophie spun and started away, shaking off Sergeant Lester’s outstretched hand as he tried to escort her. He followed behind instead.

  Dr. Peabody raised a brow, but that was the only indication that he had overheard the conversation or might disagree with Jonathan’s treatment of the young lady.

  Jonathan continued on as if nothing had happened. He pointed with his chin toward the injured man in the bed. “How is he?”

  “As I was telling the lady,” Dr. Peabody said, “the constable’s wound is clean. We removed the bullet without any problems, and very little damage was done internally.”

  “Has he woken?”

  The doctor nodded. “For short periods. But staying awake for an extended time seems difficult for now.”

  “Is that typical? Will he heal?”

  “If his wound doesn’t develop an infection, he should be back on his beat in a few weeks.”

  Well, that was one good thing to come out of this day.

  Sergeant Lester returned, his expression still glum. He offered a file to Jonathan. “Lady Sophronia asked me to give you this. Said she’s sorry for being nosy.” He shrugged.

  Jonathan took the folder, glancing at the name on it. Tom Stackhouse? What was she playing at? And why did everything inside him want to run after her and beg her forgiveness?

  “And this, sir.” Sergeant Lester gave him Sophie’s notebook.

  Jonathan pulled a chair close to the bed, resting his head in his hands. Anger was the easier emotion, and he concentrated on that, feeding it until it obliterated the hurt—but as hard as he tried, he couldn’t rid himself of it completely.

  Chapter 20

  Sophie forced herself to keep her head up and walk with dignity down the hospital steps, not wanting to make a scene. She could cry later. She held herself tightly, lest she break down. How could Jonathan believe she was capable of such manipulation? Why hadn’t he listened to her? Her heart was shattered, and she was alone. Her family, Society, and now the man she trusted—the man she thought she might love—were all against her. And she’d never be a news reporter now.

  Everything hurt, and she felt wrung-out. She wanted nothing more than to climb into bed after a decent breakfast and sleep for hours. Perhaps she’d wake and discover this was all a terrible nightmare. She tightened the clasp on her bag, glad she’d thought to give the file to Sergeant Lester. At least Jonathan might find some comfort in that regard.

  “Miss Bremerton?” A woman wearing an apron over her worn dress and a kerchief around her hair stopped in front of Sophie, giving a curtsy.

  Sophie studied her, for a moment unable to think how the woman might know her name.

  “Oh, you don’t remember me.” Her face went red. “Beg your pardon, miss. I’m Martha Payne.”

  “Of course. You are Freddy’s mother.” Sophie smiled. “I am sorry I did not recognize you right away; my mind was elsewhere. How nice to see you.” She was relieved to see that the woman was safe.

  Martha glanced up at the hospital. “I heard Ernest—Constable Merryweather—was injured.” She clasped her hands together. They were red and rough, with cracks on her knuckles. “Do you know if he is all right?”

  Sophie looked up quickly, not wishing for the woman to see her staring at her fingers. “I just spoke to the doctor. He expects the constable to recover fully within a few weeks.”

  Martha’s shoulders relaxed. She gave a smile, and Sophie noticed again how very lovely she was. Martha glanced again at the hospital. “Do you suppose I might see him?”

  “The police are with him now—I don’t know for how long.” Sophie felt a pang at the reminder. “I don’t believe they would mind if you paid a visit.”

  Martha shook her head. “I wouldn’t want to bother them. I’ll wait until later. Good day, Miss Bremerton.” She curtsied and started away.

  “Wait,” Sophie said. She caught up to the woman. “Mrs. Payne, do you have somewhere you and Freddy might go for a few days? Perhaps a relative or a friend you could stay with? I believe you may be in danger.”

  Martha’s face paled. “Why? What has happened?”

  Sophie dreaded the explanation she must give and felt heat spreading up her neck as she considered exactly how she was going to explain that she’d accidentally published Martha’s name and her son’s in a news article the killer might read and discover they were potentially witnesses to his crime. After this, how would anyone ever trust her again? She sighed. “Would you join me for tea, Mrs. Payne?”

  Za

  Three hours later Jasper carried the last of Martha’s things into the boardinghouse on Wilkes Street. The carriage driver’s help finding lodgings near the laundry where Martha worked had been invaluable.

  Sophie glanced around the room. Though it was furnished, it still seemed bare, and the Payne’s few possessions did little to fill the place. But as sparse as it was, it was infinitely better than the room off Wentworth, and there was even a separate room for Freddy and space to hang the wash.

  Martha hung a gown in the wardrobe.

  “Now, the landlady has already been paid for three months,” Sophie said. “That should give the police plenty of time to locate the killer and send him away for good.”

  Jasper tipped his hat to the women as he left the room. He had entrusted Freddy with the carriage and no doubt wished to return before the boy took a ride through the city.

  “I cannot thank you enough for your kindness,” Martha said. She took Sophie’s hand. “I wish I could somehow repay you.”

  Sophie squeezed her fingers. “You can do that by staying hidden. Don’t tell your old neighbors where you’ve gone, and keep Freddy close.” She wondered how likely it was that Freddy wouldn’t return to his friends. If only the boy were in school. That would keep him too occupied for mischief. Perhaps she would discuss it with Elizabeth, see what the child’s options were.

