“You are in the minority, Constable, I’m sure,” she said. “Though, it’s kind of you to say.”
“I’m not being kind. I’m being honest. And please, call me Elias.”
She didn’t know what to say in response. Wasn’t it possible to be both kind and honest? And did she wish to call him by his given name? It wouldn’t be so intimate, she supposed, but then, it would be only right to invite him to call her Leonora. Or perhaps, Leo, as she more preferred.
But she pinned her lower lip with her teeth, keeping silent.
“You truly thought the article ungenerous toward you?” he asked after a moment’s quiet while they waited for a few cabs and horses to pass on the Strand.
On a second reading, she’d calmed enough to see that it was mostly factual. What bothered her most was the mystery surrounding the inspiration for the article in the first place.
“I merely thought it was cowardly of the author not to name himself. Or herself, I suppose,” she replied.
“It’s common practice for a newspaper when they haven’t paid for an article,” he said.
“How do you mean?”
An opening in traffic allowed them the chance to cross, and as they did, he explained, “Editors will try out new writers from time to time. Think of it as an audition of sorts.”
Leo stepped up onto the pavement. “How do you know this?”
Constable Murray shrugged bashfully. “When I was younger, my friend’s father owned a printing press and published a small journal. His work was always more intriguing to me than my own father’s and grandfather’s—that of maintaining law and order,” he said with a self-effacing grin. “It’s why I’m at theGazette.”
“At least theGazetteis a respectable publication,” she said.
He nodded, keeping his hands clasped behind him as he walked. It made him look very much like a beat constable. “Perhaps, though it is rather mundane. I should think a real newspaper would be more exciting.”
“Is writing what you are interested in?” she asked.
He bobbed his head. “More than policing, if I am honest.”
Leo slowed as they approached Duke Street. After reading the complaints file, specifically the account of Mr. and Mrs. Nelson’s dead children, she’d considered going toThe Timesto see if they’d run any stories about the sorry tale. She had the date of the children’s deaths—August of last year—and she also had a contact there. Mr. Fordham Graves wrote the paper’s police columns.
“I know someone atThe Times,” she said as they walked along Duke Street. “I could recommend you to him.”
A slow grin formed on Constable Murray’s lips. He was rather handsome, she supposed. But was the flustered stateof her stomach and nerves attraction? Leo wasn’t sure. As he thanked her but told her that wasn’t necessary, she began to feel uneasy about this walk home and the attention he’d been paying her. Gracious, what if he was about to ask her to dine with him again? He couldn’t possibly wish tocourther. Could he?
She was grateful when her terrace house came into view. And even more so when a hansom pulled up along the curb, the driver calling to his horses to stop. The door to the cab opened, and Jasper emerged. His attention went first to Leo, then speared the constable next.
“Inspector Reid,” Constable Murray said, his voice cracking in surprise to see the detective here.
Jasper was, to Leo’s astonishment, an inch or two shorter than the constable. And yet, it was Constable Murray who appeared cowed. Jasper looked at the man skeptically as though trying to place him. “You work in the office of theGazette.”
“Yes, sir. PC Elias Murray, sir.”
Wordlessly, Jasper hitched his chin and looked between the constable and Leo.
“Constable Murray was walking me home,” she said, unnecessarily. Then, even more unnecessarily, “And now, we are here.”
The constable swiveled on his heel to face her, bobbed his head, and bid her a good evening. He did the same to Jasper and then started back the way they’d come, his gait brisk.
“I think you scared him,” Leo said as she approached the front door. She unlocked it and let herself in, and Jasper entered the front hall on her heels.
“How do you know theGazetteofficer?” he asked.
“The unidentified corpses, remember? I’m giving him descriptions for printing.” She handed him the folder of complaints and then removed her coat, hat, and gloves. Whenshe’d hung up her things, she took the folder back to allow Jasper to remove his own coat and hat. However, he didn’t.
“Why was he walking you home?”
