“I never went home,” Randolph muttered. It felt like his tongue was three times its size. His gaze landed on the teapot and he gestured to his assistant. “If you’re pouring, I could use a spot of that.”
“Right away, sir.” Willoughby hastened to prepare the tea, and handed it to him. He stood at attention as Randolph took his first blessed sip. “Why are you here so early?” he asked.
“Pardon, sir, but I was just on my way to fetch you at home. I ran into your driver and he mentioned that he dropped you off here last night. I took a chance you might still be here.”
“Indeed,” he said, shaking his head carefully. “I wanted to go over the notes again. I feel like I’m missing something.” Randolph leaned forward, shuffling the papers with one hand, sipping his tea with the other. “Why were you on the way to my….” Randolph looked up meeting Willoughby’s pensive gaze. “I’m beginning to think terrible thoughts whenever I see you, Willoughby.”
“I know, sir. If it helps, it’s no easier for me.”
He had a nauseating feeling, but he had to know. “Well, get on with it, man. Spit it out. What have we got?”
“I’m afraid another body part, sir. This time near the rail station. Found by one of the rail workers early this morning.”
A loud thrum echoed in Randolph’s ears. His vivid dream snapped into his mind. “Jesus, Mary and…is there any way to …” He could barely force the words from his mouth. Fear gripped his throat. “Was it possible to identify the remains?”
“This one is a female, as best they can tell. She’s been cut up pretty bad.”
He leapt to his feet, swaying a moment from the over-indulgence of brandy and the sick feeling in his stomach left over from the dream. “You have a carriage?”
“Aye, sir. Are you quite sure you’re up to the task? I can have it taken to the morgue if you’d rather go home and freshen up a bit.”
Randolph shook his head. This wasn’t happening. It wasn’t possible. Yet, even as he tried to convince himself that it couldn’t be Jane, he had to see it with his own eyes—the sooner the better. “Bring the driver to my office. I want to question him. We were at that train station last night seeing to Miss Goodwin’s departure.”
“I wasn’t aware that Miss Goodwin was leaving town, sir.”
He grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair. “No time to explain, Willoughby. Do as I say, and be quick about it. It’s possible that lunatic was watching us and snatched….” Randolph fought the bile rising in his throat, willing his mind to go in another direction. “Our murderer may have been watching us all along.”
“Aye, sir.” Willoughby’s eyes were filled with more questions than Randolph had time to answer. He gave a short bow and hurried out the door.
Though the sun had yet to rise, the humidity that had held London in its grip for days hung thick in the air. The stench of the Thames wafted under Randolph’s nose, not making his late night drinking any easier to cope with. As the carriage drew near the warehouse, he was glad to see that it appeared abandoned. With any luck, that would lessen the crowds. Young uniformed constables stood at several points outside the building, standing watch and keeping the curious away.
He stepped through the door, adjusting his eyes to the dim light. One of the Bobbies ushered him to a spot several yards from the door, behind a stack of wooden crates. There on the floor lay the dismembered torso of a woman, her breasts removed, her arms and head severed. From his discussions with Dr. Rosenthal, it was clear that, like the others, someone with clear medical knowledge of the human form had dissected the body. Perhaps he should have been used to seeing the bastard’s ghastly work, but some part of him rejoiced that it never got easier. At least it made him human.
Randolph closed his eyes, bolstering his courage before he knelt to examine the body. He was not a religious man by any means, but as he lowered to his knees on the cold damp dirt floor, he silently offered up a small prayer that he not find anything that would suggest this might be Jane.
He waited, watching as Director Hornsby poked and prodded at the dismembered body with a pencil, trying to remember any distinguishing marks on Jane’s body. They’d had one night together unhampered by masks, without secrets—one phenomenal night, and then he’d sent her away. Yet even as he’d seen the sorrow in her eyes when he left, he had hoped that one day…. He blinked away the thought and swallowed hard as he refocused on the gruesome task before him.
