“What do you think it means, guv?” Lewis asked as he kept pace with Jasper.
The telegraphed message had been sent to the constabulary from Scotland Yard during the night. However, the constable on duty—the same one who’d been sleeping outside the orphanage’s infirmary—had also slept through the arrival of themessage. When PC Landry arrived at the station, he’d found the ticker tape waiting, deciphered the Morse code, and brought it swiftly to the inn.
S Hayes admits George is Edward. G now missing. Westover is NCR.
There wasn’t room in a brief telegram for context, but Jasper knew the message must have come from Leo and understood what she meant. That she’d gone to Scotland Yard with information regarding his case would not be overlooked by Coughlan or anyone else within the CID. He wasn’t looking forward to the complications it would undoubtedly cause, but that was a worry for another time.
“Stanley Hayes must have arranged to adopt Edward Seabright, whom he raised as his own son, George,” Jasper explained to his detective sergeant as they walked along Hampton Road, now busy with horse-drawn wagons and carts, children and their mothers approaching the costermongers’ handcarts, and a few men in farmer’s threads.
“And now the boy is missing?” Lewis asked.
“It appears that way.”
Stanley had left London with George two days ago. If Leo had spoken to Stanley, did that mean he was back in London? And if George wasn’t with him, where had the boy gone? The questions plagued Jasper. As did the fact that Leo had sent the message. He’d asked her to stand down while he was away, and she’d sworn to do just that. Yet, it seemed she had broken that promise.
“What’s this bit about Matron Westover being NCR?” Lewis asked as Jasper tried to calm his irritation.
Quickly, Jasper reminded him about the old letter found in Martha Seabright’s handbag. Lewis recalled it, though he admitted to having forgotten about the initialsNCRbeing used as a signature. When Jasper went over Leo’s theory—that thepayment enclosed had been for giving up her child, Edward—Lewis hissed through his teeth.
“She sold her own baby to Stanley Hayes? What kind of mum would do such a thing?”
The kind who wanted to be rid of her children, according to Esther Goodwin.
As Wellesley House came into view, Jasper went on, “Our victim last night was Charlotte Radcliff.NurseCharlotte Radcliff.”
Lewis nodded, acknowledging the appropriate initials. “But then how is Matron Westover NCR?”
Jasper increased his pace. “That is what we are going to find out.”
The manor house was slightly less menacing in the morning light, but with Jasper bringing down the knocker, waiting a long minute, and then knocking again, the place took on last night’s unwelcoming impression.
After a few more minutes and another round of knocking, at last, the door opened. An older man with patchy silver whiskers, impressive jowls, and the clothing of a laborer gave them a once over.
“You’re the detectives, I take it,” he said.
Jasper had an idea as to who this was. “That’s correct. And you are Mr. Clooney, the groundskeeper?”
“Aye,” he said, stepping aside and allowing them in.
The murmurs of children’s voices could be heard in a nearby room, and a woman in a serviceable black gown and white mobcap swept into view from one corridor before disappearing into another. There was a strange friction in the air, and Mr. Clooney’s prolonged hesitation after shutting the door added to it.
“Has something more happened since last night?” Jasper asked.
“It’s Matron.” The groundskeeper clasped his hands together and rubbed his palms nervously. “She hasn’t been seen this morning.”
The news should have struck Jasper like a hammer on an anvil. But it did not, and he merely shook his head. “I knew something was off.”
He should have paid more attention to the matron’s change in attitude after he’d brought up the Seabrights.
“What’s that? What was off?” Mr. Clooney asked. But Jasper didn’t have the time nor the patience to explain.
“Who is in charge without Matron Westover here?”
“That would be me, Inspector,” a short, older woman said as she came down the stairs at a brisk pace.
While Matron Westover had moved and spoken with cultured, gentle elegance, this woman was abrupt and direct. She held Jasper’s stare as she came to a stop in the entrance hall. “My name is Mistress Richards. I oversee the younger girls at Fortescue House across the street. I must ask what you said to Matron last night.”
There was no mistaking her accusatory stare or tone.