  Martha didn’t release Sophie’s hand. She held herself tightly and chewed on her lip.

  Sophie sensed she had something more to say.

  “Miss Bremerton,” she began hesitantly.

  “Yes? What is it?” Sophie prompted.

  Martha glanced around the room, then looked down at her hands. She released her hold on Sophie and folded her arms. “This is all my fault.”

  Sophie’s first thought was to brush aside the statement, to reassure the woman that of course this wasn’t her fault. She was an innocent victim of circumstance. But something in the woman’s voice made her pause. There was more.

  “What is it, Martha?”

  “I should have told you when you and the detective first came.” She rubbed her arms. “But I was frightened, you see? I have Freddy to worry about, and . . .”

  “I understand completely,” Sophie said. “You can tell me now.”

  Martha’s fingers tightened on her arms.

  “Did you see something in the alley that night, Martha?” Sophie prompted.

  Martha nodded. “Not so much saw. The alley was shadowed, you see, and I ducked away, not wanting them to see me. But I heard them. Two men.” Her voice was a whisper.

  “What did they say?”

  “They argued,” Martha spoke in a soft voice, glancing toward the open doo
r. “About where to leave her, the dead lady. One wanted her to be found, and the other—he just wanted to hurry and leave. I didn’t understand most of what they were saying.”

  Sophie’s heart beat faster. “Anything else? How did they sound?”

  “The one spoke proper—like an aristocrat. But the other—he was difficult to understand. He spoke slow and strange . . .” She pursed her lips. “I didn’t hear him well enough to describe it.”

  Sophie nodded, feeling disappointed that Martha’s information wasn’t more helpful. “Thank you for telling me.”

  “Should have told you when you came before. But now Ernest is hurt, and it’s all because of me.”

  “It’s not your fault at all,” Sophie said. “A villain is responsible for Constable Merryweather’s injury, not you. You’ve been very helpful.” She considered whether she should go to the police with this new piece of information. But it was hardly any more than they already knew. Perhaps she should just send a note. But if she did that, would Jonathan think she was trying to uncover more details about the case for a story? Losing his trust hurt more than anything else.

  When Sophie arrived home to Park Lane, Lord Everleigh’s carriage stood before the house, its polished crest gleaming in the sunlight. He must be paying a call to Prissy. Well, at least her sister’s favorite suitor hadn’t been put off by last night’s scandal. That should make Sophie’s family happy.

  She climbed out of the carriage and thanked Jasper for his help. With any luck, Prissy and Lord Everleigh would be in the upstairs sitting room, and she could avoid them altogether.

  Upon entering the house, however, she found that luck was not on her side. Lord Everleigh and Prissy were in the entry hall, donning hats and gloves.

  Prissy smiled brightly when Sophie entered. “Sophie! Isn’t this a treat? Lord Everleigh is taking me for a carriage ride in the park.”

  “Good afternoon, Lady Sophronia,” Lord Everleigh said.

  How he managed such condescension in the few words, she’d never know.

  “Lord Everleigh.”

  “I do hope you’ll join us,” he said.

  Prissy’s head snapped around so quickly that her hat fell almost completely off. She straightened it and gave Sophie a scowl, clearly telling her sister to not even consider it.

  Sophie started to pull out her hatpin, ready to decline the invitation. But she paused. Had anyone interviewed Lord Everleigh? She supposed so, but what if he’d been overlooked? He was definitely a member of the hunting club. He was at the ball last night. And she knew—from her sister’s incessant bragging—that he was an excellent marksman.

  “Thank you, my lord. I would like that very much.”

  Prissy shook her head frantically behind Lord Everleigh’s back.

  Sophie ignored her sister. Now that the idea had taken hold, she knew she’d not be able to put it out of her mind until she was certain Lord Everleigh could be eliminated as a suspect.

  Hearing Dorrit’s bark, Lord Everleigh glanced up the stairs. “I wonder”—he pulled on his gloves—“should we invite your grandmother as well?”

  Prissy’s glare could have melted steel.

  Za

  A few moments later the four were situated in Lord Everleigh’s open carriage as it started toward Hyde Park.

  Prissy kept her head turned away from the other women, watching the houses as they passed, her arms folded like a child throwing a tantrum.

  Mimi fussed over Dorrit, giving the dog a bite of biscuit.

  Sophie studied Lord Everleigh.

  The gentleman sat across from her, beside her sister. His posture was perfect, his hat tipped exactly the right amount, and his clothing could not have been more immaculate if it were hanging in a tailor’s window. He touched his waxed mustache with the tips of his gloved fingers.

  Could it be him? He hardly seemed the type. What motive could he possibly have for murder? She could think of nothing that might drive him to kill, aside from someone scuffing his boots.

  “Lady Sophronia,” he said after a moment, hardly hiding a smirk. “How goes your case? Have you found the murderer? Do you plan any more clandestine operations?”

  “No, the murderer has not been found.” She answered the least patronizing of his questions. “Yet. But the police continue their search.”

