“Because you kept her at arm’s length,” Frederick said.
Anthony spluttered an oath and advanced, fast, but the Cowper heir put his palm against Anthony’s chest and shoved. “Oh, stop with your theatrics. If you hadn’t pitied yourself so dreadfully, if you’d shown her even a minuscule amount of care, my niece would not have needed to look elsewhere. It was your own doing, Dalton, and everyone in the family will tell you so.”
“Perfect, are you?” Anthony spat. “Then why did your sister cut you from her will?”
Flaring tempers in the lobby were nothing new; Leo had seen plenty of scraps and arguments among family members after viewing a dead loved one. Usually, the best way to diffuse the tension was with a bit of guilt.
“The two of you should be ashamed of yourselves,” she said. “Show some respect for the dead.”
It worked, though only because Anthony winged open the door and disappeared through it. Frederick lowered his chin. “Forgive me, Miss Spencer, that was tactless. It’s only that it’s been trying to watch Helen all these years, suffering that selfish fool.”
Jasper went to the door and shut it, then waited until the chime of the bell fell silent again. “Do you have any idea who the father might be, Mr. Cowper?”
“No,” he said with a decisive shake of his head. “Our lives did not often overlap, and she has always been a quiet sort. I would suggest you speak to Dora, her maid.”
“I did attempt to question her on the drive into London,” Jasper said, appearing irked at the memory, “but she was in no fit state to speak.”
“They were quite close,” Frederick said with a grim press of his lips. “Dora will be staying with the Perrys while we are in London. I’m sure she will calm soon and be ready to speak to you.”
“Who are the Perrys?” Leo asked.
“Friends of Mrs. Dalton’s,” Jasper answered, apparently having learned as much earlier while questioning the family in Harrow. “Will you also be at the Perrys?” he asked Frederick.
“No, no, I like to stay at The Great Western Royal while in town,” he replied, naming the fine hotel attached to Paddington Station. “Anthony will also have a room there, I’m sure. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Inspector, Miss Spencer, I believe I will be the one making funeral arrangements for Helen.”
Frederick left the lobby, though he at least closed the door behind him.
As soon as they were alone, Jasper tipped his head back, closed his eyes, and let out a groan. He’d appeared tired before, but now Leo could see the extent of his fatigue. She stepped closer to him and laid her hand on his arm.
“You look dead on your feet,” she said, only realizing the inappropriateness of the maxim when he sent her a wry look. Leo bit her lip. “Sorry. Come have some tea.”
At his sigh, she knew he was about to refuse. “I can’t.” He covered her hand with his, and though he lifted it from his sleeve, he continued to hold on. “I’m sorry, but I need to speak to Helen’s maid as well as to the Perrys. If anyone knows who the father of the child is, it will be one of them.”
“If Helen and her lover met regularly at thisspotthat was mentioned in the note, he must live close to Cowper Fields,” Leo said. “And if they met the night of the storm, he might have driven her to London.”
The lover could have been the one who came into the bedroom after the blood had pooled. He may have rushed to her side, treading into the blood before then leaving in a rush.
“A horse and phaeton were discovered missing from the viscount’s stables that morning,” he said, absentmindedly running his fingers over her knuckles. “It hasn’t been returned or found.”
She tamped down the shiver along her spine that his distracted touching caused her. “Well then,” she went on, “if her lover is from Harrow and has fled, he will soon be noticed as missing.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” He stilled his fingers and grinned. “I’ll wire Paddington Division and ask if they’ve had any reports of a missing person from Harrow.”
He lifted her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles and, with his mouth lingering against her skin, asked, “Anything interesting during the postmortem?”
Leo wanted to laugh at how unromantic the question was. Yet it also pleased her that he wanted to discuss the case.
“Actually, yes. Though, I’ll need my hand back.” Interest lit his eyes, and when he released her, she reached into her apron pocket.
“Is that…?” Jasper started to say, reaching for the tiny glass vial as she held it up.
“I’m quite sure it is,” she replied. “Helen found the vial Francine wrote about in her letter to us and seemingly hid it in her bun before she was killed. The peacock statue struck the temporal and frontal bones of her skull, sparing the crown and back of the head, so the tube hidden in her hair was untouched.”
“Her killer wasn’t with her originally, then, but entered the house and came upon her in the bedroom.” Jasper held the tube up, inspecting it. “It’s small enough to fit in a child’s hand and in a woman’s bun. But why hide it from the person who followed her into the house?”
Leo wondered the same thing, but as she did not know, she didn’t speculate and instead explained what she suspected the tube was. He grunted at hearing it was some sort of death trinket; he’d made known his unfavorable opinion of maudlin trends to Leo before.
“Has Mr. Dalton accounted for his whereabouts last night?” Leo asked. “I assume he has, as he isn’t under arrest.”
