Situated on the north bank of the Thames near the London Docks, the air there had a salty flavor. Wapping was primarily occupied by trades dedicated to seafarers who docked their ships in the harbor’s man-made pools, but other businesses and factories had set up in the area too, attracting laborers and tradesmen—among them, Henderson & Son Manufacturing.
Jasper helped Leo and Miss Brooks descend from the cab, the latter of whom was wearing her matron’s uniform and an irrepressible expression of interest. Dita, as Leo called her, had been more than willing to come along to Henderson’s factory in the hope of identifying the lady in the hooded cloak.
“I didn’t see her face, mind you,” she’d said when Jasper had collected them both at Leo’s house on Duke Street. “But the lightblue embroidery on her cloak should be recognizable, if she has worn it to work.”
It would at least be enough to bring Miss Morris down to Scotland Yard for questioning. That was, if they could find her there. The factory would certainly have been among the places Andrew Carter would have looked for his former lover. If she was laying low, she might also be avoiding her place of work. Still, it was worth a try.
The ride to the East End docklands had been relatively quiet, with Miss Brooks carrying most of the conversation. As outgoing and gregarious as the police matron was, it only served to highlight Leo’s own reserved and cautious personality. And his own. They were traits Jasper understood and respected, and it was why his blunder with Bridget O’Mara earlier weighed so heavily. He hadn’t been cautious enough. Hell, he should have sent Lewis to meet with her, not gone himself.
Vera. His mother’s name had always seemed too elegant and strong for her. She’d been quiet and submissive, afraid of her own shadow, it seemed to him when he’d been young. After his father’s death, which Jasper didn’t remember, she’d remained tied to her husband’s family. Specifically, to his cousin, Robert. Jasper had called himuncle, though he wasn’t that.
It had been imprudent of him not to consider that he might have grown to resemble his mother.But what were the chances that the C.I.D.’s informant, of all people, would remember Vera enough to draw a connection between them?
She had a boy and a babe on the way.Damn it. He needed to focus on the investigation, not Bridget O’Mara’s words.
Jasper asked the driver to wait and then started for the large brick building. A wide, gated yard ran alongside it, packed with drays and crates and laborers. Black smoke pumped from twin stacks on the roof of the factory. Lettering carved from woodand painted black, hung on the exterior brick, spelling out the company name.
The front entrance brought them into a lobby. It also appeared to be a showroom for wallpaper designs. Samples hung on accordion racks, and a wall of cubed recesses held rolls upon rolls of wallpaper, many of them featuring bright green pigments. A woman stood from a desk to greet them.
“May I help you?”
Jasper showed her his warrant card as he first introduced himself, then Leo and Miss Brooks. The woman’s friendly expression dissipated.
“You’re here about Miss Henderson. I mean, Mrs. Carter,” she said, correcting herself quickly.
Jasper took in the woman’s appearance. She appeared a decade too old to be Regina Morris. Lawrence Wilkes had described her as younger than twenty-five and pretty. This woman was handsome, but she was at least thirty-five, perhaps forty. Gray streaked her blond hair, and the first lines of age surrounded her mouth and eyes.
“We’d like to speak to Mr. Henderson,” he told her. “Is he in?”
The woman winced. “He is, but he’s in quite a state.”
It might have been hard-hearted of him, but Gabriela’s father being in ‘a state’ was exactly what Jasper had been hoping for. He’d yet to speak to Jack Henderson; Carter, Wilkes, and Bloom’s waiters all had stronger motives and opportunities to have lashed out. Regina Morris too. However, it was his duty to consider all those who were known to Gabriela.
“Let him know we’re here, thank you, Miss…?” Jasper instructed.
She faltered, not understanding that he was asking for her name. But then, she jumped with the realization. “Geary, Inspector. Miss Geary.”
She bobbed her head and left the showroom through a door behind her desk. Jasper turned toward Leo and Miss Brooks. “When we are speaking with Mr. Henderson?—”
“Let you do the talking,” Leo recited as she rolled her eyes. “Yes, I know.”
Miss Brooks bit back a smile at Leo’s exasperation.
The secretary returned to show them into an office encumbered by what looked to be years of accumulated possessions: papers, trinkets, framed photographs and paintings, boxes of rolled wallpaper, shelves of ledgers, all arranged haphazardly. A haze of cigar smoke lingered near the wattle and daub ceiling. A large man with a ring of silver-speckled black hair, combed around a liver-spotted pate, waited for them in front of his desk, the top of which could not be seen beneath the detritus.
“Either tell me you’ve arrested the bastard who killed my daughter or get out.”
Disgruntled family members were no rare thing. By now, Jasper knew not to show his belly by bowing and scraping nor to be too high in the instep.
“No one has been placed under arrest yet, Mr. Henderson?—”
“Bloody incompetent fools!” he shouted before popping a lit cigar back into his mouth.
“However, the investigation is progressing,” Jasper went on, as if the man had not spoken. “May I introduce Miss Spencer and Miss Brooks. They were both at the dance hall at the time of your daughter’s death.”
The man frowned at Leo and Dita. “Why have you come?”
Leo parted her lips to answer, but Jasper beat her to it. “I’ve some questions for you and for one of your employees.”