“The queen isn’t going to appreciate hearing about this.”
Randolph nodded, sighing inwardly. Presently, he couldn’t care less what her majesty thought. He pulled his notepad from his jacket pocket and tried to ignore the director’s concern. “No one found any weapons?” he asked, jotting in his notebook the time he’d been notified and when he’d arrived on the scene. With any luck, no one had disturbed any crucial evidence. He glanced at the director. “You’ve determined the scene was not disturbed by those who found the body?” he asked.
“What the…” his supervisor blustered. “Mansfield, are you trying to tell me how to do my job? Of course I made sure that no one touched the body.”
He glanced at the few rookie constables, their faces a pale green, looking away from the sight.
“What in blazes is going on in this city? This is the fourth…no, the fifth body part in the past month and damn it, man, we’re no closer to solving this case.”
Bugger to hell, Randolph thought as he studied the partial corpse. He needed no reminder of what he already knew. As one of the lead investigating detectives of the CID, Randolph had to report to this man. In turn, Hornsby must report to Her Majesty, the queen. Not a job Randolph coveted. But when Queen Victoria was displeased, and quite often these days she was, the tension came trickling down through the ranks. He rubbed the back of his neck, still sore from falling asleep at his desk. He tried to give some hope to his harried supervisor. “He’s getting more bold, sir. When they get cocky, that’s when they tend to get sloppy and make a mess of things.”
“Where’s the blood?” Hornsby’s face wore a perplexed grimace.
Randolph looked closer, examining the smooth flesh. There was a smattering of blood, but he was right, there was very little. He made a note.
The ambulatory staff from St. John’s Hospital arrived, with their sheets and gloves intact. “Are we ready to move this to the morgue, inspector?”
Randolph nodded and stood beside Director Hornsby, watching carefully that the hospital’s ambulatory staff didn’t jar the body as they lay it on the pristine white sheet in preparation for transporting it to the morgue. He stared intently at the body part. Though lacking blood, it still showed how fair-skinned the victim was. His gaze did a quick sweep once more in better light to make sure he’d not missed any unusual or distinctive markings. His eye caught a dark spot, possibly nothing more than a shadow. “Wait,” he ordered and knelt down to scrutinize the mark. It was distinct. No question, it was not a shadow, but a birthmark—the size of a small stone and shaped like a crescent moon. Randolph’s stomach turned to ice. His flesh went clammy. “Bloody fucking hell,” he muttered, forcing the bile down his throat. He knew without any doubt that it wasn’t Jane.
“What is it, something familiar about this one, inspector?” He glanced up and met Hornsby’s curious look.
Randolph looked down at the victim and, for the first time in his professional life, lied. It was impossible to explain that he knew exactly who the victim was without opening himself to a barrage of questions—ones that he was not yet prepared to deal with. “Willoughby, follow the ambulance. Make sure this gets to the morgue, and tell Doctor Rosenthal I’ll be by later to discuss his findings.”
Tamping down his unease, Randolph started to walk away, furiously scribbling notes, trying to make sense of his gruesome discovery.
“Mansfield?” Director Hornsby shouted.
Randolph watched as they carted away the body like a piece of morning garbage. A myriad of emotions swirled ins
ide of him, the least of which was how he could find a way to deliver the news to Jane.
“Do your men have any leads on this?” the frustrated man demanded.
“No, sir. But I assure you that once I put the pieces together, you will be the first to know.”
“Quite the humor you have, Mansfield, but the queen is going to want some answers,” he called after him. “And soon!”
He wanted some answers, too. He glanced up and saw one of his constables enter the building and speak to the guard before looking over and spotting him. The young man headed toward him with a purposeful stride, his expression grim. He came up to Randolph and leaned close so as not to allow what he said to be overheard.
“What is it, Jimmy?” Randolph asked, his eyes darting to the attendants discreetly moving the body to the ambulance.
