“Jasper and I are just as perplexed,” she admitted before drinking her tea to wash down the dry bread. Her nerves were suddenly jumping again.
“That is quite extraordinary, my dear.” Claude’s usual calm demeanor was unflappable, even now. “Have the two of you discussed what to do with it?”
“Not really. But he is here for a few days. We came into town together on the train.”
Dita’s devious grin from a moment ago returned, but before she could ask about their reunion—something she had been romanticizing about for several weeks, ever since her return from Birmingham—Leo gestured to her dress. “All right, tell me where you are now working, where you must wear that uniform. Those aren’t your colors at all.”
Dita preferred deep sapphire, bright emerald, and golds, to the tepid, thin, blue and yellow stripes she now wore.
She sighed dramatically as she pushed out her chair and stood. “I know, it’s awful, isn’t it? But it’s what the shopgirls must wear at Gleason’s.” She struck a pose with one hand on her hip and the other at the back of her head, her glossy black hair styled in upswept ringlets.
“You’ve landed at Gleason’s? Dita, that is wonderful!”
Located on Oxford Street, Gleason’s was one of the finer department stores in London. Though Leo had never set foot inside the store, she’d passed it a handful of times. The large building occupied a full block, with three stories devoted to men’s wear, ladies’ fashions, and home furnishings. The window displays were designed with an artist’s eye, staged to lure in those who had the means to satisfy their urge to purchase what they saw, and to draw longing gazes from those who did not. Leo fell into that latter category.
“It’s a decent wage, and I won’t have to pat down a single customer,” Dita said with a wink, referring to her past job as a matron at Scotland Yard. It had been a civilian position, in which she’d had to search ladies and children brought in under arrest and then guard them on the upper floors of the building, for a paltry wage.
“I’ve got to dash off. They’re quite serious about punctuality, and this is only my second day,” she said, bustling toward the back door. It put a smile on Leo’s face to see Dita’s energy and vivacity coming back after she’d lost her fiancé in a bomb blast at Scotland Yard five months earlier. “I’d ask you to come out with me tonight,” Dita continued. “But I have the feeling you’ll be busy with a certain detective inspector.”
She pulled the door shut behind her after sending Leo a suggestive smirk. Claude chuckled and sat back in his chair.
“I believe that young woman will do well convincing wealthy ladies to part with their money,” he remarked, then turned a bit more serious. “Is there something more to this house you’ve inherited? I can’t help but feel there must be.”
Leo hesitated, peering at her aunt. Claude followed her pointed gaze.
“Ah. I see. Well, you can tell me another time,” he said. Leo reached across the table and gripped his forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze.
She finished her tea and went to her room to change out of her purple traveling gown and into one of the serviceable dresses she typically wore to the morgue. They were more comfortable, without thick petticoats or girlish frills like bows or ribbons. The muted shades of gray, green, and blue were also more suitable for the tasks she would undertake while working with Connor Quinn, the new assistant coroner at the Spring Street Morgue. He'd consented to her taking the day yesterday to travel toHarrow and see to the business of the will reading, but he’d expected her back that morning.
When she entered the former church vestry-turned-morgue, it was through the back door, into the office. The autumn and winter months were always much more pleasant inside the morgue, as the chill in the air tamped down the pervasive foul odors associated with decomposing corpses. For that reason, Leo kept a second jacket in the office that she would wear while assisting Connor on postmortems. She slipped it on, along with an apron, and entered the postmortem room.
She expected to find him bent over a corpse on one of the metal slab tables in the large room, where stained glass windows and arched ceiling beams were further remnants of the former vestry. The room, however, was vacant—of any living people, at least.
Leo took a few steps forward, then held still. The hushed sound of sniffling traveled from the direction of the supply closet.
“Connor?” She moved toward the open door to the closet.
“In here,” he called, his voice rough. He sniffled a few more times, as if preparing for her, and when she saw him, it was evident he’d been crying. His eyes were glassy, and the tip of his nose was red. He avoided eye contact with her, surely embarrassed to have been found in such a state.
“What has happened?” she asked. He had never been anything but good-natured and smiling.
He grimaced. “It’s one of the, ah, bodies that’s just been delivered.” He coughed to clear his throat, likely tight with emotion.
Leo’s stomach plummeted. “Oh no. Is it very bad?” She then had a notion. “Is it someone you know?”
Connor breathed in deeply, then gestured for Leo to follow him. He led them from the supply closet to a sheeted figureon one of the tables. From the drape of the cloth, she could determine that it was a woman and that she had not yet been disrobed for examination. With slightly shaking hands, Connor reached for the top of the sheet and then pulled it back. The woman who came into view was young, in her mid- to late twenties perhaps. Her white skin had the hard, milky-blue pallor of someone who had been dead for many hours. Telltale bruising visible around the ruffled neck of her bodice pointed toward strangulation as the cause of her death.
“Who is she?” Leo asked as Connor stared at the woman, his eyes full of anguish.
“Her name is Lydia Hailson,” he replied, then with a shaky exhale, added, “We were betrothed once.”
Startled, Leo looked back down at the dead woman. She hadn’t known Connor had ever been engaged to marry. While they were friends, working well and easily together, he had not shared much about his personal life. Now, to have his former fiancée arrive at the morgue…and so clearly dead by violent means. His reaction made perfect sense.
“I’m so sorry, Connor.”
Leo’s attention drifted to the ruffled collar of the woman’s dress again, although this time she didn’t look at the bruising. She pulled the sheet a little lower to see more of the bodice. Her pulse slowed as two thoughts battled. The more immediate one won out. “You cannot conduct this postmortem,” she said. “Perhaps we could ask my uncle to come in, just this once?”
Connor nodded his agreement.
