Solving Sophronia (The Blue Orchid Society, #1)

by Jennifer Moore

  Lady Sophronia set the remaining papers on her lap atop a notebook and folded her hands over them. She paused before speaking, her brows pinched together as if considering her answer. After a moment, she looked directly at Jonathan. “Before I tell you, I wish for you to understand that I am not simply engaging in this investigation for a diversion or out of boredom. I work as a society columnist for the Illustrated London News, and I—”

  “‘Miss Propriety’s People and Prattle’?” Sergeant Lester interrupted with a gasp, setting down his biscuit. “My lady, you’re Miss Propriety?”

  Lady Sophronia’s cheeks went even darker. “Yes, I—well, you see, the name was my editor’s idea.”

  “My mother reads your column religiously—quotes Miss Propriety on a regular basis.” He grinned like a child in a confectionary shop. “Your story about the Queen’s talking parrot was very diverting.”

  “Wasn’t it?” The dowager countess laughed, breaking off a piece of biscuit to feed to her dog. “A bird that begs for money, if you can believe it.”

  “And just last week Mother insisted I take her to purchase a round-brimmed hat, per your recommendation,” the sergeant continued.

  “A round-brimmed hat is very fashionable this year,” the older woman agreed.

  “And wouldn’t you know, while we were out, I found a cerulean blue necktie that quite brought out the color of my eyes—”

  Jonathan cleared his throat, interrupting the sergeant. He had no desire to discover where this conversation might lead. He shot a look at Sergeant Lester, telling him silently to hold his tongue and keep to the topic at hand. We are trying to solve a murder here. “Lady Sophronia? Please continue.”

  The young woman nodded. “I hoped that by discovering and reporting a story—a real story, not simply a commentary about fashion or gossip—the editor would take my writing more seriously. I wish to work as a news reporter.”

  She glanced at her grandmother, and the dowager countess smiled and nodded.

  “So in return for providing me with the name of the victim, you want the exclusive story on this murder,” Jonathan said.

  “Not only on the murder. I hope to see firsthand the solving of the crime and the arrest of the person responsible. I wish to assist in the investigation.”

  Jonathan shook his head. Absolutely not. A murder investigation was often dangerous. The very idea was ridiculous, and he would not entertain it for a moment. They had wasted enough time drinking tea and chatting about hats and parrots as it was.

  Lady Sophronia’s eyes tightened, as did her lips.

  Stubborn.

  Compelling her to give the victim’s name would not be difficult. With-holding information in a criminal investigation was in itself a punishable offense. If she refused to reveal it, Lady Sophronia would, at the very least, be taken into custody. Perhaps a bit of time in the cells at H Division would loosen her lips. And if it came down to it, he and Sergeant Lester could find the information themselves. She’d given them enough to go on.

  Jonathan steeled himself for her reaction and opened his mouth to refuse her proposal, but something in her expression made him pause. Beneath the self-assuredness and defiance, she held herself tightly, as if bracing against a rejection she was certain would come. A flicker of doubt moved in her eyes, and something else Jonathan knew she hadn’t intended to show. He recognized the glimmer of hope that if she was just given a chance . . . A memory surfaced in his mind of a young man, an orphan from Wapping, submitting his application to join the police force. Out of habit, he rubbed the fob on his pocket watch chain.

  Lifting the picture of the dress, he studied it as he contemplated. Truth be told, Lady Sophronia had done a fine job pursuing her lead, and her knowledge on the subject of ladies’ fashion had saved him hours of footwork and interviews—in dress shops, of all places. And she was intuitive. She’d pointed out things he did not think a typical civilian would have noticed.

  If he refused Lady Sophronia, she would most likely make inquiries on her own, and a young noblewoman investigating a murder in Spitalfields was hardly an ideal situation.

  He set the picture back on the low table in front of him and glanced at the others.

  Lady Sophronia, the dowager countess, the dog, and Sergeant Lester watched him silently, awaiting his answer.

