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The stab wounds to his chest could have been inflicted by a woman, but Leo recalled Marianna as slight and willowy. Based on what Connor had said about the bruising around the wounds, each puncture had been made with great force.

“Inspector, are you saying my maid is involved in my attempted murder?” Augusta asked.

“All I am certain of is that I need to find her, and quickly. Mrs. Vincent,” he said, turning to the housekeeper. “Do you have an address for her?”

She nodded and left in a hurry. Jasper and Leo thanked Augusta for her time and promised to keep her informed.

In the foyer, as Hastings brought them their outer trappings, Leo lowered her voice. “The wedding bands in Sebastian Lawlor’s pocket.”

“What about them?”

“Marianna’s hands. She was clutching them during her interview. I didn’t notice it at the time, but now…” Now, the precise image of those clutched hands slid into place, in front of Leo’s eyes, as clearly as if she was there again in the salmon-colored dining room. “She was fidgeting with her left fingers during my interview with her. Right where a wedding band would have rested on her ring finger, had she been wearing one.”

“They were married?” Jasper asked. “The maid and Sebastian?”

Leo lifted her shoulders. “Anything is possible at this point.”

The housekeeper arrived with the address for Marianna, and though Jasper took it, Leo presumed it would be like everything else so far: false. They took their leave, stepping outside into the newly darkened street.

“We will require a sketch of Marianna. I can picture her perfectly, but I can’t draw to save my life,” Leo said.

“We’ll go to the Yard and summon Mr. Gibbons,” Jasper said.

“He is becoming quite indispensable, isn’t he?”

Jasper allowed a rare grin. Although lately, to Leo’s pleasure, they seemed to come less infrequently. “If we can find this maid, we’ll find Gray.”

And they would have the murderer.

Chapter Seventeen

As Jasper entered the busy lobby at Scotland Yard on Monday morning, the sight of Superintendent Monroe instantly curdled the breakfast Mrs. Zhao had prepared and all but forced Jasper to eat.

He’d skipped dinner the night before, too wrung out from his day tramping across London with Leo. When his housekeeper warned that she was finished cooking for him unless he ate his breakfast, Jasper gave in. But as Monroe, who was speaking to another officer, noted Jasper’s arrival, he lamented clearing his plate.

A shoulder knocked into Jasper’s arm in the busy lobby, and he looked down to see a red-cheeked young messenger boy attempting to scoot by.

“S-sorry, sir,” the boy stammered as he pulled a tweed cap lower over his head of bright blond hair. He scampered out the door.

“Reid,” Constable Woodhouse called from the front desk. He held up a note. “Just delivered for you.”

Jasper took the note a moment before the superintendent broke away from the other officer and approached.

“Ah, Reid, good to see you.” Monroe clapped him on the shoulder. “I hear you’re making headway with the Lawlor case. A new suspect?”

The previous evening, after visiting the address Mrs. Vincent had for Marianna and learning it was, indeed, false, Jasper had summoned Mr. Gibbons. The sketch artist had sat with Leo in Jasper’s office for nearly an hour while she described in minute detail the features belonging to the young maid Marianna—or Marion. The completed sketch had gone straight to the printing office at the Yard, where the lithographer made copies for distribution to Fleet Street before midnight, in time for the morning editions.

“A young woman,” Jasper said to the superintendent. “With any hope, someone will recognize her and bring us a name.”

“Before the Home Secretary’s dinner, preferably,” Monroe said. “You are still attending, I hope?”

The flare of discomfort and annoyance he’d felt the other afternoon after leaving Verrey’s returned. Jasper clenched his jaw as he nodded.

“Good, my Rose is looking forward to that dance, Reid.” The superintendent gave him another pat on the arm before carrying on down the narrow hall. There was no mistaking Monroe’s tone: Jasper was expected to dance with Rose, and that was that.

As he watched Monroe retreat, his stomach beginning to unclench, he took a glance toward Constable Woodhouse.

“Isn’t Rose the name of the super’s daughter?” he asked.