She’d already reached the stairs and started down. “Right. Good. I’ll report back later today.”
As she disappeared, Jasper scrubbed a hand through his hair. He’d opened a door that could lead straight to trouble, and he was already sorry for it.
Chapter Eight
Gunnerson’s Rest Home was one of many fine homes along Gray’s Inn Road. The Georgian style manse, constructed of yellow limestone, had once been the home of the Earl of Gunnerson, according to the plaque next to the front door. Leo glimpsed the brass plate as she stood at the top of the front stoop, reading that the earl had gifted the residence to St. Mary’s Hospital to provide a “respectable home for esteemed elders.” It was a rare thing to find a home for the infirm that wasn’t an almshouse or asylum, which were more akin to workhouses. The elderly, for the most part, were cared for at home and were the responsibility of family. A place like Gunnerson’s was not the norm. Nor was it inexpensive.
As Leo brought down the lion’s head knocker on the front door, she thought of her aunt, Flora. Over the last year, her aunt’s deteriorating mind had stripped her of memories and rational thought. Most of the time, it was as if Flora existed in a world no one else could see, a world filled with people from her past, who were almost all deceased.
Now that he was no longer a city coroner, Claude cared for her each day in their home on Duke Street. The nurse he’dmost recently hired and who had been one of the few to tolerate Flora’s sometimes wrathful outbursts, Mrs. Boardman, had been relieved of her duties. There was simply no money for it, and there wouldn’t be until Chief Coroner Giles agreed to Connor’s request and took Leo on as a morgue clerk in an official capacity. Until then, she would beunofficial, just as she was to be here while paying a call on Esther Goodwin, per Jasper’s instructions.
While it grated somewhat, she chose instead to focus on the fact that he had asked her to speak to someone connected to the victim. To gather information and report back to him. After feeling unsettled all morning, identifying the body in Gavin Seabright’s room as one of the masked men had helped to center her and clear her mind. So, too, had speaking with Jasper, even if it was about the aspects of the case.
She had missed him. It was difficult to put into words the feeling of ease, of frank reassurance, whenever she was with Jasper. Even when they didn’t agree, or when he was being obstinate, Leo would rather be squabbling with him than not speaking to him at all. After she’d discovered the truth of who he really was, she’d spent months avoiding him. Months uncertain if she could ever trust him again, or herself. As much as she felt justified to hate him, deep in her soul, she knew she could not.
Leo keenly recalled the mixed emotions of relief and guilt when she and Jasper had, after some time apart, found themselves working together again on one of his cases. After kissing him several weeks ago, those same tangled emotions had overwhelmed her on an even grander scale.
A part of her wanted to pretend their kiss had never happened. Another part of her, however, and perhaps a larger part, would not be satisfied by that.
She needed to knock a second time on the front door to Gunnerson’s before someone came to answer. The arrival of awoman in starched uniform lifted Leo’s mind from her whirling thoughts.
“May I help you, madam?”
“I hope so. I’d like to pay a call on Mrs. Esther Goodwin,” Leo replied.
The woman, who appeared to be a nurse of some sort, narrowed her eyes. “Is she expecting you?”
It was a prudent question, one meant to keep away unwanted solicitors.
“No,” Leo answered honestly. “I’m afraid I’ve some news about her sister. I believe she would want to hear it.”
This seemed to give the woman even more suspicion. “Mrs. Goodwin just returned from one of her walks and appears tired, but I will speak to her. What is your name, madam?”
“Miss Leonora Spencer.”
“And what is your connection to her sister?”
Leo had expected to be questioned before being allowed in to see Esther. However, she hadn’t prepared for this question. The honest answer—I was seated next to her at a benefit dinner where she was murdered, then assisted in her autopsy—would likely result in the door being slammed in her face.
She licked her lips and said the next most honest thing: “I am here on behalf of the Metropolitan Police.”
It worked, though she well imagined Jasper’s scathing glare for ignoring his remark about her being thereunofficially. There was no reason anyone at Scotland Yard should learn of it, however, so as the nurse allowed her into the foyer, Leo set aside the twinge of guilt. She was shown to a nearby chair and asked to wait there, while the nurse went upstairs, presumably to speak to Mrs. Goodwin. Leo sat, taking in the entrance hall, decorated in cool tones of blue and perfumed by bouquets of colorful flowers. Everything was clean, tidy, and serene, though not in any spartan way. Residing here almost certainly came at adear expense, and she wondered how Martha Seabright’s sister had come into her wealth.
The nurse returned in short order and, with a nod, indicated Leo should follow her. Esther Goodwin’s rooms were located upstairs at the end of a wide hallway, which had been adorned with thick, blue Aubusson rugs, fine paintings, and more vases of flowers set on pedestal tables. The home must have been large enough for at least a dozen residents, and as she was shown into Esther’s room, an unfamiliar tug of envy pulled at her stomach. If only she and Claude could afford for Flora to be in such a place as this… Then again, the residents here might not appreciate Flora’s confused and frightened outbursts.
“Thank you, Irene,” a woman, whom Leo presumed to be Esther Goodwin, said once she’d turned into a small sitting room. The older woman was seated on a pretty, green settee in front of a wood-burning hearth.
The nurse hesitated a moment before leaving, clearly worried for her charge.
Esther smiled tentatively. “Miss Spencer, I’m told?”
She appeared to be roughly the same age as Martha Seabright, though her dark brown hair had fewer streaks of gray than that of her deceased sister. She seemed relatively young for a rest home; in her early fifties, Leo would guess. But she fit in well with her tasteful surroundings. Her high-necked walking gown was of a current fashion, she wore a touch of rouge on her cheeks, and she held an elegant posture as she gestured for Leo to join her.
“Yes, thank you for seeing me, Mrs. Goodwin. I’m told you’ve just returned from a walk and may be tired, so I won’t take up much of your time.”
Leo selected the matching upholstered green chair next to the settee. In her own dark, serviceable dress, she felt pointedlysomber in the room. Like a dark spot in a pastel-heavy Impressionistic painting.
“Irene is overly cautious,” the woman said. “I’d like to hear the news of my sister. Irene said you’re from the police?”
