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“Good morning, Mr. Runcorn,” Callandra replied with a light smile. She accepted the seat he offered her. “I regret I have a crime to report and it may prove to be a sensitive matter. I wished to tell you of it in person rather than find a constable in the street. I’m afraid it is very serious.”
“Indeed.” Already he looked in some indefinable way satisfied, as though the fact she had confided in him were an accolade. “I am sorry to hear it. Is it a matter of robbery?”
“No.” She dismissed robbery as of no consequence. “It is murder.”
His complacency disappeared but his attention quickened. “Who has been killed, ma’am? I will see that my very best officer is on the case straightaway. Where did this happen?”
“In the Royal Free Hospital on the Gray’s Inn Road,” she replied. “One of the nurses has been strangled and placed down the laundry chute. I have come straight from there. Sir Herbert Stanhope is the chief medical officer and a surgeon of some note.”
“I’ve heard of him, of course. An excellent man.” Runcorn nodded. “Indeed, an excellent man. He sent you to report this matter?”
“In a sense.” It was foolish to resent the reference to Sir Herbert, as if he had taken charge and she were merely a messenger, and yet she knew that was what it would come to in the end. “I was one of those who found the body,” she added.
“Most distressing for you,” Runcorn said sympathetically. “May I send for something to restore you? Perhaps a cup of tea?”
“No thank you,” she said rather more briskly than she had meant. She was shaken and her mouth felt dry. “No thank you. I should prefer to return to the hospital and allow your officer to begin his investigation of the matter,” she added. “I have left Dr. Beck standing guard over the corpse to see that nothing is moved or altered. He has been there for some time by now.”
“Of course. Most commendable of you, ma’am.” Runcorn said it with what he doubtless intended to be approval, but to Callandra it sounded intolerably condescending. She nearly asked him if he had expected her to behave like a fool and leave the body for anyone to move or alter, but recalled herself only just in time. She was more distressed than she had thought. She found to her surprise that her hands were trembling. She thrust them into the concealing folds of her skirt so Runcorn would not see them. She stared at him expectantly.
He rose to his feet, excusing himself, and went to the door, opening it and calling in a constable. “Send Inspector Jeavis up here right away. I have a new case for him and Sergeant Evan.”
The answer was indistinguishable, but it was barely a few moments before a dark saturnine man put his head around the door inquiringly, then followed immediately, his lean body dressed in very formal black trousers and a black frock coat. A white winged collar made him look like a city clerk or an undertaker. His manner was peculiarly both hesitant and assured. He looked at Runcorn and then at Callandra, as if to ask permission, though he did not wait for it but stood equally between them.
“Jeavis, this is Lady Callandra Daviot,” Runcorn began, then he realized he had made a social error. He should have presented him to her, not the other way around. He blushed angrily but there was no way to retrieve it.
Without thought Callandra rescued him. It was the instinctive thing to do.
“Thank you for sending for Mr. Jeavis so rapidly, Mr. Runcorn. I’m sure it will prove to be the best arrangement possible. Good morning, Mr. Jeavis.”
“Good morning, ma’am.” He bowed very slightly, and she found him instantly irritating. He had a sallow face and thick black hair and very fine eyes, the darkest she had ever seen, but curiously light brows. It was unfair to prejudge the man, and she knew it even while she did it. “Perhaps you would be good enough to tell me what crime you have suffered?” he inquired.
“None at all,” she replied hastily. “I am on the Board of Governors at the Royal Free Hospital in the Gray’s Inn Road. We have just discovered the corpse of one of our young nurses in the laundry chute. She appears to have been
strangled.”
“Oh dear. How very unpleasant. When you say ‘we,’ ma’am, whom precisely do you mean?” Jeavis asked. In spite of his obsequious manner his look was penetrating and highly intelligent. She had the sense of being very thoroughly weighed and that the judgment would have none of the social deference he suggested outwardly.
“Myself and Dr. Kristian Beck, who is one of the physicians at the hospital,” she replied. “And in a sense the women in the laundry room, and a child who is employed as a skivvy.”
“Indeed. What caused you to be examining the laundry chute, ma’am?” His head cocked curiously to one side. “Surely that is not part of the duties of a lady such as yourself?”
She explained to him how it had come about and he listened without taking his eyes from her face.
Runcorn fidgeted from one foot to the other, uncertain whether to interrupt or not, and at a loss for something to say to keep his place in the proceedings.
There was a knock on the door, and on Runcorn’s command John Evan came in. His lean young face lit up when he saw Callandra, but in spite of past circumstances and commitments shared he had enough aplomb to affect merely recognition and no more.
“Good morning, Sergeant,” she said formally.
“Good morning, ma’am,” he replied, then looked inquiringly at Runcorn.
“A murder in the Royal Free Hospital,” Runcorn said, seizing the chance to regain control. “You will go with Inspector Jeavis and investigate. Keep me informed of all your findings.”
“Yes sir.”
“Oh, Jeavis,” Runcorn added as Jeavis opened the door for Callandra.
“Yes sir.”
