Solving Sophronia (The Blue Orchid Society, #1)

by Jennifer Moore

  He was blunt but refreshingly so. One didn’t have to wonder what he was thinking or whether he had an ulterior motive.

  The intrigues and games of high Society surrounded Sophie, spreading into nearly every aspect of her life, but she had little patience for the artifice. It felt very comfortable to be with a person whose intentions she didn’t have to question. Detective Graham was strict, demanding of the constables who worked beneath him, but he was generous with compliments as well. The wiggle returned to her tummy when she remembered the compliment he’d paid her. Did he truly think her beautiful? Of course, he was likely just being polite, but the sensation remained. And Sophie didn’t push it away.

  The detective leaned forward and looked through the window. He glanced at Sophie, gave a nod, then went back to studying the drawings.

  His eyes seemed always to be alert. And Sophie sensed that the awareness of his surroundings that served him so well as a police officer had been honed by a need for survival. From things he’d said, she’d deduced his childhood had been difficult. Though he spoke politely, beneath his words was a roughness that intrigued her. What had he overcome? He certainly wasn’t refined, nor was he educated, but in Sophie’s opinion, his intelligence and intuition more than compensated in that regard. He was fair, she thought, and not one to hold a grudge—evidenced by his treatment of her today compared to that of the day they’d met at the crime scene.

  Sophie smiled, feeling a fondness for her friend. The thought brought her up short. She was being silly, allowing the man’s praise and attentions to go to her head. Though she and the detective were friendly, she could hardly call him a friend. They’d been acquainted for only a few days. And fondness? That was hardly warranted. She felt admiration for him on a professional level. Nothing more.

  The carriage stopped in front of the Porky Pie just as raindrops began to tap on the roof. Sophie and the detective exited onto the street and hurried past the mouth of the alley to the building across from the pub, standing beneath the shelter of a small overhang above the door. Perhaps it was because the crowds and police were absent or because a murder had been discovered here the day before, but Sophie’s nerves were on edge. The street was dark, with the nearest lamp half a block away, and she could feel rather than see people watching from the shadows.

  She moved closer to the detective, nearly falling back when he pulled open the door.

  “After you, miss.”

  Sophie glanced back over her shoulder, then entered the dimly lit building. She knew from the outside that the building was two stories high, but she had not expected so many doors lining the narrow hallway. In the rooms beyond and above she could hear bumps and scrapes as people moved about, along with voices, dishes clinking, a dog barking, and a baby crying. The building was filled with the smells of supper, but instead of feeling warm and cozy, the smells blended with mildew and the odor of wet animals and unwashed bodies, turning her stomach.

  Detective Graham touched the small of her back, urging her forward toward a darkened staircase.

  Sophie took a few steps, then moved to the side of the hallway. “I’ll follow you, Detective.”

  He went ahead.

  The stairs creaked beneath them. Halfway up they came to a landing and turned to follow the staircase in the other direction. The sounds of something skittering on the wood made Sophie pull her skirts tightly against her legs, worried a rat would crawl up them. Detective Graham walked ahead steadily, and she followed as closely as she could without actually grabbing on to the detective’s arm.

  The door at the far end of the dark hallway corresponded with the window outside where she’d seen the shadow.

  When they reached it, Detective Graham knocked.

  A noise sounded in the room beyond.

  “London Constabulary,” he called. “Open the door.”

  The door opened a crack.

  “Is that you, Constable Merryweather?” A woman’s voice spoke through the gap.

  “Detective Jonathan Graham.” He pressed a hand against the door to keep it from closing. “And my associate, Miss Sophronia Bremerton. We have a few questions, if you please.”

  The woman pulled open the door, hinges creaking. She stepped back to allow them to enter, then looked into the hall quickly before closing the door behind them.

  The room was hardly more than a closet. The only heat came from a coal stove in the corner. A small table with two chairs was pushed against the wall beneath the window and a bed against the opposite. Clothes hung on lines across the room, and a large washtub stood in the corner between a narrow wardrobe and a wooden-backed bench piled with laundry. There was barely space to walk, and two extra adults in the room made it impossibly crowded.

  A boy jumped up from his seat at the table. He was young, no older than eight, Sophie thought, and very skinny. “Good evening, Detective.”

  Detective Graham smiled and shook the boy’s hand. “Nice to see you again, Freddy.” He removed his hat. “And this must be your mother.”

  “Martha Payne,” the woman said.

  Her expression went from suspicious to worried, her wide eyes making her look much younger than Sophie had originally estimated. Martha Payne couldn’t be more than a few years older than Sophie’s own age of twenty-two. She studied the woman. Her face was lovely and her figure small and slender. If her eyes were not so tired, and with a new gown, she could easily pass as a true beauty of high Society.

  “Is Freddy in trouble, sir?” Martha asked.

  “No, nothing like that.” Detective Graham shook his head. “Very sorry to interrupt your supper.” He glanced at the table, where two bowls of some sort of stew were partly eaten. A slice of bread sat beside each bowl.