“We have a woman down at the station, inspector. She came looking for you. Says she’s the head kitchen maid for some gentleman’s club and has some information you might be interested in about the disappearance of…” He checked his notes. “Of a woman by the name of Clarice and perhaps, too, a maid named Margareta.”
Randolph stared at the young man, but the image of Madam McFarland asking about his night with Jane sprung into his brain. He had a disturbing sense that the pieces were beginning to fall into place, and he hoped that Wesley’s disappearance was not part of the puzzle. “Keep her there. Don’t let her go back to the Manor. Take down word for word what she says—every detail. Do you understand?”
He nodded. “I don’t think you have any concerns about her going back, sir. She seemed quite upset by something.”
Or someone. Randolph patted him on the shoulder and then searched for Willoughby. He sprinted toward the door, running into his assistant on the way. “Come along, Willoughby. Change of plans. Bring another man and follow me to McFarland Manor. I don’t know how much time we have.”
***
Jane stood at the railing looking out over the dock filled with loved ones and curiosity seekers, those who’d come to see off the ship. She’d barely slept on her sojourn by train through the night. Thoughts of Randolph had occupied her mind and she’d told herself it was for the best, though her heart was not yet convinced. The truth was, she had him to thank for the changes in her. He’d spoiled her for anything less than the passion they’d shared when they were together, a desire so decadent, she hadn’t known it existed before his touch. Deep down, she knew there would never be a man to match him.
She grieved for Jonesy—and for Clarice when she found out about her lover’s death. And for poor Lady Hampton, not knowing where Wesley was. Jane rested her arms on the railing and breathed in the warm, humid ocean air. Ten days, if all went well, and she would be back in Boston. She’d given Lady Hampton a wire to send ahead asking Aunt Cornelia to meet her at port.
Jane looked down at the sea of people on the docks. For a fleeting moment, she searched the crowd, hoping to see Randolph among them.
“You look a million miles away and the ship hasn’t even left dock.”
Jane, recognized the voice and turned her head to find Wesley walking towards her. Relieved beyond hope to see him, she opened her arms. “Wesley, how did you know to find me here?” He scooped her into his embrace and twirled her once before landing her to her feet.
“Well, that’s an interesting story. Serendipitous, really. I happened to be switching trains from visiting my father and mother up north. When they discovered that I hadn’t told Aunt Izzy about my plans, they insisted I send a telegram apologizing first and foremost, and then to clearly explain my actions.”
Jane shook her head, happy to see him, but ready to give him a sound piece of her mind for giving everyone a scare. “Your aunt was beside herself, you know. That wasn’t very considerate of you to just disappear like that. What were you thinking?”
He took Jane’s hands in his and stepped to the rail, his gaze steady, his eyes akin to a child at Christmas. “I’ve enlisted in the Queen’s Army. I wanted to tell my father first, and I could only do that in person. I suppose it wasn’t the brightest idea to leave so suddenly, but I knew that once Aunt Izzy found out I might be shipped to India, she’d try to talk me out of it. I report in for training on Friday.” His expression dimmed. “Aunt Izzy told me about Jonesy and mentioned that Clarice is missing.” He drew her close. “Jane, I can’t fathom what might have happened had Inspector Mansfield not come along when he did.”
Jane pressed her cheek against Wesley’s shoulder, relishing the fact that they were able to make amends before she departed. “Clarice will need you once she finds out about Jonesy.” She stepped from Wesley’s embrace, not wanting to present the wrong idea about how she felt about him. He was a dear friend, but nothing more. Sadly, her heart belonged again to a man who didn’t want her. She looked at Wesley. “I had no idea that she was jealous of my friendship with Clarice. She imagined we shared more, and I suppose her jealousy convinced her beyond reason.”
“I’m not surprised by her behavior. Clarice confided in me on more than one occasion about her fits of jealousy. She mentioned that she sometimes felt unsafe when Jonesy was angry.”
Jane listened, unable to refrain from asking the question on her mind. “Were you and Clarice…if I may ask, seeing each other?”
