They vanished within reach of the Thames, or of easy roadways that fed into it. The young woman had reappeared in the water. Whoever took her relied upon the river both as a roadway and her grave.
I drew a slow breath. Laid the pencil down. If I was right about the house in Chelsea, then the pattern narrowed further. There was a place somewhere downstream where men of rank did their worst behind respectable walls.
The clock on the mantel chimed ten. I pushed back from the desk and crossed to the grate, though the fire had burned to low coals. There was nothing more I could do. I would need to wait for Rosalynd to proceed. A little before eleven, soft footsteps moved along the passage. Then a quiet tap sounded at the study door. Milford opened it from the outside.
“Lady Rosalynd, Your Grace.”
She slipped in past him. A dark cloak wrapped her from throat to hem. The hood shadowed her face, but copper glinted beneath its edge where a few curls had escaped. The air from the corridor carried a breath of night, cool and faintly scented with the city.
“Thank you, Milford,” I said. “That will be all. No one is to disturb us unless the house catches fire.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” He retrieved the plate and glass and withdrew, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
Rosalynd pushed the hood back. Lines of weariness showed about her eyes, but they held their usual clear intent.
“You gave Honeycutt quite a puzzle,” she said. “He dislikes secrets he cannot catalogue. Fortunately, he personally delivered the note to me. So no one in the household knew about your missive.”
“That is more generous than I deserve,” I said. “Would you like some brandy or whiskey? I’m afraid tea is beyond me.”
“No, thank you. I’ll need a clear head.”
“Of course.” I gestured toward the table. “Come and sit. The reports are here.”
She crossed to the table where I had arranged the papers and settled into the chair beside mine without ceremony. The distance between us was small by necessity. The table in that corner of the room was not large.
“These are from the Commissioner?” she asked.
“Such as he was willing to provide.” I tapped the nearest sheet. “Missing persons. Six from the list Sister Margaret gave you. Additional names that match those Martha Larkin shared with you. And then there are the ones reported to the Yard that we knew nothing about.”
Her mouth tightened. “How many?”
“Thirty-two in all.”
Rosalynd went very still. Then she exhaled, sharp and disbelieving. “Thirty-two,” she repeated. “My God.”
I watched her hands curl on her lap, the only outward sign that she was fighting to keep her composure.
“That is only the number we can prove,” I said quietly. “There will be more.”
Rosalynd held herself motionless for a moment longer. Then she drew a slow breath, lifted her chin, and looked down at the papers again as though sheer will might force them to yield their secrets.
“Then we had best get to work,” she said.
We began with the reports on the missing girls we knew about. I handed them across one by one. She read them swiftly but not carelessly, lips thinning as the same phrases recurred.
“‘Probably left of her own accord.’ ‘No evidence of abduction.’ ‘Presumed to have sought other employment.’” She set the latest down with more force than was strictly necessary. “They write as if these girls were wayward kittens.”
“You will find no search parties recorded,” I said. “No follow-up visits. No effort to compare one disappearance with another. Each is treated as if it existed in isolation.”
Her gaze moved over the scattered pages. “And yet when one sees them together…”
“The pattern becomes rather hard to miss.” I reached for the coroner’s summary and nudged it toward her. “This is the report concerning the body from the Thames. Anna Price’s. She was found at the Stangate Wharf.”
Silence gathered while she read. The lamp flame hissed faintly. Outside, the city had sunk into that strange hush that falls in the small hours, when even the carriages seem to pass more quietly.
Her eyes moved down the page. Once. Twice. The hand holding the paper grew very still.
“‘Linear abrasions present at both wrists,’” she quoted. “‘Bruising to inner thighs and upper arms.’ ‘Signs consistent with recent sexual intercourse.’ ‘Condition undernourished.’” She lifted her head. “And no one thought this suspicious.”
