“First things first, Grandfather.” Julia took Tennant’s elbow and steered him to the chair by the side table. She cut away the old bandages, daubing the wound with carbolic solution and wrapping his hand with a clean covering. Then she gripped his chin lightly and turned his head to the right.
“What’s this?” She touched the edge of a sticking plaster peeking from under his collar.
“Nothing. Only the result of my first attempt at shaving. Tricky with one’s left hand.”
“Hmm … did you forget they’re called ‘cut-throat razors’ for a reason?”
“Learned my lesson and visited a barber this morning.”
“Very wise.” Dr. Lewis patted the armrest of a fireside chair. “Julie, a drink for the inspector.”
“Whisky?” When he nodded, she poured. “Now that I think of it, you and Grandfather are just about the only clean-shaven men I know.”
“Shaving was impossible in the Crimea. For two years, I dreamed of hot towels and a sharp blade scraping my cheeks. Most of us looked like shipwreck survivors when we got back to England. All of us were bearded and scrawny.”
Four sentences, Julia thought. It was the most Richard had ever uttered about his experiences in the Crimea. He looked into the fire without comment and sipped his drink when her grandfather declared the war’s poor provisioning had been a national disgrace.Perhaps one day, he’ll say more…
Dr. Lewis said, “You’ve had a long first day, Richard.”
“Did it begin with Chief Inspector Clark’s warmest welcome?” Julia sat opposite him with her sherry. “He’s always a little ray of sunshine.”
Tennant smiled. “The man hasn’t the wit to hide how much he resents me. And that I caught up with Romilly in the end.”
Dr. Lewis said, “Tell us about the hunt.”
“You had us worried,” Julia said. “Nearly two months of silence. Your letter from Berlin turned up the same day as your last one from Paris.”
“I’m sorry. I thought the Prussian postal service was more efficient than that.”
Dr. Lewis asked, “How did it end for the scoundrel?”
Julia noticed he addressed her grandfather with only an occasional glance at her. He minimized the danger, but she wasn’t fooled. Her hand shook as she set down her sherry glass, thinking how close he came to death in that narrow passageway.
“A thousand rifles making their way to England?” Andrew Lewis shook his head. “Perhaps already in the hands of a thousand Irish hotheads.”
“A thousand so-called patriots.” Tennant sipped his drink.
Julia said, “Men who make the lives of fifty thousandpeacefulIrish living in London a misery of hostility and suspicion. That includes Kate.”
“Paddy told me what happened at the clinic,” Tennant said.
“When will it all end?” Julia asked. “Howwill it end between us?”
“With a parting of the ways, my dear,” her grandfather said. “And an independent Ireland. But not before we’re drained dry of tears and grow weary of the bloodshed.”
Kate entered with a tray, followed by Mrs. Ogilvie with a pitcher of ale. She poured out a pint and handed Tennant a plate and napkin. “Can I bring you anything else, Inspector?”
“Thank you, Mrs. Ogilvie. This looks splendid.” He helped himself to a sandwich and looked at Julia. “Now, tell me about the autopsy.”
“Well, no surprises there,” she said. “Brigid Dowling died of manual strangulation.”
“Doctor MacKay agreed to do the cabbie’s postmortem tomorrow morning. As for the first one, your examination of Lizzie Dowling. Tell me about it.”
“While you eat, I’ll tell you all I know.”
When she finished, Tennant said, “There was no alternative to an open verdict, but now …”
“Kate was right all along,” Dr. Lewis said. “It was murder. And her money was on the ‘maggot’ who got the girl pregnant.”