He hesitated long enough for Jane to put up her hand to stop his answer. “It’s none of my business, Wesley, really.”
He swallowed, looking down at her with hope in his eyes. “I wish more than anything that your curiosity was more personal, Jane. I have never kept my feelings a secret from you. If I thought for one moment that I had a chance—“
She pressed her hand to his mouth, halting his words. “Wesley, you will always hold a special place in my heart as I hope I will in yours. But, look at us! We’re each of us off on our own adventures—you to see the world, and me to embrace the world of journalism.”
He took her hands in his and held them close to his chest. “I shall never forget you, Jane Goodwin.” He smiled down at her. “You’re going to set those bloody reporters on their heels, I know it.”
She smiled, her cheeks warming. Part of her wondered if there was something wrong with her that she couldn’t love a man like Wesley, a man who seemed so perfect for her in every way. He would one day make some woman very lucky.
“I’d like to ask your permission to write to you while we’re apart,” he asked.
“I would truly love to know where you are and that you are well.” She dug through her bag, searching for something in which to write Aunt Corney’s address. Until she could find accommodations on her own, she would likely be living with her. She retrieved the paper, took out her stub of a pencil, and quickly jotted down the information.
The ship’s horn sounded its warning to visitors to depart. Wesley looked down at her and, for a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. Instead, he pulled her close and hugged her tight. “Perhaps one of these days I’ll come to America and you can show me the sights.”
“A splendid idea,” she answered awkwardly, not wanting to say goodbye. The truth was, she wasn’t looking forward to going back to Boston. In many ways, she’d found herself in London and had wanted to explore further the budding relationship with Randolph, but that wasn’t to be. “You know that I wouldn’t be leaving, were it my choice.”
He smiled. “I do know that about you, dearest Jane. Aunt Izzy told me that the inspector thought it best to keep you safe, given the tone of recent notes. Does he think it might have been Jonesy, trying to frighten you off?”
She shook her head. “She was the one who actually blamed Clarice for sending them. She thought that we were taunting her with some sort of cruel game, rubbing her face in the affair she convinced herself that Clarice and I were having.”
Wesley’s expression was thoughtful. “Yes, it makes sense now,” he stated quietly.
“What is that?”
“Clarice always speaks very highly of you, Jane. She is one of yo
ur greatest admirers. I can’t see her sending you notes. If I know Clarice, she would have been very brazen about her feelings toward you.”
“That’s precisely what Inspector Mansfield said.”
He glanced away a moment before returning his steady gaze to hers. “Ah, yes, the good inspector. Any more news on the Thames mysteries?”
“No closer, I’m afraid.” She avoided his gaze, uncomfortable in discussing the subject with him. She blamed Randolph for planting the seed that Wesley might somehow have been involved in sending her the notes. At first, given their sweet flirtatious content, she’d honestly thought the same…but with the tone of the latter notes—malicious and angry—it didn’t seem at all like Wesley.
“What is it, Jane?” He placed his fingertips on her chin, turning her face to his.
“Nothing. It’s silly, really.”
The ship’s horn blasted again.
“Come out with it, Jane. I can always tell when something is worrying you. You get that crease between your brows.” He tapped the end of her nose.
Scores of people were milling down the gangplank, spilling out onto the dock to wave off the ship. She relented with a sigh, dismissing Randolph’s silly notion. Wesley had a right to know “Don’t be surprised if the inspector summons you for questioning when you return to London.”
“Me? Whatever for?”
“Oh, about those infernal notes. He apparently received one on the day he found out you’d left, and then with Clarice running off… well, he’s leaving no stone unturned. He means well, truly. Can you imagine the pressure that poor man is under?”
He regarded her for a moment before speaking. “If it will ease your mind, and his, I will head straight to Scotland Yard and look him up when I return to London. I’d like to offer him what assistance I can in finding Clarice. Aunt Izzy and I will be taking care of arrangements for Jonesy. She had no next of kin.”
The Dark Seduction of Miss Jane Page 28
