by Shelley Gray
“Perhaps her name solves that mystery. Do you have a name?” Sean asked.
“I do. Turns out ladies like her get their names embroidered in the linings of their cloaks.” The officer glanced at his notepad. “So unless she was wearing a borrowed garment, our victim is Miss June Redmond.”
Owen blanched. “This is June?”
Sean looked at him sharply. “You know her?”
Owen nodded, his expression ashen. “She, uh, used to be good friends with my sister Charlotte. She was a pretty girl. Lively. Sweet. Played the piano.” Looking as if he were literally forcing out each word, he cleared his throat. “She was also considered quite a catch.”
“Well, she ain’t nothin’ but dead now.”
Sean hardened his tone. “Fuller, watch yourself.” Though he knew why the captain had ordered even desk sergeants like Fuller to the scene, it was obvious that Fuller was out of his element.
“Sorry, sir. And I’m real sorry for you, Detective Howard.” He wiped his face with a handkerchief. “I keep thinking it’s going to get easier one day, but each one of these incidents makes my heart bleed, it does.”
“We don’t know for certain that this woman even is Miss Redmond,” Sean pointed out. “Let’s go take a look.”
Luckily, Owen was already leading the way. Since Sean had already looked at the victim closely before he went to retrieve his partner, he kept a few paces behind, wanting to allow him a small amount of privacy to look on the body.
Even Fuller, never one to pass up an opportunity to either make a joke or tease Owen about his reputation, looked subdued as he lifted the corner of the worn blanket covering the woman’s face.
Owen knelt down, flinched, then closed his eyes. When he opened them again, his whole expression had changed. Cold, hard, ten years older.
And when he raised his head to meet Sean’s eyes, Sean knew that the woman had been Owen’s sister’s friend. And that somehow, someway, this investigation had just reached a very dark, very personal stage.
Because at this moment, Owen Howard looked mad enough to pass out judgment himself. He looked as far from a suave and elegant gentleman who had kissed Eloisa’s hand as Sean did.
So much so that Sean wondered if Eloisa would even recognize Owen as the same man.
When Constable Barnaby appeared at Sean’s office a little after eight the following morning, his ears were red. After the briefest of knocks on the molding surrounding the door, he sputtered, “Lieutenant, sorry for interrupting, but you’ve got a caller.”
Sean had gotten home in the early morning, fallen into an exhausted slumber for three hours, then had gone back to the fairgrounds to look over the site of the murder in the light of day. June’s appearance at the fair had been something of a mystery. As far as they could tell, she had gone to the Midway Plaisance with a group of men and women who bordered on the fringes of good society.
Owen had even been disturbed when they’d pieced together the names of many of the crowd she’d been with. Only when Owen told Sean most of the men had been friends of Douglass Sloane had Sean understood. If June had been keeping company with men like that, it stood to reason that she wouldn’t have been as closely protected or sheltered as a woman of shining reputation like Eloisa Carstairs.
Sean was groggy from lack of sleep, stressed from the vision of cement stained with June’s blood—which seemed determined to be forever embedded in his mind—and was currently doing his best to catch up on the latest crime reports with his sergeant before Owen came in.
Which was why he was in less than a charitable mood to be interrupted in such a fashion. “Protocol, Constable.”
“Sorry, sir. But—”
Sergeant Fuller interrupted. “Now, obviously, the lieutenant is busy, Barnaby. Tell whoever has come calling that he will see him in his own time.”
“It’s not a him. I mean, a woman is here. I mean, it’s a lady.”
From time to time, they received visits from some of the more wily prostitutes near the shipyards. They’d come in with a story about a pimp or a young gent, usually in the winter, as an excuse to warm up a spell. Sean had no idea why Barnaby would call one of those women a lady.
However, today was not the day for that. “Tell her I don’t have time for that,” Sean said. With a wink at Fuller, he added, “But you can listen to her grievance, if you want.”