  Sophie couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt as she compared the meager servings to the enormous meal that was surely sitting at her family’s dining table right now.

  “We’ve just a few questions,” the detective said.

  Freddy nodded. “About the dead lady.”

  “Yes, I wondered if you”—Detective Graham looked between them—“either of you . . . saw anything unusual in the alley two nights ago . . . before the police arrived.”

  “I didn’t see anything.” Martha’s gaze darted toward the window, then to her son. “Neither of us did.” She licked her lips, her brows pulling together. The question had frightened her.

  Detective Graham stepped close to the table. He moved the curtains and looked down through the window. “From here, you have an excellent view of the entire alley. Are you certain you saw nothing?”

  “That’s what I said.” Martha folded her arms tightly.

  “And where were you Monday night, madam?” Detective Graham asked.

  “Here. Minding my own business.” Martha picked up a blanket from the bed, folded it, and smoothed down the edge. She deliberately avoided looking at the detective. “Doing my washing and fixing supper for Freddy.”

  “If you please, Mrs. Payne,” Sophie said. “Our intention is not to frighten you. The dead woman’s name was Jane Duffin. We only wish to discover who did this to her. If you saw anything last night, anything at all, it might

  help.”

  “There was—” the boy began.

  “Quiet, Freddy.” Martha’s voice was shrill. She set the blanket on the bed and opened the door. “I answered your questions. If that’s all, I’ll thank you to leave now.”

  Sophie’s temperature rose. It was obvious the woman was keeping something from them. “If you please, madam—”

  “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Payne.” Detective Graham spoke over her. He put on his hat and inclined his head. “Sorry to have disturbed you.”

  Sophie couldn’t believe that he wouldn’t continue the interrogation. Martha was lying; Sophie was sure of it. She opened her mouth to say so, but Detective Graham caught her gaze. He narrowed his eye
s and shook his head slightly, communicating that he understood her frustration, but further questioning would do no good.

  Following his lead, Sophie bid the Paynes farewell and followed him through the hall and down the stairs.

  Once they were outside beneath the porch overhang, Detective Graham turned to her. “What do you think?”

  “The woman knows something, but she will not tell us.” Sophie glanced toward the door, feeling the urge to go back inside and demand that Martha tell the truth. “She is scared.”

  “She has a child to protect.” He looked up at the rainy sky and then offered his arm. “Come along.”

  She took his arm, but instead of leading her to the carriage, he led her toward the pub.

  Detective Graham opened the door, letting out a cloud of odors and noise from the establishment.

  “What are—?” Sophie recoiled at the boisterous laughter and the smell of alcohol and unwashed bodies coming from inside the Porky Pie. “What are we doing here?”

  “Waiting,” Detective Graham said. “May I buy you a drink?” They entered and sat at a table in a corner near the door.

  Sophie kept her hands in her lap, not wanting to soil her gloves with whatever stained the tabletop.

  “Come sit here by me, love!” a red-faced man called from a far table. He raised his glass and winked at Sophie.

  His friends laughed.

  Sophie darted a look at the door, measuring the distance toward the exit. “Detective, I really don’t think—”

  “Trust me,” Detective Graham said, looking perfectly comfortable in the seedy pub.

  A serving woman with her hair tied up in a scarf approached their table. She raised a brow when she saw Sophie, her gaze traveling over her gown. “What’ll you have?”

  The detective ordered their drinks.

  The server returned a moment later, placing two smudged-looking glasses filled with amber-colored liquid on the table. She stared at Sophie’s gown again, making Sophie wish she’d brought a shawl. “Anything else?”

  He pulled aside his coat, showing his badge. “Might I have a moment of your time?”

  She scowled, putting a hand on her hip. “Shoulda known you was a copper.”

  The detective sat back, spreading his hands wide. “Was it my dashing good looks?”

  She rolled her eyes as if his suggestion was absurd, but her mouth pulled just a bit. Apparently she wasn’t completely immune to his charm. “You look too nosy-like. Most folks come in here and keep their heads down. Coppers are always asking questions.”

  He grinned. “You must know what I’m planning to ask, then.”

  “Whether I seen anything strange two nights ago when that woman was killed.” She lifted her chin in the direction of the alleyway.

  “Did you?”

  “Too busy working. Not a lot o’ time to be gawking out the window, same as I told the coppers before.”

  He nodded. “Did anyone . . . strange come into the pub Monday evening?”

  “Stranger than your fancy lady?” She jerked her head toward Sophie.

  Sophie pulled back, not sure if the woman had just insulted her or not.

  “Just the constables.” The server shrugged and turned to leave.

  Detective Graham chuckled and took a drink.

  Sophie didn’t touch the dirty glass.

  The pub door opened, and Freddy Payne came inside. He looked around until he spotted them, then made his way toward their table.

  “This is hardly the place for a child,” she whispered.