  “And they still suspect a member of the hunting club?” he asked.

  “You think it unlikely?” Sophie responded.

  He curled his lip and snorted—in the most gentlemanly way possible. “As a member myself, I am inclined to disbelieve the theory.”

  If one could kill with a pretentious tone, then he was the murderer for certain.

  “Of course it is not a gentleman,” Prissy said. She fluttered her lashes at Lord Everleigh. “Such an accusation is completely preposterous.”

  Mimi watched the conversation in silence. But Sophie knew her grandmother was listening closely to the man’s answers.

  “And did you attend the hunting club’s lecture last Monday, my lord?” Sophie asked.

  “I?” He blinked and gave a patronizing smile, as if indulging her game of detective. “I did indeed, as I believe I mentioned to you at the ball.”

  “Do you remember how the lecture began?” Sophie asked, remembering their earlier conversation had been interrupted. “What picture did Mr. Baldwin show?”

  “Oh, really, Sophie,” Prissy said. “Are you interrogating Lord Everleigh now?”

  His smile remained, but his eyes seemed sharper, almost challenging. “Lord Baldwin’s picture was of an enormous lion attacking his horse.”

  Sophie nodded and could think of no further questions. His answer was correct, but the longer she spoke with him, the less she trusted Lord Everleigh. Arrogance did not make one a murderer, however. And she had to admit it was because of her injured pride that she hoped to find fault in him. Sophie scratched Dorrit’s ears, looking away as if enjoying the view of the park.

  Lord Everleigh, on the other hand, was not finished with the conversation. “It was fascinating, really, reading about it all in the paper. That detective and his wild theories.” He smirked. “They seem very farfetched, don’t you agree?”

  Sophie’s defensiveness rose in a spike. She sat forward.

  “Detective Graham strikes me as a very intelligent man,” Mimi said, her tone meant not only to censure Lord Everleigh but to placate her granddaughter’s temper as well. She patted Sophie’s hand.

  “Wearing a costume, a fake mustache, and pretending to be Serbian nobility?” The odious man snorted again, this time sounding much less gentlemanly. “Hardly signs of an intelligent person.”

  Prissy giggled. “You are so right, my lord.”

  Sophie could not remain silent. “A police investigation is more difficult than one might assume from reading a newspaper article, Lord Everleigh. Detective Graham’s theories about the case are extremely well-founded. But then, I did watch how he arrived at them.”

  “You really think two people were killed in a crowded building with no one noticing?” He shook his head. “And then that the bodies were dropped through a window in broad daylight and taken to Spitalfields in a Bluebird Furniture wagon?” Lord Everleigh laughed. “Ridiculous.”

  “Utterly ridiculous,” Prissy agreed. She laughed as well.

  “It is not the most . . .” Sophie’s words trailed off. She’d not written about the Bluebird Furniture wagon in her notebook, nor had she drawn it because she hadn’t seen it. She knew for certain it had not been in the article. There was only one way Lord Everleigh could know that detail.

  She could feel the blood drain from her face as the realization came. Lord Everleigh was the murderer. Another piece of the puzzle moved into place—his accomplice. Martha had said the man had spoken strangely, slowly. Sophie had assumed she was describing a speech impediment, but
why not a foreign accent? Hans Hofman could be his partner.

  Sophie sat completely still. Now that she knew the truth, she must get word to the police. But how could she do so without alerting Lord Everleigh to her suspicion?

  “It is not only preposterous but shows a sort of unhinged mind. I believe I’ll recommend to the commissioner that Detective Jonathan Graham’s suitability as a representative of the Crown be evaluated,” Lord Everleigh said.

  Sophie realized after a moment that he was studying her, waiting for a reaction. “It is very warm today.” She attempted a smile. “I think perhaps we should return home.”

  Lord Everleigh held her gaze, and his eyes hardened. “Warm? I believe it likely to rain.” He spoke over his shoulder without taking his eyes off her. “Duncan, stop the carriage, and close the top.”

  The coachman climbed down and closed the roof of the carriage, avoiding any glance at the ladies.

  “Rain, I hardly think so,” Prissy said. “The sky is clear.”

  “Exquisitely so,” Mimi agreed, frowning at the closed roof.

  “Lady Priscilla, you may be right after all,” Lord Everleigh said. He leaned through the window as the driver fastened the last latch. “Duncan, let us take the longer route today.”

  “Yes, my lord.” The carriage driver climbed back into his seat and urged the horses forward.

  Lord Everleigh sat back and gave Sophie another smile, but instead of lazy arrogance, his look was pure evil. He knows.

  Terror spiked through Sophie. She darted a look at the carriage door, then along the road for someone to call out to.

  He cleared his throat and pulled back his jacket just the slightest bit so only she could see the pistol holstered beneath his arm. He looked pointedly at her sister and grandmother, then leaned back casually in his seat, his smile growing.

  The driver pulled at the reins, veering the carriage off onto a side lane.

  Chapter 21

  Jonathan ceased his pacing around the hospital and returned to the ward where Constable Merryweather lay.