“Just beware, lad,” Fuller said with a wicked smile. “Most likely she’ll be riddled with pox.”
As expected, Barnaby’s entire face lit up like a flame. Then he blurted, “Lieutenant, your caller is Miss Carstairs. Sir.”
At once, all thoughts of ribald humor fled. He straightened. “Pardon?”
“The lady downstairs is Miss Eloisa Carstairs, sir, and she’s sitting in the main lobby with a pair of thieves and about half the uniforms on duty. And when I tried to tell her this station weren’t no place for the likes of her, she said she wasn’t going to move until you had time to meet with her.”
Sean got to his feet. “Good Lord.” Already walking toward the door, he said, “Sergeant, we’ll have to finish this discussion later.”
Fuller sauntered down the hall, trailing behind him. “Didn’t know you could still hop to your feet so fast. Looks like I had better take a peek at this lady.”
Sean ignored the teasing as he reached up and made sure his collar was buttoned on straight and his tie was securely knotted. By the time he rushed down the flight of stairs and entered the main lobby, his heart was beating fast.
The moment he saw her, dressed in a sapphire-blue, wool day dress, wearing smart black boots on her feet and a fussy hat that drew the eye to her beautiful face, he was barely aware of Sergeant Fuller inhaling behind him.
Sean knew from experience that Eloisa incited that reaction from most men.
She was sitting on one of the wooden ladderback chairs, chatting with one of the uniformed officers. Sean was glad the man had had the sense to stay close to her side. When he was roughly a dozen feet or so away from her, she turned her head and smiled. “Hello, Lieutenant.”
Before he knew what he was about, he found himself reaching for her outstretched, gloved hand and helped her rise. However, he wasn’t able to prevent himself from scowling. She had no business being in such an area.
“Miss Carstairs, please tell me you are all right.”
Confusion swam in her eyes before she nodded. “Of course I am.” She looked down at her hands, at her dress, then raised her chin in confusion. “Why do you ask?”
“Because you should know better than to be anywhere near here. I believe Constable Barnaby indicated as much to you.”
“I’m sorry if I worried you. I was merely hoping to have a few moments of your time.” Gazing at him prettily, she asked, “Do you have time for me?”
Sean did his best to ignore Fuller’s chuckle behind him. Completely aware of every man in the room, even the pair of peddling thieves, listening in unapologetically, he leaned closer. “If you wished to speak with me, you should have sent word with a servant.”
But to his surprise, she ignored his cool tone and stepped a little closer. Close enough for the faint scent of gardenias to tempt him. “I didn’t want to cause you any more trouble than I already have.”
He hated the idea of Eloisa’s visit becoming a topic of conversation and gossip. She was too sweet, too fragile for that. However, he also knew if he shook his head every other man in the vicinity would volunteer for the privilege.
“Come with me,” he said, his speech clipped and his concern for her making his voice harsh. “Sergeant Fuller,” he said, looking at his shadow, “please see that I am not disturbed.” Unable to help himself, he gently rested a palm on the small of Eloisa’s back as he guided her through the room and back up the staircase.
As he passed Fuller, the sergeant’s gaze flickered toward him. “You picked the right man to seek help from, miss,” he said politely. “Ain’t a better man on the force, and that’s a fact.”
Eloisa met the grizzled man’s gaze. “I am beginning to realize that, Sergeant. Thank you.”
The moment they reached the stairs and started their ascent, Sean could hear the low murmurings begin behind him. No doubt this visit would be a topic of conversation for the next year.
When they reached the second floor, he stepped to her side and led Eloisa into his office at the end of the hall. Aware that men in the other offices had begun to step into the hall, hoping to catch the unusual sight of a gently bred lady in their midst, he snapped the door shut behind them the moment they were inside his small, cramped space.
Her eyes widened as she gazed around the room.
He tried to look at it from her perspective. He smelled the musty odor of books and files and saw the windowsill in need of cleaning. Chairs with scarred wood and frayed cushions. His desk, if not Owen’s, littered with too many papers. An empty coffee cup.