  “He’s right on time,” Detective Graham muttered back.

  “You expected him?” Sophie asked.

  “The lad knows something,” Detective Graham said. “Flashed him a coin when his mum wasn’t looking.”

  “But how could you have possibly known he’d come?” she asked.

  “I suppose I recognize the sort of lad he is. Reminds me of myself at his age.” He pushed out a chair with his foot, inviting the boy to sit. “Hello there, Freddy.”

  “Evening, sir. Ma’am.” The boy pulled off his cap. He hunched down in his seat, glancing at the door as if worried he’d be seen. “I saw something Monday night.” He spoke in a quiet voice, and Sophie had to lean forward to hear.

  “What did you see, Freddy?” Detective Graham had lowered his voice as well.

  The boy glanced behind him again, then turned back and folded his arms as if waiting for something.

  Detective Graham slid a coin across the table.

  Freddy snatched it up. “The lads and I were gathered down the street, sir, and I seen a wagon stop outside the alley. Thought it was a laundry delivery for my ma, so I hurried over to help her carry it inside. But it drove away quick. And that’s when I saw the dead lady.”

  “You think the wagon brought the woman?” Sophie asked.

  “Don’t know, ma’am,” Freddy said. “Ran for the police as soon as I saw her lyin’ there.”

  “Must have been around seven thirty,” Detective Graham muttered to Sophie. He turned to the boy. “Can you describe the wagon?”

  Freddy pursed his lips to the side. “Like the laundry wagon . . . dark color, maybe black or brown with a door in the back. But the sign was different than normal.”

  “What did it say?” Sophie asked.

  He shrugged. “Dunno, ma’am. Can’t read.”

  Sophie blinked, surprised. The boy was certainly old enough to attend school.

  “Do you remember anything about the sign?” Detective Graham said. “What made it different? What color was it?”

  “The sign was white with black words.” Freddy pursed his lips again, and then his eyes lit up. “And a blue bird.”

  “That is very helpful.” Detective Graham tossed the boy another coin.

  “Thank you, Detective. And please don’t tell Ma I talked to you.”

  “Of course. And thank you for your information.”

  Freddy took a deep gulp of Sophie’s drink and swept the back of his hand over his mouth as he plunked it back onto the table. He gave a cheeky bow, put on his hat with a grin, then hurried out of the pub.

  Sophie stared after him, shocked at the boy’s audacity.

  Detective Graham leaned back in his chair and laughed.

  Chapter 11

  When Jonathan left the courthouse the next day, after giving testimony against a burglary gang, he was met by a constable with a report of another body discovered near Wentworth in Spitalfields.

  An hour later Jonathan and Sergeant Lester crouched in the shadows, studying yet another murder victim in what was becoming an almost daily ritual. Today, however, the body hadn’t been left in a public alley but at an abandoned worksite. The location was not one Jonathan had frequented, but it was known to him. They were in the burnt husk of an old workhouse. Fire had destroyed the building over a year earlier, and apparently city planners and parliament couldn’t reach an agreement over what should become of the property. Months of disputes had resulted in a stalemate.

  The owners wished to tear it down completely, as well as some of the surrounding buildings, to accommodate an inner-city railroad. The local council hoped to raise funds to rebuild the workhouse, and the latest party to join the fray was a group of philanthropists petitioning for a finishing school that catered to underprivileged young ladies.

  Since no decision had been reached, the city had enclosed the area with a temporary wooden fence in a pathetic attempt to keep out vagrants and criminals. The remains of the massive stone building were blackened, one wall completely collapsed.

  As they waited for a photographer and Dr. Peabody, Jonathan and Sergeant Lester were careful not to disturb the crime scene. Neither man touched the body—no need to check for a heartbeat. The man was clearly dead and had been for some time.

  Jonat
han sat back, pressing the back of his wrist to his nose in hopes of stifling the odor. Animals had found the corpse long before a constable had smelled it, and Jonathan feared there was little hope for identification. Thank goodness Miss Bremerton had not accompanied him today. The young woman did not possess a weak constitution, but this . . . The sight was disturbing, even to a seasoned police detective.

  “A pity Lady Sophronia didn’t come today,” Sergeant Lester said, swatting away a slow-moving fly.

  Jonathan’s gaze snapped to the sergeant, and he wondered if the man had developed overnight the power to read minds. “Why do you say that?”

  “She’d have already drawn the scene, and we could be finished here.” Sergeant Lester shrugged. “Not the most pleasant body we’ve come across.” He glanced around. “Nor do I fancy the location. Bit eerie, if you ask me. Lady Sophronia would at least provide the opportunity for pleasant conversation.”

  “And I don’t?” Jonathan snorted. He rose, walking toward the gate to wait for the photographer there. He nodded to the constables posted at the crime scene entrance.

  “No offense to you, Detective,” Sergeant Lester said, catching up to walk with him. “Nice change of pace, having a lady around. That’s all I meant.”

  “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.