“Your Cook took the liberty of unbuttoning the top buttons at your throat. To help your air flow,” he explained.
Caroline nodded in understanding.
“You’ve contacted my father?”
“Sergeant Felix did. He’s to meet us at the morgue.”
Caroline shivered at the last word.
“I’m sure he’ll return immediately to let you know what…to let you know how…“ he couldn’t quite finish the last part of the sentence.
She said nothing as she buttoned her dress at the throat.
“Miss Derry I’m sorry to have been the one to give you such news. After all we know nothing for certain. It was indelicate. Please forgive me,” his blue eyes were watching hers intently.
“I’m not a child, Inspector. I don’t need to be shielded from life. In fact, I have spent the last several years helping women on the streets. I believe I mentioned that when we first met.”
“You did. And what do you do for the women?” He asked.
“Try and help them. They are at the mercy of the men who offer them coin but little else, and they have no resources.”
Val looked at the lovely woman before him. “I’m sure that’s very noble but also dangerous. The streets of London can be hazardous even in the best of times. For a well-bred, well brought up woman—“
“I’m careful Inspector. We can discuss my social work at a later time. My father I’m sure is on his way to meet you.” She deliberately avoided the word morgue.
“Yes. You’re right. I’ll take my leave. You are all right? Well enough to be alone?” He asked kindly.
“Our servants are here. They have been with us for years and look after us very well,” she told him.
He bowed slightly. “Good day Miss Derry.”
Caroline heard the front door to the townhouse close behind him and when it did, she sank onto the settee, a hand across her mouth. She closed her eyes and willed herself to stop trembling. It could not be Irene. She would not accept it. Irene was fanciful, silly, wild, lovely, but she was not dead. No. She was not dead.
???
Hubert watched as the coroner drew back the sheet and he stared down at the woman lying upon the slab. Her hair was in disarray and the wound around her neck was stark in contrast to her pale skin. He had watched the child grow into a woman and now the woman was dead.
“This is my daughter. Irene Derry.” Hubert spoke the words softly.
He was used to seeing dead bodies as it was his profession, but seeing his daughter lying in the cold morgue was overwhelming. Inspector Pierce was beside him watching his face, and the coroner was busy re-arranging the body and placing it back where it belonged.
He leaned heavily against the door frame as they walked out of the room and Val placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Sir?” He asked solicitously.
“I’m fine. Just a little—“
“There’s a public house nearby,” Val said, concerned for the man.
Hubert nodded, “Yes. I think I could use a drink.”
They took the hansom cab to the nearby pub and once inside the darkened tavern, Hubert slumped against the table while Val ordered two scotches.
“I’m not sure how I am even going to tell my mother and Caroline. They’ll be devastated,” he whispered.
Val nodded remembering his own tragedy and the death of Aida.
Val recalled hearing the words for the first time that Aida was dead. The pain had clenched his heart like a tight vise. It was not as painful now as it had once been, but it was still a sting and a loss.