Page 67

“Doctor,” Grace said. “You must hear me out.”

“And you must not tax my nerves,” he muttered to the carpet.

Ignoring him, she continued. “You were right in most respects, Doctor. He’s a large man, easily capable of crushing a rag against a woman’s face and holding her against her will until she succumbs.”

“Which he could have done to you.”

“In broad daylight in his own shop?” Grace countered easily. “Doubtful.”

“A shop?” Thornhollow asked, drawn in despite himself. “What kind of shop?”

“Chemist,” Grace said. “With the tools and the knowledge to mix ether, no doubt.”

“A chemist.” Thornhollow groaned at the floor, stamping his foot. “Damn me for a narrow-minded fool. Why were you in a chemist’s shop in the first place?”

“I was getting some perfume for Lizzie. He’s going to match the scent for me.”

“Oh, of course. How foolish of me not to assume that. Go on.” He waved a hand in the air. “I might as well know it all since you’ve gone and learned it.”

“As to his feelings toward women,” she continued, “there was a marked difference in his behavior with me as opposed to the male customer I saw him interact with. He’s definitely nervous around women, although when I showed some hesitation myself he seemed to gain strength from that.”

Thornhollow glanced up, one hand still buried in his hair. “Interesting. Perhaps he feels more confidence around women he perceives as weak-willed. A positive alternative to his mother, perhaps.”

“Whom he mentioned,” Grace said. “He said she’s been feeling poorly this winter and he’s been giving her care in her home, leading to him only having the store open certain hours.”

Thornhollow rose from his chair, hair standing on all ends as he surveyed the notes Grace had added to the blackboard. “Abandoning his business solely to see to his mother seems a bit extreme.”

Grace nodded. “Leading one to assume that the mother is rather demanding.”

“And”—Thornhollow held one finger in the air—“also confirming that he’s an only child, as I said.”

“Only possibly confirming that,” Grace said, eyes narrowed. “I didn’t ask.”

“No man would weaken his livelihood to care for a parent if there were other siblings capable of taking on that load,” Thornhollow insisted.

“He very well could have a sibling who lives farther away than Pomeroy and can’t offer assistance,” Grace said, irritation heating her words.

“Now you’re arguing for the sake of argument.”

“As are you.”

“Nonsense. How does Pomeroy come into it?”

“That’s where the mother lives,” Grace said, moving to his desk and a map she had spread out before his arrival. “I checked, and the road—”

“To Pomeroy passes right through where the kitchen girl was found,” Thornhollow interrupted.

“Where Jenny Cantor was found,” Grace amended.

“Regardless, I’ll make a trip to Pomeroy over the weekend, ask a few questions. I think it’s safe to say that they’ve seen at least one body like ours, no doubt their deaths occurring during our lulls.”

“I’ll come with you,” Grace said, still leaning over the map.

“You won’t.”

She looked up. “Excuse me?”

Thornhollow sighed heavily. “Grace, there’s no plausible reason for you coming with me, beyond some base conclusions that the staff would readily jump to for the sake of gossip.”