  “My lady,” he began slowly. “As you are no doubt aware, law enforcement and the press are often at odds. A reporter seeks a compelling story in order to sell newspapers, while the police, on the other hand, are working to apprehend a criminal. You understand my reluctance to reveal the progress of the investigation to a person who intends to make it public.”

  Lady Sophronia nodded. “Yes, I understand. I won’t write the story until the case is solved and the criminal apprehended. I wouldn’t want to tip off a murderer to any specifics of your hunt for him.”

  Jonathan nodded. “I have your word on that?”

  “You do.”

  “In that case, my lady, you have a deal. Information about this case will be given to you alone.”

  Lady Sophronia extended her hand but stopped before taking his. She pulled back. “And I will be allowed to help with the investigation?”

  She wasn’t to be easily dissuaded, that was for certain. “Insofar as I determine it to be safe. We search for a murderer, a person who has killed and may kill again. You are not a police officer, my lady, and I will not allow you to expose yourself to potential harm. Nor will I put the investigation at risk. If I feel you are in danger, I will forbid you to continue, and you must comply. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, I understand.” She shook his hand, looking very serious, even as excitement sparked in her eyes.

  Jonathan studied her expression for any sign of deception. “And you’ll not go off investigating on your own?”

  “I will defer to your expertise, Detective.” She gave a nod.

  “Very well, then.” He released her hand and sat back, satisfied. Now that he’d made the decision, he considered how to best use the young lady’s talents.

  Lady Sophronia handed the other two papers across the table.

  Jonathan took them, angling them so Sergeant Lester could see as well. The first drawing was a rendering of the dead woman’s face, and the second . . .

  “Good heavens.” Sergeant Lester blew out a breath. “This is marvelous.”

  Jonathan could not argue. The depiction of the crime scene was incredible. The murdered woman was drawn in detail, as was the entirety of the alleyway, even down to the bottle Jonathan had kicked and the clothes on the lines overhead.

  “Look here.” Sergeant Lester pointed. “You can see the scuffs on her boots. And I remember this stack of crates. The entire alleyway looks exactly as it was.”

  “This is exceedingly accurate, my lady.” Jonathan said. “How did you—there was not time for you to have drawn this level of detail in the alley on Monday. Did you return to the scene?”

  Lady Sophronia’s cheeks were pink again.

  “My granddaughter possesses a remarkable memory, the ability to recall details and record them in pictures,” the older woman said.

  “The specifics of the memories do not last for long,” Lady Sophronia said. “So I must draw them quickly. That is why I made the initial sketches at the scene.”

  “Your grandmother is correct; this is remarkable. And helpful to the investigation,” Jonathan said. The combination of artistic talent and an exceptional memory was an impressive tool. “I’d have sent for a photographer to document the scene, but as you know, it grew dark too quickly. And rain surely washed away any remaining evidence.” He held up the picture. “Can I keep this?”

  “Of course. I have another.”

  He set the drawing on the pile. “And now, my lady, would you tell me the victim’s name?”

  Lady Sophronia opened her noteboo
k, glancing at the page. “Her name is Jane Duffin, lady’s maid to Miss Charlotte Grey on Arlington Street.”

  How fortuitous; they were only a few streets away. “And did you speak to the family?”

  “No, only the housekeeper. I didn’t wish to disturb them earlier than was appropriate for visiting.”

  Interesting that the same woman who unapologetically barged onto the crime scene should now hesitate to offend. “My lady, this is a criminal investigation. Time is of the essence. We need not wait until it is convenient to speak to a person of interest.” Jonathan glanced at an ornate gold clock on the mantel. The hour was past noon. He’d already invested a day and a half into this case and finally had a lead worth pursuing. Rising, he took the drawings from the table and inclined his head to the women. “Thank you for the tea.”

  “You are welcome anytime, Detective Graham,” the dowager countess said. “And you as well, Sergeant Lester.”

  “A pleasure, ladies.” The sergeant set his cup and saucer on the table, picked up a few extra biscuits, bowed, and started from the room.

