For a moment, she considered he might be upset. But then, Jasper was always scowling about one thing or another.
“He wanted to share that a John Doe has been identified based on my description of the body,” she said, biting her tongue against saying anything more. She hadn’t divulged to Jasper that she’d dined out with Constable Murray and didn’t intend to discuss it now.
“He hardly needed to walk you home to tell you that,” he grumbled, then took back the folder without removing his outer trappings. He seemed perturbed, and Leo perked up.
“What is it? Something you found out from Mr. Carter? Or at Miss Morris’s address?”
Jasper didn’t answer straightaway. Instead, he tapped the folder against his palm.
“Have you eaten?” he asked.
The strange question spun her about. “Of course, I haven’t. I’ve only just arrived home.”
At the back of the hall, Claude appeared, having come from the kitchen. “Ah, Inspector. I wondered whose voice that was alongside my niece’s.”
“Uncle Claude, Jasper wants to know if we’ve eaten.”
Now that the danger of Constable Murray asking her to dine had passed, she realized she was rather hungry. She hadn’t had more than a few biscuits for tea, and that had been hours ago.
Her uncle cast a look toward the back of the house. “No. There was an…incident this afternoon with Mrs. Boardman. Things have been out of sorts here ever since.”
Leo’s heart dropped. The nurse had been getting on so well with Flora, but Leo knew how erratic her aunt could be. She only hoped Mrs. Boardman hadn’t given her notice.
“Not to worry. I can make something, I’m sure,” Leo said, her mind casting about for anything she could prepare that wasn’t eggs, toast, and kippers. The breakfast items were just about the only things she could cook that were halfway decent.
“Would Mrs. Feldman be able to make a trip to Charles Street?” Jasper asked. Again, he’d set Leo back on her heels. “Mrs. Zhao prepares too much for me alone. We could eat there.”
Leo blinked, speechless. He wanted themallto dine at his home? It was a generous and wholly unexpected invitation, and it took Claude by surprise too. Her uncle’s silver brows shot up, his face taking on the same expression he wore whenever someone complimented him or said something that he didn’t quite know how to respond to.
“Is that Mr. Dibley?” Flora shuffled into the hall. Claude must have left her in the kitchen alone—something that could have proved disastrous.
She took small, waddling steps forward, her dress one of the black beaded mourning gowns she had stored in her cedar chest. Leo hadn’t seen it in years, and she presumed it had something to do with the trouble with Mrs. Boardman today.
“Not Mr. Dibley, my darling,” Claude said, taking her arm gently.
Mr. Dibley had been Flora’s piano teacher when she was a child. For some reason, she had begun to think every visitor that came knocking was her long-dead instructor.
“Mrs. Feldman.” Jasper removed his hat, and as if that alone had been concealing his whole face, Flora gasped in surprise.
“Jasper Reid!” A smile crinkled her crepey cheeks as she sang his name, knowing him at once. Of course, she would. With a bittersweet smile, Leo thought of how her aunt had adored Jasper from the start.Such a handsome young man,she had said countless times over the years.And such manners, she would add,for a boy come in off the streets.
Flora’s affection for the Inspector’s ward, compared to her utter indifference for her own niece, whom she had been forced to take in, had baffled Leo. It still did. She’d felt pangs of envy in the past, but no longer. In fact, Flora’s warmth toward Jasper was a relief; any opportunity to see her aunt happy was reassuring, especially these days.
“Inspector Reid has invited us to dine with him tonight,” Claude explained to his wife.
“Oh, dear me,” Flora said, her faded blue eyes glittering. “How lovely.”
“I have a cab waiting,” Jasper said, taking down Leo’s coat from the stand. He held it up, indicating that he meant to help her into it. She inserted her arms, the assistance peculiar yet comforting.
“This isn’t necessary,” she whispered while Claude helped Flora into her coat and hat. “I’m not totally inept in the kitchen.”
“Am I to believe you would prefer your own cooking to Mrs. Zhao’s?”
Leo relented. “Very well, no.”
He opened the door. “Besides, you can tell me over dinner what you found in that complaints file.”
“That is hardly appropriate dinner conversation.” Especially the story about the Nelsons’ poor children.
