I did not ask and she did not elaborate, but it occurred to me that our lives had perhaps not been so very different after all. Both of us were women of the world, forced to make our way without help from others. And I made up my mind then that if ever I were to tell my story, it would be to her.
Mornaday’s injuries were dealt with swiftly—a mere matter of a few stitches and a bandage that he sported with considerable pride as his superior from Scotland Yard arrived.
“Sir Hugo,” I said, greeting the head of Special Branch when he entered with a few of his juniors.
“Miss Speedwell,” he replied dryly. “Why am I not surprised to find you in the midst of this debacle.” He turned his penetrating gaze upon Mornaday. “And you have managed to get yourself shot, I see.”
“Only a little,” Mornaday replied with a winsome smile.
Sir Hugo was not impressed. “A few minutes in private, Mornaday. You will brief me and then I will give orders.”
Mr. Pennybaker hastened to show them into a small study, where they remained locked away whilst one of Sir Hugo’s juniors stood watch and the other was dispatched to the gallery to investigate the scene. When his investigation was concluded, he slipped into the room with Sir Hugo and Mornaday, and after a moment, the trio emerged, sober of face and manner. Sir Hugo turned to his men. “There are three consequences in the gallery. Inspector Mornaday will show you where.”
Mornaday looked to Sir Hugo, his face alight. “InspectorMornaday?”
“Yes, well. If you haven’t earned it yet, you will with this night’s work,” Sir Hugo said, adding a grim smile for emphasis.
“Yes, sir.” Mornaday saluted smartly.
Mr. Pennybaker spoke up. “I must protest, sir,” he told Sir Hugo. “This man has been injured and is in need of rest.”
“I will rest when the job is finished,” Mornaday said, earning him an approving nod from Sir Hugo.
Mornaday escorted the others out, J. J. trailing discreetly in their wake—no doubt to sniff around for whatever gleanings she could find to print.
Mr. Pennybaker excused himself to fetch more hot water and clean bandages, leaving me alone with Sir Hugo. The head of Special Branch fixed me with an impassive stare. His eyes were deeply shadowed and there were new hollows beneath his cheeks, new silver threads in his dark hair. The Ripper case was clearly wearing hard upon him, and I knew he felt the failure of bringing it to a close every moment.
“I wish I could say you looked well,” I began.
His smile was slow in coming. “It would be ungentlemanly of me to remark that you are looking less than bandbox perfection yourself, Miss Speedwell.”
“Most ungentlemanly,” I agreed. “Did you receive my note?”
“I did. It arrived concurrent with Mornaday’s urgent summons to this location. Providentially, I was in the office at the time. I should like to point out that you omitted to relate several key pieces of information,” he said with his customary severity.
“I thought you rather had your hands full with the Ripper investigation. This seemed less important.” I gave him a grin, which he did not return.
“Your consideration does you credit,” he told me.
“What will happen now?” I inquired.
He sighed. “What do you think?”
“That you cannot risk opening an investigation,” I said simply. “A public inquest would bring it all to light—my uncle’s plans, my identity. It would accomplish almost what de Clare intended in the first place, would it not?” I did not wait for him to reply. “And, perhaps more damning, it would expose Archibond, a member of your own force, as an anarchist just when you cannot afford the disapprobation of the public.”
“They already hate and fear us for not bringing this monster to justice,” he said, clearly reluctant to speak the fiend’s name. “They call us incompetent and corrupt and brand us as failures because we cannot solve the insoluble. If we permit this case to become public, it would indeed prove a blow from which the dignity of the royal family—indeed the Empire itself—could not recover.”
“Did Archibond have family?” I asked.
He shrugged. “A sister who kept house for him. She is the only one who will care when he does not come home.”
“What will you tell her?”
“The same as we will tell the rest of the Yard—that Archibond was in pursuit of a criminal and died in the attempt. The criminal escaped. The doctors at the Yard will certify Archibond’s death as a fall, and he will be given a quiet hero’s funeral. It is better than he deserves.”
“And de Clare and his man?”
Sir Hugo considered this. “The Thames carries all sorts of refuse out to sea,” he said after a moment. “And what is carried away does not come back.”