  Jonathan followed. When he reached the door, he turned back. “Lady Sophronia, are you coming?”

  The young woman’s face lit in a smile as she jumped up, kissed her grandmother, patted the dog, and hurried toward him.

  Jonathan inclined his head, allowing her to precede him from the drawing room. As he followed, he realized this was the first true smile he’d seen on Lady Sophronia. Her round cheeks held the most fascinating dimples, and her bright-eyed enthusiasm was something Jonathan did not encounter often in a murder investigation. And surprisingly, the sight alleviated quite a lot of the irritation of her company.

  Chapter 6

  The three retrieved their gloves and hats, and Sergeant Lester handed Sophie into the carriage beside Detective Graham. Since there was room for only two in the police carriage, the sergeant climbed up to sit by the driver.

  Sophie fingered her notebook through the velvet fabric of her bag. Despite giving every indication that he did not want her assistance, the detective had acquiesced, and Sophie could neither explain his apparent change of heart nor contain her anticipation. She crossed her ankles to keep her feet from tapping. As they drove, she considered the case, and her mind turned with scenarios. Had Jane Duffin been killed in a lovers’ quarrel? Or perhaps she’d stumbled upon a plot and was murdered for the killer to maintain secrecy. Had she been involved in something illegal?

  “You’re nervous,” Detective Graham said.

  Sophie glanced to the side and saw that he was watching her. “I’m not,” she began, but following the detective’s gaze to her hands, she realized she was twisting her fingers and gave a sheepish smile. “Well, perhaps I am a bit. I wonder what we shall find. Why was Jane Duffin murdered? And who did it?”

  He shrugged. “Don’t expect the answers to be spectacular. Most murders are committed over money or passion.” He held up a finger for each word. “Anger, pride, and of course, some are crimes of opportunity; but usually we find the killer is at the very least an acquaintance.”

  “Have you investigated many murders, then, Detective?”

  He snorted. “I work at H Division stationhouse in Whitechapel. Yes, you could say I’ve investigated my share of murders. And most are never solved.”

  “Why is that?” The information surprised her.

  “No one reports the person missing, no family comes forward . . .” Detective Graham shrugged. “We do our best to identify the deceased and search for the next of kin or, if possible, a friend or employer. But more often than not, the victim remains unnamed and is interred in a pauper’s grave.”

  “It is tragic, isn’t it?” Sophie said quietly. “That a person should leave the earth without anyone to mourn him or even to notice.”

  “It is indeed, my lady,” Detective Graham said. He swallowed.

  His face didn’t show any emotion, but she could hear a touch of bitterness in his voice. “What you have—a beautiful home, food, a loving family—it should not be taken for granted.”

  She didn’t appreciate his appraisal after spending only a short amount of time with her, but she agreed with his words all the same. She was very fortunate. Life in the rookery with poverty, hunger, and danger a factor of everyday existence was completely the reverse of her privileged upbringing. She shifted at the twist of guilt she felt and found it difficult to meet the detective’s gaze.

  Instead she looked out the window. “I’m glad at least Jane Duffin has a name.”

  “Let us hope we can give her justice as well,” he said.

  When the carriage stopped, Sergeant Lester jumped down and assisted Sophie to alight.

  The Greys’ housekeeper, Mrs. Trenton, opened the door and raised her brows in surprise when she saw Sophie on the doorstep for the second time that day. “You’ve returned, my lady.” She gave a curtsy and glanced behind at the two men accompanying her.

  “Yes,” Sophie said. “I’d hoped to speak to the family. Are they at home?”

  “I’m afraid Mr. and Mrs. Grey are out, and as I told you earlier, Miss Grey isn’t taking visitors. Good day, my lady.” The housekeeper moved as if to close the door.

  With a quick motion, Detective Graham stepped forward and pushed against the door, blocking it from closing. He cleared his throat. “Good afternoon. Detective Graham, of the Metropolitan Police.” He opened his jacket to display the silver badge on his waistcoat. “Please notify your mistress that I will speak to her at once.”

