“No, it isn’t,” she agreed.
“And I shouldn’t have quizzed you on your memory,” he added. “Though, it really is quite impressive.”
She fiddled with a softened corner of the box that she wanted to go through, suddenly discomfited by his changed bearing. It would be easier if she could simply dislike him. He was, after all, going to be replacing her uncle here. Andher.
“Well… Thank you, Mr. Quinn.”
He stepped back. “I should finish my report.”
Sheshould have been typing that report. The reminder was enough for her to harden again. Once he’d left the crypt, Leo exhaled forcefully, scattering the top layer of dust on the wilted box. She went through it quickly, finding yellowed sheet music for the church organist. Moving on, she reached for an old carpetbag that sat upon a crate on the floor. Then froze.
Next to the crate, the side of a large trunk jutted out. It was made of dark, oiled wood and straps of iron, and the lid was rounded into a camelback dome. The plated corners of the trunk were tarnished and dull. For several moments, she stared at the ornate fanned design of the bolted overlays. Stooping, Leo grabbed hold of the metal ring set into the side of the trunkand pulled. Heavy as it was, laden with possessions inside, it didn’t move far along the rough stone floor. She pulled again, employing more force, and slowly, the trunk came out of its hiding place into full view.
Dropping the handle, she staggered back. A wave of dizziness whirled through her. Leo stared at the steamer trunk, her breaths coming short, and her eyes stinging. She had no doubt that when she opened the latch and threw back the lid, she’d find cushioned walls in bright green velvet and an uncomfortably hard, spring floral-papered bottom. She had seen the interior of this trunk countless times in her memory.
She’d found her family’s steamer trunk. The one in which Jasper had hidden her to save her life.
Chapter Seventeen
The clock in the front sitting room chimed the nine o’clock hour. Impatience crawled along Jasper’s skin.
“Mrs. Zhao, are you ready?” he called, raising his voice for the housekeeper to hear from her rooms off the kitchen, where she had disappeared earlier in a fine temper.
She wasn’t pleased with his decision, but he wasn’t going to change his mind. Not even when she came around the corner in the back hall, her mouth fixed in a scowl.
“I’m made of tough stuff, Mister Jasper. I won’t be chased out of my home,” she said, even as she carried a large carpetbag and wore her hat and long coat.
He took the bag from her. “The Angels are dangerous people. Since I’m not going to be deterred from my duty at the Yard, I won’t have you here alone if they come back to see their threat through.”
Speaking pained his swollen bottom lip as well as the tender bruise that encompassed most of his jaw. His ribs, though wrapped in cotton linen, smarted something fierce if he drew breath too deeply. He’d consented to tea and porridge when Mrs.Zhao insisted it would help the ache in his head. It hadn’t—much.
“I don’t like to leave you,” she said as he ushered them outside.
“You’ll be safer at your sister’s home for now,” he replied. “And I’ll feel easier knowing you’re there.”
He’d never forgive himself if something having to do with his work brought harm to Mrs. Zhao. Last night had been too close.
“Very well,” she said as they walked toward a cabstand near St. James’s Square. “But make sure you eat. And use the salve on the kitchen table for your cuts and bruises.”
He assured her he would. “Don’t worry about me. As soon as the danger has passed, I’ll send for you.”
A cabbie near the stand noticed his signal and urged his horses forward. The housekeeper patted Jasper’s cheek. “If you’re anything like Mr. Reid, I have reason to worry. He was relentless too.”
He made no reply as he gave her the money for the fare, handed her into the cab, and saw her off. Perhaps he was like his father, even if they weren’t of the same blood. Gregory Reid wouldn’t have allowed a vicious beating to keep him down. If anything, it would have spurred him on more persuasively. After Leo left that morning, he’d allowed himself just five minutes of frustration and feelings of impotence before shaking them off. He had a lead to follow up on and a murder to solve.
Signaling another cab, he directed it to Leicester Square. When he entered the lobby inside Seale and Company Bank, the alarmed looks he received seemed to only make his bruised face throb more intensely. He waited in line for one of the clerks to summon him forward to the tall, granite counter. An arched opening allowed an unobstructed conversation. The man eyed him with a touch of skepticism until Jasper introduced himself and showed his warrant card; his skepticism then increased.
“What is it you require, Inspector?” the clerk asked.
“I’d like to know if a man named Niles Foster kept an account with your institution.”
“That would be private information, I’m sure you understand. I cannot divulge?—”
“Mr. Foster is dead. I’m investigating his murder, and I need to know why he would have come to this bank, as I have evidence that he did.”
The clerk looked apprehensively over Jasper’s shoulder to the line forming behind him. “Please lower your voice, Inspector. I do not wish to alarm our patrons.”
“And I do not wish to have to return with constables and a police search warrant, which would be a much more chaotic scene,” he replied.
