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I had no idea if Jess was stationed in the hall, her ear to the kitchen door, but I assumed that if she wanted to come in, she would. “Jess does not know Ajay particularly well, so if there is any personal reason for his abduction, she is unaware of it. She does understand the street, however, so I trust her observations.”
He drank his tea in silence, and I thought he might be one of the few men of my acquaintance comfortable with the absence of conversation.
I met his eyes, and he held my gaze comfortably as I continued. “She noticed a man who appeared to her to be police, but whose behavior seemed … off. He was the man she saw push the boy into the hansom cab. She thought there was another man inside the cab to hold the boy, because, as your own witness saw, the presumed policeman rode the back of the cab as it pulled away.”
Inspector Lestrade considered me for long enough that I began to feel his gaze as if it were a physical touch. I stood to fix him a plate of Reesy’s lopsided bread with fresh butter, just to busy my hands with something.
“I realize it’s a lot to ask,” he finally said, “but I’m interested to hear her observations about what makes a man appear to be police.” He took the plate I handed him with a smile of thanks that was so unexpected, I nearly took the plate back to make it go away. I had been able to suppress my reaction to his voice, but combined with the smile, it was too much.
“Even more importantly,” the inspector continued, as if he hadn’t meant anything by his smile, “I’d like to know what made him seem off.”
I stood across the table from him, oddly reluctant to return to my seat, unsettled as I was by my response to him. “Inspector Lestrade,” I began.
He looked up from the bite of bread he’d just taken and swallowed quickly. “Dhruv, please,” he said as he rose to his feet.
“Inspector Lestrade,” I continued, purposefully, “I don’t know you, and to be honest, I don’t need to. I have relayed to you what Jess told me about the goings-on this afternoon. She is an observant child whose instincts I trust, and if she has any more specific details to share, I will write to you at Scotland Yard. But I remind you that she is a child. You frightened her this afternoon in the market, and I will not see her subjected to your questions now.”
I expected the inspector to protest or to argue with me, but he surprised me yet again when he carefully laid the half-eaten bread on the plate and brushed the crumbs from his hands.
“I am very sorry to have frightened Jess this afternoon. My concern for Ajay’s safety is no excuse to have caused another child to be distressed, and for that, you and she have my most profound apologies.”
He picked up his card, which I had placed on the sideboard, took a pencil from his pocket, and wrote on the back of it before holding it out to me. “This is my personal direction, Mrs. Mac. Notes to me at Scotland Yard do not always find their way past the desk sergeants, who don’t seem to have grown out of their bullying boys’ school antics.”
“I know the type,” I said without thinking, then flinched at the revelation my words would be to an astute listener as I accepted the card back from him.
He raised an eyebrow, and I held my breath in anticipation of the question. “What is your position here, if I might ask?”
I frowned at him. “I keep the house for Mr. and Mrs. Devereux, and I also cook. Why do you ask?”
“Is Mr. Devereux an Eton man? Or Harrow perhaps?”
I narrowed my gaze as concern gave way to indignation. “If you are asking whether my employer is a posh boys’ school bully, you couldn’t be further from the truth.” No, Ringo Devereux was many unfathomable things, but intolerance and cruelty were not among his traits.
The inspector seemed to study my face for a long moment, and because his height nearly matched mine, it felt uncomfortably direct and far too close for comfort. “I apologize, Mrs. Mac. My actions do not seem to match my intentions where you have been concerned. I did not mean offense.” The silken quality of his voice had returned, and I suddenly wondered what his intentions where I was concerned could be.
He took his coat and hat from the peg on the wall. “Your generosity in seeing me tonight was most gracious, and you have my thanks for the tea and bread as well. Please send my regards and apologies to young Jess.”
Three heartbeats after the door closed behind him, Jess crept into the kitchen and sat at the table. I’d been expecting her, so I didn’t flinch at her sudden appearance, but her silence was a testament to her former vocation as a pickpocket. It was how she had come to Mr. Devereux’s attention. That she now lived here was testament to the cleverness of her brain and the kindness of his heart.
“He didn’t seem so bad,” Jess said quietly.
“No,” I finally agreed, “he didn’t.”
We sat in silence for a few long moments until Jess finally broke it. “At the market, the inspector shouted at me because ‘e was worried?”
“It would seem so,” I agreed.
“Ringo gets snappy when ‘e’s worried too. Why do it if they’re just goin’ to ‘ave to apologize for it later?”
“Sometimes it’s hard to care so much when one doesn’t have all the tools to show it.”
“What’s so hard about showin’ you care?” she demanded.
I had my doubts about both the appropriateness and the wisdom of having this conversation, but I had grown to like this child more than I expected to, and certainly more than I’d wanted to, so I put my misgivings into my pocket along with the inspector’s card, and considered her.
“Caring for someone makes a person vulnerable to hurt if something happens to them, or if they don’t return the person’s regard. Women in this society are expected to be vulnerable – it’s considered a virtue for a woman to need a man, whether it’s a father, brother, or husband – and being vulnerable is considered a feminine trait. Vulnerability in a man is considered a weakness, so while a gentleman’s code dictates he take care of women and children, to actually care about them puts him at risk of vulnerability. It’s not that men don’t have those feelings, but rather that society has trained them not to acknowledge them.”
Jess snorted. “That’s stupid. If no one cares about you, that’s when you’re weak. Because who will watch your back?”
