Nurse Caroline Radcliff. Not Charlotte, but Caroline.
“Mr. Clooney,” he said, turning back to the groundskeeper. “Was it Caroline Radcliff who prepared the casket?”
He gave a nod. Matron Westover had been the one to declare Edward dead. And yet, she’d sat before Jasper in her office last night, claiming to not recall the Seabright name. Then, after Jasper’s inquiries about the family, she’d packed her things and fled in the night.
“Did she marry, then?” Lewis asked, scribbling everything down in his notepad. “Take a new last name?”
“She married one of the masters here, Charles Westover. Sadly, he died, but she remained.” Mistress Richards canted her head. “I think, in part, because of her aunt.”
Jasper raised his hand, feeling spun around. “Charlotte Radcliff?”
“Yes, Charlotte was Matron here for many years. When she decided it was time to step down, the governors approved the exchanging of their roles.”
So, Nurse Radcliff had become Matron Westover, while Matron Radcliff had become Nurse Radcliff.
“The wrong Nurse Radcliff,” Jasper murmured.
Lewis lifted his pencil. “Guv?”
The groundskeeper and Mistress Richards stared at him in confusion too. But at last, Jasper had some clarity. Leo’s theory had been correct: The baby had not died. Paula’s suspicion all these years had been warranted, and bringing up Edward with Matron Westover last night had tipped her off that her secret could be coming to light.
Caroline Westover had facilitated the sale of Martha Seabright’s infant son. Martha had clearly known of the transaction, as she had been paid for her decision. Now, Martha was dead.
If Paula Blickson and Gavin Seabright had learned the truth, if they found out their mother had sold their brother and that Nurse Caroline Radcliff had helped, they would have strong motive to take their revenge on the two women.
But why now? Thirteen years had passed uneventfully.
And surely, Paula and Gavin, had they approached Nurse Radcliff in the infirmary last night with the intention of killing her, would have recognized her as the former Matron. They would have known she wasn’t the same Nurse Radcliff responsible for Edward’s disappearance.
It led Jasper to think the killer had been someone else. Someone who hadn’t resided at the orphanage and who’d only been given a name—Nurse Radcliff—and the place where to find her.
“Inspector, please explain what you are thinking,” Mistress Richards urged. He’d been silently sorting through all the pieces of information, leaving the others to wait.
“I am coming upon the reason Nurse Radcliff was killed,” he replied. “And possibly why Martha Seabright was as well.”
There was nothing more to be done here. He and Lewis needed to get back to London.
Chapter Eighteen
The beaker of strong black tea would not be enough to carry Leo through the morning. Exhaustion weighed on her eyelids and even her bones as she sat at the kitchen table with her aunt and uncle. At least it was Sunday, and as such, the Spring Street Morgue would be closed. She was supposed to be at her leisure on her days off, but after the events of last night at the Hayes home, there were too many things she needed to see to. A second cup of tea would be necessary.
Like usual, Claude had prepared his wife’s plate, spreading a thin layer of marmalade on a triangle of toast and cutting her sausage into small, bite-size pieces. Flora stared at her food quizzically and then turned up her nose. She had not been eating much lately, and it was beginning to become worrisome.
“You did not sleep well last night,” Claude said to Leo after trying, and failing, to entice his wife to eat a slice of sausage. “I heard you pacing in your room at all hours.”
She lowered her beaker to the table, the wood scarred and pockmarked with age. “I’m sorry I kept you awake.”
“Not at all,” he said with a dry laugh. “I’m awake most of the night anyhow. A result of my age, I’m sure.”
Leo wasn’t quite sure she believed that. Her uncle was finding it difficult to no longer go into work each day. Though he smiled when she left for the morgue in the mornings, there was a wistful envy in his expression that he could not conceal. Caring for his wife was something Claude would never complain about or resent. But Leo, who had always been closer to her uncle than to her aunt, knew how much he’d loved his job at the morgue. She suspected a persistent longing for his old life was what kept him up during the night.
He was correct, however, that she had not slept well.
After leaving Bloomsbury Square, Leo and Oliver Hayes had traveled back to Scotland Yard. The general post offices were all closed at that hour of the evening, and their telegraph lines would not reopen until eight o’clock the next morning. A message needed to be sent to Jasper without delay, and the only place Leo could think of to do that was the Yard’s telegraph office.
Lord Hayes had gone into the building, leaving Leo to wait impatiently in his carriage. As much as it annoyed her, the truth was her presence inside would have only caused Jasper more grief among his superiors at the Met. As a viscount and one of Jasper’s respected friends, the operators in the telegraph room were more likely to send the message if it came from him. Leo, however, had composed the telegram, telling the viscount exactly what to have the operator tap out. With any hope, Jasper would question Matron Westover. Perhaps even arrest her.
A second telegram had been sent to the police constabulary in Hampshire, and constables were dispatched to the Hayes estate of Beechwood to determine if George had gone there on his own. Leo, however, did not believe the boy had.