And Sean wasn’t sure if she was suddenly worried about being alone with him in close quarters or if she’d finally come to the conclusion that he was no one she should ever know—even if Owen worked there too. But she looked a little taken aback.
Then she exhaled softly, gazed at him with a soft expression, and almost smiled. “May I sit down, Sean?”
And that was when he realized at that very moment, he didn’t care that they shouldn’t know each other. That she shouldn’t be in a police precinct office.
All he was able to do was brush off the chair Fuller had been sitting in and gesture toward it. “Of course. Please, do sit down.”
But he had to make her understand. Her safety was at stake.
CHAPTER 16
Little in her life had prepared Eloisa Carstairs for her current situation. At the moment, she was sitting in a rather rickety chair across from Lieutenant Ryan. He was sitting behind one of two desks in a small, cramped office. From what she’d had the chance to observe as they walked down the hall, there were several such offices like his in a confusing maze on the second floor of this police station.
After stopping by Hope House with Juliet to drop off some small toys and blankets for the children, she’d sent her maid to do some shopping with their driver, leaving them to assume she had never left Hope House when they returned to find her still there. Then she had come to the precinct unescorted, which was an experience in itself.
When Constable Barnaby, who had escorted her home the night before, saw her and suggested she should not be there, she informed him she would stay until Lieutenant Ryan was available. Looking exasperated, he asked her to take a seat in the waiting area and went to find Sean.
Furthermore, it seemed as though a woman sitting in the lobby was an unusual occurrence. Every man in the room—and there were a great many—stared at her in a bold, assessing way. She’d dealt with this by pretending she wasn’t bothered by their stares in the slightest and chatting with the kind officer who came to stand by her side. All the while wishing she’d, perhaps, been a little less impulsive when she’d decided after a light breakfast of tea and toast to visit Sean. Perhaps he was in no hurry to see her.
In the few minutes she waited, as more men came out of the woodwork and stared at her in a rather rude way, Eloisa realized she had indeed been terribly foolhardy and capricious. This was a scary place, and she was worried about what Sean was going to say when he saw her. So nervous that several times she’d even considered darting out of the police station and hurrying away.
And she would have done that, too, except for one thing—she felt more alive and more in control of her life than she had in years.
Years.
When Sean did appear in the waiting room, a dark scowl on his face made everyone in the room scatter like roaches blinded by light, and Eloisa knew he probably wasn’t going to want to hear about how her new taste of freedom felt.
He had not. Instead, he strode to her side, glared, asked her a few questions, and then bit out three words. “Come. With. Me.”
As a couple of men chuckled under their breaths, Eloisa did as she was bid, following Sean up the stairs, down the hall, and into this office.
When he stopped, he pointed to yet another rickety, wooden ladderback chair. “Sit.”
She sat, attempting to shake out her blue wool skirts in a pleasing way as she did so. It seemed some old habits die hard.
Now, as she stared up at Sean, who, instead of walking around his desk and sitting, had decided to perch against the edge of the desk, she realized that something had happened that had been completely out of her hands.
She was developing an affection for this Irish police officer with the handsome good looks, rough hands, and absolutely mesmerizing hazel eyes.
He, on the other hand, was no doubt beginning to wish he’d never come to her aid in the Gardners’ ballroom.
When it was apparent that he wasn’t going to lead the conversation, Eloisa began. “Lieutenant Ryan, forgive me for intruding upon your time.”
“Forgive you for intruding?”
“Yes.” She swallowed. “I know you asked me to wait at home until you had a moment.”
“You remember that, do you?” His accent was thicker than she’d ever heard it.
“Of course I remember.” She attempted to smile. “And, well, I know you are very busy. And, um, I also know it’s technically none of my business . . . but I need to know who last night’s victim was.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Technically?”
