Page 42 of The English Wife

“Is it?” said Janie, deciding she wasn’t quite done being irritated. “You were supposing rather a lot, weren’t you? Following me today. If I choose not to admit you, you’ll have wasted a day.”

“Can any day be wasted that includes tea with a charming lady? Don’t worry. I don’t intend to build a willow cabin at your gate. I’ve an appointment in Carmel.”

“You’re on the wrong train,” Janie pointed out, before the full meaning of his statement bore upon her. “An appointment with whom?”

“The coroner.” Mr. Burke occupied himself in shooting his cuffs, making sure the seams sat straight. “It’s not a long drive from Carmel to Cold Spring. I’ve been told it’s rather scenic.”

“In the spring, perhaps.” Mr. Burke was, Janie suspected, deliberately avoiding the point, drawing out the suspense. “Has there been any news?”

“Other than that the coroner appears to be as pickled as the corpses?” As Janie’s face paled, Mr. Burke abandoned his levity. He sat up straighter in his seat. “I’m sorry. That was ill done.”

Janie breathed in through her nose, forcing herself to think of corpses and pickling. Ignoring unpleasantness was only what had gotten them into this mess in the first place. If she had realized that something was wrong …

Sounding like every governess she had ever had, she said, in her starchiest voice, “You don’t need to spare my feelings. In fact, I’d rather you didn’t. If I’d wanted my feelings spared, I would never have come to you.”

“There’s an insult in that somewhere,” said Mr. Burke wryly and bit into a biscuit.

“Or a compliment,” countered Janie, making herself look away from his lips. “I’m doing you the credit of believing you can speak plainly to me. No one else has.”

“Plain speaking isn’t an art much valued in society.”

“That depends on who you ask. Mrs. Fish prides herself on it, although her plain speaking is less about the pursuit of truth and more an exercise of personality.” Janie bit her lip. She hadn’t meant to say that, even though she had thought it for some time. To cover her confusion, she said, “I’ve found that when people say they mean to be blunt, it’s generally because they’re about to say something unpleasant. Why go to Carmel if there isn’t any news?”

“I won’t know if I don’t go,” said Mr. Burke smoothly. “And it was a chance to kill two birds with one stone. This is a more comfortable place to talk than City Hall Park.”

“Only just.” Janie wrapped her gloved hands around her tea, which had already gone from hot to tepid. “If you received my note, then you know my concerns about Mr. Lacey?”

Mr. Burke raised a black brow. “Concerns? I thought they were orders.” He took the sting out of it by adding, “You would have made an excellent superintendent of police.”

“If I weren’t a woman, you mean?”

“If you weren’t one of the four hundred. Your kind isn’t exactly known for mucking about in the dirt.”

Janie frowned at him. “That’s not fair. What about Mr. Roosevelt?”

Mr. Burke gave a one-sided shrug. “There are exceptions to every rule.”

Janie cast a sideways glance at Mr. Burke, but decided to leave it be. “What did you learn about Mr. Lacey?”

“Pursuant to your, er, suggestions, I’ve made inquiries. It may take a few days to get answers.”

“It may be nothing.” Janie felt her shoulders sag as some of the combative spirit that had been sustaining her drained away. Fighting with Mr. Burke had an oddly invigorating effect. “It probably is nothing. But his appearance seemed too coincidental for comfort.”

“It was,” said Mr. Burke bluntly. “I spoke to the port officer. Mr. Lacey entered the port of New York on the tenth of January.”

“Three days after the Twelfth Night ball.” Janie’s spirits dropped. It would have been comforting to have been able to claim Mr. Lacey as the villain. She clung to what reassurance she could. “Then it was a lie, what he said about coming to cry over his cousin’s grave. He couldn’t have known before he set sail.”

Mr. Burke lowered his chin in acknowledgment. “Unless Mr. Lacey has a particularly good crystal ball. The St. Paul left Southampton on the thirty-first of December. If, of course, that is the ship he came on. Port masters have been known to be amenable to bribery.”

“So what you’re saying,” said Janie, “is that we don’t know anything at all other than that Mr. Lacey is lying about something.”

“Most people are lying about something, Miss Van Duyvil. The trick is discovering what.”

Outside the window, the Hudson was a flat gray beneath a gray sky. Usually, the sight of the river glimpsed from the train never failed to lift Janie’s spirits; today, its very familiarity only made it the stranger.

“Two weeks ago, the worst thing any of us could imagine was that Mr. Newland might sue my cousin for divorce.” Janie looked helplessly at Mr. Burke. “I feel as though I’ve stumbled into the wrong story.”

Mr. Burke raised a brow. “Arthur Conan Doyle or Anthony Hope?”