  Mrs. Trenton tightened her hand on the door, looking as if she would argue.

  “We are investigating the murder of a member of this household,” the detective said. “If Miss Grey cannot receive us here, perhaps she would prefer to conduct an interview at the station in Whitechapel.”

  Mrs. Trenton’s lips pressed together. “Of course, sir. Please come in.”

  Sophie exchanged a gratified look with the sergeant at the detective’s handling of the situation.

  She quite liked the idea of Charlotte Grey being taken to a police station in London’s East End, and she almost wished the housekeeper had continued her protest so she could witness it.

  She and the men removed their hats and gloves, giving them to a downstairs maid before following Mrs. Trenton up the staircase to a sitting room.

  “Would you care for tea?” the housekeeper asked in a tone at odds with the politeness of her inquiry.

  Sergeant Lester’s face lit up. He glanced at the detective.

  “That will not be necessary,” Detective Graham said. “This is not a social call. Please fetch Miss Grey.”

  “Very well.” Mrs. Trenton departed.

  Disappointment creased the sergeant’s forehead, but he covered it quickly. “I say, this is a splendid room.” He took a step forward and tilted up his head to study the crystal chandelier. “A man could get used to investigating in Mayfair. The tea alone . . .”

  Detective Graham strode to the window, moving aside the lace curtains with a sweep of his arm to peer out at the street below.

  Sophie had just sat in an armchair when Charlotte Grey entered. “Lady Sophronia.” She gave a small curtsy. “I was sure Mrs. Trenton was mistaken and it was your sister who’d come.”

  “Thank you for seeing us.” Sophie took the notebook from her bag, opened it on her lap, and removed the pencil from between the pages.

  “Prissy and I are to go picnicking today with the Casanovas, but of course you know that.” Charlotte fluffed her overskirts and glanced into the gold-framed mirror above the mantel, fixing a blonde curl into place. “You heard, no doubt, that I danced with Lord Meredith twice at the Hamptons’ ball two evenings ago. I expect that is what you wished to ask me about.” She sat in the chair opposite Sophie, lifting her chin to elongate her neck.

  Of course the young woman assumed Sophie had come t
o interview her for a story, that she’d opened her notebook to sketch a picture. “Miss Grey, I am actually here regarding another matter.” She set her pencil back in the crease of the notebook and turned deliberately toward the men. “This is Detective Graham and Sergeant Lester, of the Metropolitan Police.”

  Charlotte looked at the police officers as if just realizing they were in the room as well. “Oh yes.” She sniffed and looked away as if the sight bored her.

  Sophie cringed at the woman’s rudeness.

  Detective Graham did not seem to notice the ungracious behavior, nor did he wait for Sophie to finish her introductions. He removed a notebook from his breast pocket, flipping open the leather cover with a practiced move. “Miss Grey, you are aware that your lady’s maid is dead, are you not?”

  She sighed. “I heard.”

  “When is the last time you saw Jane Duffin?”

  “Monday evening. Jane arranged my hair for dinner.”

  “At what time?”

  She tipped her head, squinting. “I suppose it was around five o’clock. I attended dinner at Helen Rothschild’s.”

  “And Miss Rothschild can confirm this?”

  “Of course. As can Lady Lorene and Lady Priscilla. We always take dinner together before a ball.”

  The detective made a note. “And you did not see Miss Duffin after dinner?”

  “No. My friends and I dressed at the Rothschilds’ and went directly to the Hamptons’ ball.”

  Sophie was certain Charlotte’s account was true. The Darling Debs always arrived at a ball en masse.

  “What time did you leave the ball?” Detective Graham asked, taking a seat across from Miss Grey.

  “Two thirty yesterday morning, I believe. And Jane was not here when I returned. I was quite put out at having a chambermaid help me undress.”

  “I imagine it was very difficult,” Detective Graham muttered as he wrote in his notebook. He looked up. “And you returned directly home from the Hamptons’?”

  Charlotte studied her fingernails. “Yes.”