“What was that commotion?” she asked as he and Lewis stepped inside and closed the door.
“That isn’t your concern.” Jasper pulled out the chair across the table and sat. Lewis remained standing.
She arched a thin blonde brow as she looked Jasper over. “My, that is a considerable amount of bruising, Inspector. Whatever did happen?”
Her goading smirk failed to have the effect she desired. The brief scrap with Tomlin had been enough to work out the knot of frustration coiled within him. The release of tension in his arms and back put a grin on his face.
“Porter Stewart is expected shortly, along with his solicitor. I’m sure he will be relieved to hear that his wife is safe,” Jasper said, still grinning.
Her brittle smirk cracked.
“How long do you think he and Sir Elliot will hold out before throwing you to the wolves? Their reputations are at risk, after all,” he added.
Mrs. Bates hitched her chin. Her hands were folded demurely on the table before her. “They can accuse me, but they have no proof.”
Jasper nodded, giving the question some thought. “You did well at first, keeping yourself in the background. Directing matters with an artful hand. You certainly concealed your involvement in the bombing well enough. That is, until your new maid told my detective sergeant here about finding a certain valise under your bed.”
Her nostrils flared, her eyes flicking toward Lewis. “She is lying.”
“I’m sure the magistrate will consider that possibility. But I doubt he’ll be convinced.”
The smugness drained from her face.
“We know you colluded with the Spitalfields Angels. You’re a Paget by birth, and your staff will testify that your family are known visitors to your home—only by way of the back door, of course.” Jasper drummed the table with his fingers. “To whomdid you give the valise after procuring it from the Stewarts’ attic?”
Mrs. Bates said nothing.
“Which Angel?” he pressed. “Was it Clive? Or Lester Rice? We know he has ties to Clan na Gael. He would have had access to materials for a bomb.”
Her lips remained sealed. She’d as good as turned to stone.
“You wrote a letter to Clive Paget about a month ago. Your maid—whom I imagine you’re wishing you hadn’t hired—can attest to that as well. The warder, Miss Hartley, confirmed Clive is your father.”
When she remained stoic, Lewis said, “The information’s easy enough to get through birth records.”
It was true, though it would be a hassle.
“I see. You’re afraid of them,” Jasper guessed. “Give up a name, and you’ll likely be dead before you go to court.”
She withdrew her hands from the table, the chains on the iron cuffs clanking. “I will confess to nothing. If you’re determined to charge me with a crime, then do so.”
“With pleasure,” he said, then stood. He would get nothing more out of her, but there was enough circumstantial evidence and witness testimony, not to mention the attack on Leo outside Holloway Prison, for a jury to convict her.
Lewis opened the door, and Jasper turned to leave.
“You will want to keep an eye on Miss Spencer, Inspector.”
He spun back around and glared. “Pardon?”
“There are whispers,” Mrs. Bates said with an easy shrug.
He returned to the table and braced against it with his knuckles. “What whispers?”
She hedged. “What is it worth to you?”
“She’s playing with you, guv,” Lewis warned. “Let’s go.”
Jasper pushed off the table, but he wasn’t convinced Lewis was right. With her connection to one of London’smost notorious gangs, it was possible Emma Bates had heard something about Leo, whose family had, after all, been slaughtered by one of the Angels’ enemies.
