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Hurriedly, he showed them into the front sitting room. Mrs. Lawlor became heavier as her strength started to leave her.

On the short drive to Hill Street, she’d made it evident that, even though she was still dazed and suffering, she would remain as proper as possible. She’d sat upright, her bearing rigid with quiet resolve, though beads of perspiration glistened on her temples. However, now it seemed she was finished with her show of strength.

By the time she had reclined fully on the salmon-pink velvet sofa, the house had erupted with commotion. A housekeeper swept inside the room, her shock just as pronounced as the butler’s had been. A maid, her eyes teary and red, jumped in alarm as the housekeeper snapped orders for tea, for the doctor to be fetched at once, and to have Mrs. Lawlor’s bedroom prepared immediately.

Jasper and Leo stood back while the servants tended to their mistress, all of their expressions shifting between overwhelming joy and guilt. They had sent Mrs. Lawlor off to a funeral parlor while she was still very much alive and were likely fearful of dismissal for making such a grievous error.

While waiting for things to calm down, Jasper searched the room for any framed portraits or photographs that might show Mr. Lawlor. The mantel above the hearth displayed a few pictures, but they were all of Augusta, at various ages, and a man and woman who appeared to be her parents. While the house itself wasn’t much larger than Jasper’s home on Charles Street off St. James’s Square, it was more modernly decorated and fashionable.

His adoptive father, the late Gregory Reid, had not updated anything inside the house for over twenty years, and its dated furnishings, carpets, and wallpaper had all dulled with the neglect. Gregory hadn’t had the money to do anything about it; he’d barely been able to keep the house at all on his humble wages from the Metropolitan Police Force. Recently, Jasper had learned how it had been possible: Every year, his father’s former sister-in-law, Francine Stroud, had paid the property tax bill in full, anonymously. The amount was more than what he or Jasper earned in a year.

Much to Jasper’s astonishment, he’d also learned Francine had been Gregory’s lover after the tragic death of his wife, Emmaline. The pair had found companionship and solace in one another, though Gregory had taken the secret of their love affair to his grave. Only by chance had Jasper and Leo learned of it when Francine had included them in her will.

Now, the fine home on Craven Hill in London that he and Leo had been bequeathed was being leased, and the windfall from that was more than enough to pay the tax the Crown levied on property owners. He supposed he could afford to update some furnishings too, but a part of him wondered if it would be worth the bother. He wasn’t yet sure he would stay on at Charles Street. It was his home, but it was also, inexplicably, sad. Haunted, in a way, first by Emmaline Reid and her two children, and now by Gregory, who had at long last gone to join them.

Jasper wasn’t certain it was the right place for him to stay forever. He wasn’t even sure if London was where he should remain, especially now that Andrew Carter, the youngest of his criminal East Rips cousins, had discovered that Jasper was a Carter himself. His cousin had promised he would keep the secret—so long as Jasper did his bidding. Illegal bidding, to be sure.

It had been two months since his return from Liverpool, and so far, Andrew had not approached him. But it was only a matter of time. Staying in London would mean having to navigate Andrew and his threats. It wasn’t what Jasper wanted for his future. Or for his future with Leo.

He peered at her now, at her serious expression as she observed everyone in a dither around Mrs. Lawlor. Leo would be securing everything in her memory, he knew, and it could prove useful later, should this situation end up being more than a near-tragic accident. To be safe, before leaving Tate’s, Jasper had sent word to the CID that a constable was needed at the Lawlors’ residence.

When at last things quieted in the sitting room, Mrs. Lawlor asked, “Where is my husband? I demand an answer, Hastings.”

Though the lady’s voice was weary, there was no mistaking her authority. The butler stiffened and peered at the housekeeper. She, too, seemed uncertain what to say.

“The inspector and Miss Spencer,” Mrs. Lawlor went on, pausing to take a shallow breath, “said he was not at home.”

During the short ride to Hill Street, Leo had asked Mrs. Lawlor a few questions about her husband, but she had not been alert enough to answer. An effect of the opium, no doubt.

“I’m afraid, madam, that we are still searching for Mr. Lawlor,” Hastings finally said. He was obviously nervous and skirting around the truth as finely as possible. Disoriented as she was, Mrs. Lawlor did not seem to notice.

“I must see him as soon as he returns,” she said. “He must be in such a state, thinking I am dead. Oh, however did this happen?”

The butler met Jasper’s eye, then coughed furtively and stepped aside, to allow the housekeeper, Mrs. Vincent, to take over the care of their mistress. Jasper followed Hastings into the foyer, as did Leo. Once the door to the front sitting room closed, the butler exhaled a shaking breath.

Jasper, for the sake of officiality, showed Hastings his warrant card and introduced himself and Leo.

“Can you tell us what happened this morning? How did Mrs. Lawlor come to…pass?” Jasper asked, understanding the absurdity of the question.

“It was awful,” the butler said, clasping his hands behind him and shaking his head. “Kitty—Mrs. Lawlor’s maid—found her in bed this morning, not breathing. By the time I reached the bedroom, Mr. Lawlor and Mrs. Vincent were there too. It appeared as if she had passed away in her sleep.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Lawlor have adjoining bedrooms?” Leo asked. Hastings nodded. It was the typical arrangement for the upper classes.

“Women her age do not usually pass away in their sleep,” Jasper said. “Was a doctor summoned?”

“Yes,” the butler said. “Mr. Gray. Henry Gray. He had been treating Mrs. Lawlor since she took ill.”

“What sort of illness did she have?” Leo asked, beating Jasper to the question. Once, he would have minded. But now, he understood that she was simply never going to be the sort of woman who stood back and allowed others to ask the questions. Besides, Leo had a knack for asking the right ones.

“I couldn’t say, not with authority. My mistress is very private and didn’t wish her illness to be the subject of gossip,” Hastings said but hesitated before adding, “However, from what I did hear, it was an internal malady. Stomach complaints. Quite serious and debilitating, I am told.”

A maid with a tea tray shuttled toward them, and the butler paused to open the sitting room door for her.

“When did this illness begin?” Jasper asked once the door had closed again.

“About three months ago. Perhaps four. Shortly after the wedding.”

Leo glanced up at Jasper, and he met her look of surprise. “They are newly married?” she asked. At the butler’s nod, Leo continued, “The photographs on the sitting room’s mantel show a younger Mrs. Lawlor. Is this her home? Did Mr. Lawlor join you here after the wedding?”