She wasn’t sure if he knew what the word meant. “Yes, I meant, um, theoretically.”
“I knew what you meant.”
She felt her cheeks heat. “All right. Well, what I am trying to say . . . is that while the Slasher’s latest victim isn’t any of my business, it hasn’t stopped me from worrying.”
He took a fortifying breath. “Miss Carstairs—”
“Eloisa.”
“Pardon?”
“Please, could you call me by my first name? I thought we’d agreed to that.” She needed to be close to him again. Needed the warmth in his eyes, the tenderness in his touch. She needed it as much as she needed the answers she’d come for.
“It isn’t—”
“At least when we’re alone?”
To her dismay, he looked even more uncomfortable. “Miss Carstairs, I would rather not share anything with you at this time.”
“Why not?”
“It’s been my experience that sometimes when we think we want to know the worst, discovering the truth doesn’t make it better.”
“Please,” she begged again, hating that she sounded high strung even to her ears. Wary. Bordering on manic. “I wouldn’t have come here if it wasn’t so important to me. Please—”
“The victim was June Redmond, Eloisa.”
She exhaled. And just like that, all the fight and gumption left her.
The Slasher had gotten to June. Images of June, with her darkblonde hair and ditzy attitude and easy laugh, suffused her. Along with the knowledge that June had recently been feeling as stifled as Eloisa had lately. They’d been kindred spirits of a sort.
Rumors had recently abounded about June. Gossips claimed she had begun to frequent some of the more unseemly salons and cafés in the city. Some women whispered that they’d heard June had been seen on the arms of some of the businessmen in the city. Men who might have a lot of money but little else in their favor.
Finally, Eloisa recalled the time June and she had been guests of Veronica Sloane a little over a year ago. Veronica had been in fine form, lashing out at any woman she’d deemed a rival for the gentlemen’s attention.
The whole evening had been so exasperating—and never-ending—that she and June had stayed close together. They told jokes and made a few rather snide comments about their hostess as the night wore on.
Eloisa wasn’t proud of her behavior. But it was an evening she remembered with more than a touch of true fondness. After all, there were so very few other girls in their situations. And now June was gone.<
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Sean leaned forward, his expression intense. “You knew her.”
She inclined her head. “I did. Quite well.”
“Is there anything you could tell me about her?”
How could she attempt to describe June so someone who had never met her would understand the type of person she was? It seemed an impossible task. “I’m not sure what I could say that would be of use.”
“Come now. Surely you can think of something. Anything that might be of interest to this criminal? We are learning he seems to be targeting not only wealthy women, but those who are at the height of popularity.”
“That wasn’t June.” Thinking of Danica, she added, “That wasn’t Danica, either. Both of those girls hadn’t been popular. Before they made their debuts, everyone thought they would be very popular. They were not.”
“Why was June not well received?” His speech turned even more clipped. “Eloisa, I need to understand the kind of woman she was. And, it seems, the kind of lady she wasn’t.”
“I don’t want to speak poorly of her.”
“Eloisa, please. So far, all we know is that she was beautiful and rich.”
The offhanded comment burned. “She was more than that,” she said quickly. “June had a delicious sense of humor. Stinging.”
“Bad enough that, perhaps, she might have inadvertently stung someone’s pride?”
“I don’t know. I knew her, Lieutenant Ryan. But though we were friends, I didn’t know her well enough to guess what might have upset a murderer.”
Sean pressed his knuckles onto the flat surface of his desk. “Detective Howard is with her family this morning. I’m sure he’ll get some information, but they might not be very forthcoming. I know you feel disloyal. I know you’re upset. But I need your honesty. Eloisa, I need your help.”
For the first time, she saw real fear in his eyes. Fear for her, fear for the other ladies in her midst.
“June has been out as long as I have. She, like me, has also not made a match. She was tired. Tired of the pressure, tired of the sameness that makes up our days. She . . . she began to become a bit . . . reckless with her time and her companions.”
