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Chapter Six

It was colder indoors than it was outside when Leo arrived at the morgue early the next morning. Shivers twinged along her arms as she lit the lamps in her office and went straight to the cottage range in the corner to put a kettle on the hob for tea. Tibia, still curled up in her nest of flannel blankets by the stove, glared at Leo with accusing pale green eyes.

“I’m sorry for waking you earlier than usual, Tibby,” she said, her hands held above the stove to coax feeling back into them. The gray cat mewed, unimpressed, and closed her eyes again.

Leo had been too restless to sleep past dawn. Jasper’s meeting with Andrew worried her. As much as she wanted to show up at Charing Cross Station at the appointed hour, she knew she could not. It would infuriate Jasper…and it might even be what Andrew was hoping she would do. Surely, he’d factored in that she might read the note before giving it to Jasper. She wondered if the East Rip suspected that she wasn’t totally in the dark about Jasper’s identity. If Andrew was angling to find out, she wouldn’t give it to him.

She’d left the house on Duke Street shortly before six o’clock, thinking it better to get an early start at the morgue, especially since she would be leaving with Jasper at ten to call on Mrs. Lawlor. If Leo could prepare the postmortem room for Connor and finish typing outstanding reports and notes, he might not grumble as much when she told him she’d been hired as an investigative consultant to Scotland Yard and needed to leave for an hour.

When Connor arrived at the morgue at his usual time of eight o’clock, the cottage range had warmed the office just enough so that Leo’s breath did not cloud the air. Her hands had also warmed as she’d typed, and thankfully, Tibia had curled up on her lap, which benefited them both.

Connor peered at the stack of completed reports on her desk on his way to the range for tea.

“You either could not sleep, or you came in early to make up for the time you were out yesterday,” he said, taking the kettle from the hob.

Leo squirmed at what she had to confess. She lifted Tibia from her lap and stood, joining him near the stove.

“It’s a little of both.” Clasping her hands behind her back, she added, “It is also for the hour I will spend out of the morgue this morning.”

With his back turned to her, Connor slowly lowered the kettle back onto the hob. Too slowly, she observed. The pause that followed hinted that he was carefully considering his reply.

“I’ve been hired by Inspector Reid as a consultant for the case involving Mrs. Lawlor,” she explained.

“The woman who was poisoned by her husband and the false Henry Gray?” Connor turned to face her. He didn’t appear angry, and yet, he also didn’t appear pleased. “Miss Spencer, while I understand, and even applaud, your interest in crime solving, there are two corpses awaiting examination.”

“Three,” she corrected while wincing. Earlier, she’d discovered Mr. Sampson, the night attendant, had taken in another body during his shift.

Connor scrubbed his chin and groaned. “Three corpses, then. I can perform postmortems on my own, but I move much faster when I am assisted, and if our backlog grows, Mr. Pritchard is going to take notice.”

It was already something Leo had considered. Mr. Pritchard was the deputy coroner, and if he marked Spring Street Morgue as falling behind in its assigned duties, he would undoubtedly blame the fact that a woman was employed there. He hadn’t wanted Leo hired on to begin with. The worst part was that he’d be correct: Leo would be at fault—though not because she was a woman. But Mr. Pritchard, and ultimately Chief Coroner Giles, would not take into consideration the reasons for her absence.

While she had come into a nice income with the leasing of the house on Craven Hill, and she no longer needed to worry about how to provide for herself and her aged aunt and uncle, Leo did not want to be out of a position that she’d fought so hard to keep.

“You’re right.” She smoothed the front of her skirt with damp hands. “I’ll let the inspector know I won’t be joining him.” Her stomach dropped at the decision, and she turned so that Connor wouldn’t see the disappointment on her face.

“Wait,” he said with an aggrieved sigh. “Since you came in early today, you may take an hour with the inspector.”

With that, Leo’s stomach buoyed. “If you are certain? Because it might stretch into two hours, depending on what Mrs. Lawlor has to say.”

He bobbed his head and grumbled that yes, this time, it would be acceptable. Then, with a look at his watch, he announced they should begin. The next two hours passed quickly, and they were finishing the examination of the first corpse when Jasper arrived.

“I’ll take it from here,” Connor said, trying—Leo sensed—not to grumble.

“Thank you,” she said as she placed her notes on a table near him, considering his hands were busy returning the spleen to its proper place.

He merely grunted in response.

Jasper’s narrowed eyes met hers as they exited into the lobby. “Did the two of you argue?”

“It was more of a discussion than a disagreement. But it doesn’t matter. What happened with Andrew?” For that was what she was truly interested in.

Jasper didn’t respond as he handed her into the hired carriage, and when he’d taken the seat across from her, he continued to be silent, his expression flinty.

“Did he ask something of you?” she pressed.

As the carriage moved toward Trafalgar Square, Jasper held himself like he’d become a block of stone. “I’d rather not say.”

“Jasper—” she began, but he held up his hand.