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He was correct, of course. Though unfortunately, too many murders went unsolved. With millions of people in one city and dozens of murders brought to the attention of the police every month, the Metropolitan Police Force could not investigate them all.

“I’ll visit the import-export shop after I leave you at the morgue,” Jasper said. “With any hope, an employee is there who can tell me more about Mr. Lawlor.”

Leo wished she could accompany him, but she had already been gone from the morgue for too long.

“Why does it sometimes feel as though there are too many wretched people out there and not enough good ones?” she asked as their carriage entered the traffic circle around Trafalgar Square.

“Careful,” Jasper warned. “You’re starting to sound as cynical as I am.”

“I don’t know why that would be,” Leo said, happy to put aside the quandary involving Augusta Lawlor for the time being. “I hardly ever see you.”

“I am seeing you now,” he replied, moving his foot just enough to align it against hers. “And don’t forget about tonight. I think you’ll like Roy’s wife.”

Leo had not forgotten their plans for dinner at the Lewis home.

“I’m glad I’ll be able to meet Mrs. Lewis and their sons,” she replied, nudging Jasper’s foot in return. “But mostly, I’m looking forward to seeing more of you.”

It wasn’t easy for Leo to express herself so openly, especially when it came to her feelings for Jasper. Like him, she was naturally reserved and serious. But she found that when she took the chance and spoke her feelings plainly, he would reward her with something in return. This time was no different.

As the carriage drew to a stop in front of the morgue on Spring Street, Jasper sat forward. “I’ll confess what I am most looking forward to,” he said. Though he didn’t smile, his eyes gleamed with frank longing. “The carriage ride home. Though I may ask the driver to find a longer route to Duke Street this time.”

Leo gaped at his wicked suggestion. He was speaking of their last carriage ride and the several minutes they’d spent grasping at one another. Even thinking of it now brought heat to her cheeks. Especially since she, too, had been hoping for another chance at privacy with him tonight.

Jasper handed her down onto the pavement and, lifting her hand to his lips, told her he’d pick her up at seven o’clock. He then returned to the carriage and carried on toward Scotland Yard.

Hoping the blush would quickly drain from her face, she entered the morgue through the front lobby doors.

Leo had sent word to Connor before leaving for Augusta Lawlor’s home, explaining that she would be away longer than anticipated. The assistant coroner would not be too upset, she reasoned, and she was inordinately lucky for his good-naturedness. But when she entered the postmortem room and saw an additional two corpses had arrived, Leo groaned.

“I’m sorry, Connor,” she said, removing her coat and hat, and casting them onto an empty autopsy table. She hurried to don her canvas apron. The coroner, wrist-deep in the chest cavity of a male corpse, scowled. Thankfully, it was not a genuine scowl.

“Where the devil have you been? All your note said was that a dead body wasn’t. What did that mean, exactly?”

Leo pulled down a clipboard, paper, and pencil from where they hung on a peg.

“It’s a long story for later. Tell me what we have here.”

Connor turned back to his work. “Coronary thrombosis due to arterial embolism. The man’s mistress told the police his wife had poisoned him. So, here we are.”

Leo noted the cause of death, her mind turning to the arsenic that must have laced Augusta Lawlor’s food and drink for several months, weakening her and causing her illness. It would take some time for her body to repair itself.

“The only poison was this man’s poor diet,” Connor added while resetting the corpse’s cracked rib cage in preparation for closing sutures. He looked up at her when she made no response. “That was meant to be humorous.”

“Was it? Sorry,” Leo murmured, only half-listening. A notion had come to her regarding Mrs. Lawlor’s doctor: “Would every doctor recognize the symptoms of arsenic poisoning?”

Connor wiped his bloodied hands on a length of toweling. “Any competent doctor would. Why?”

Mrs. Lawlor’s doctor had misdiagnosed her as having cancer of the stomach. Had it been incompetence that had caused the doctor to overlook the signs of arsenic poisoning that Leo had seen?

“Do you know a doctor in London by the name of Henry Gray?” she asked.

Connor had turned to his table of tools, ready for closing with catgut sutures, but now threw Leo an amused glance. His light chuckle filled the postmortem room. “Henry Gray?”

“Yes, do you know him?”

He returned to the corpse, the catgut threaded into the eye of the hooked needle. “You’re not serious?”

“Why shouldn’t I be?” she asked, irritated by his amusement.