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“There was a burglary about four weeks ago at the Stewart home. Did you know that?” Leo asked, circumventing his comment, as she so often did.

“Mr. Stewart said he didn’t report it because nothing appeared to have been taken.

However, something had—a monogrammed valise from the attic.

The one used to house the bomb that John Lloyd was carrying. ”

Jasper rubbed his temple. “You don’t know that for certain.”

“But it makes perfect sense. Why would the Stewarts go to check their attic for missing items? It would be so easily overlooked. And not only that, but the person who took it knew that it would be there. They knew it would implicate Mrs. Stewart. This person was known to her.”

The temptation to follow this line of inquiry nipped at Jasper’s heels.

If it had been his case, he would certainly question the Stewarts’ staff.

But he had no role with the bombing investigation, and it left him feeling utterly thwarted.

Especially since Leo was so keen to plow onward, with or without him.

“You were listening at the door when I spoke to Lord Hayes,” he said.

She bit her bottom lip and turned to take her handbag from where she’d hung it on a stand.

“I might have been,” she said. “Niles Foster’s murder is connected to John Lloyd’s.

You know that as well as I. If Niles had an altercation with a Spitalfields Angel at Bloom’s club, it’s entirely possible John Lloyd did as well.

John was forced to bring that bomb to the Yard; I am certain of it.

Shouldn’t we ask if Mrs. Stewart has any connection to the Spitalfields Angels or why they might wish to target her? ”

Disbelief surged just beneath his skin. “Tell me that isn’t your plan. You aren’t going to a prison to ask about the Angels?”

She frowned at him as she went to the back door, which emptied out into a dirt lane behind the former church vestry. “You make it sound like it’s a bad idea.”

He threw out his arms. “It is a wretched idea, Leo. You cannot simply go into a prison asking about members of a gang. My God, have some sense.”

At her peeved glower, he reined in his temper. Taking a steadying breath, he added, “There are members of that gang in every one of Her Majesty’s prisons. If anyone were to overhear you and then send word to someone on the outside, what do you think would happen?”

She held still, visibly mulling over the question. The slightest bit of awareness and understanding shifted across her defiant expression.

“All right,” she said, with a firm nod. “I’ll whisper.” She opened the door and stepped outside.

A knot tangled inside him. Bloody woman . He joined her on the narrow dirt lane, closing the back door behind him.

“You’re not going alone,” he grumbled. It wasn’t as if he didn’t already have plenty to do back at the Yard. Lewis was still going through Foster’s papers, and Jasper needed to find a way to speak to the Olaf fellow. But Leo was going to Holloway Prison, whether he accompanied her or not.

She walked ahead of him. “Maybe I don’t want your company.”

“Maybe I’m not giving you a choice,” he replied, catching up swiftly. “You remind me of my father. He’d get his teeth into something and refuse to give it up—like a stubborn mongrel.”

Leo glanced up at him, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He held his tongue. It was a compliment, he supposed, even if she infuriated him.

At Trafalgar Square, they hired a cab to take them the five or so miles north of Camden Town.

Holloway Prison housed men primarily, but there were two smaller wings, one for juvenile offenders and one for women.

Female warders were tasked with looking after both of these smaller groups of inmates.

He’d been to Holloway a handful of times, transporting prisoners when he’d been a constable and once, to question a suspect.

“Have you ever been to a city prison?” he asked as they rode along.

“I’ve never had reason to,” Leo answered pointedly.

“They aren’t civilized places. You should prepare yourself.”

Leo only cast him an annoyed glance before turning toward the window again.

With no conversation for the first many minutes, Jasper sat back and contemplated the connection between Foster and Lloyd.

He didn’t want to approach Tomlin until he had more than similar bruising patterns and a habit for gambling at Striker’s Wharf to link the two deaths.

What he needed to do was find out what had happened inside that casino and how Foster had incurred Olaf’s ire.

Leo’s voice broke the quiet. “It is kind of Lord Hayes to see to Mr. Foster’s burial. They must have been close.”

“Their fathers were close. As such, Oliver felt a responsibility toward him.”

“I see.” Leo laced her fingers together in her lap. She wanted to say something more, though it took her a moment to get it out. “And was Miss Hayes also acquainted with Niles Foster?”

Shifting in his seat, Jasper tugged awkwardly on the panels of his coat. “Not that I am aware.”

“You haven’t inquired?”

He supposed there was no need to be secretive about what had happened between him and Oliver’s cousin. Now was as good a time as any to confess. “I’ve ended things with Constance.”

Leo blinked. “Oh.” Her lips parted, as if truly stunned. Jasper noted the full curve of her bottom lip, then dragged his attention away.

“I’m sorry,” she offered.

He arched a brow. “You didn’t like her.”

She had the good grace to look contrite. “Nevertheless, I am sorry.”

He was only sorry for how long he’d strung Constance along.

Maybe it was because deep down, Jasper had known she was courting him out of defiance of her parents, her role in society and the life she’d been born into.

She’d been pushing against others’ expectations for her and perhaps the unpolished detective inspector from Scotland Yard had been an exciting addition to her rebellion.

It might not be generous toward her, but in his gut, Jasper suspected it to be true.

He was also now willing to admit that Constance’s own suspicion had possessed some legitimacy. Your precious Leo. The echo of her bitter comment would not quit his mind…much like his thoughts of the woman seated across from him in the cab.

He thanked Leo for her sympathy with a nod and hoped the topic would be dropped.

The silence lasted until they arrived in rural Holloway in North London, outside the imposing castle-like prison.

The driver let them off at the wrought iron gate, and Jasper paid him to wait.

The visit would be brief, if it was permitted at all.

“Gracious, it truly is a fortress,” Leo said, her eyes turned upward at the Gothic castellated stone towers and ramparts. A high brick wall surrounded the entire premises.

The rain had tapered to a drizzle, wetting their shoulders as they walked between the Governor’s House and Chaplain’s House toward the solid, iron-bolted gate centering the porter’s lodge.

Jasper brought his fist down upon the gate, and a pair of prison guards in uniform greeted them with expectant, wary once-overs.

As he’d hoped, his warrant card gained them access inside the walls of the prison, but they were made to wait inside a small room in the lodge while the chief warder was summoned.

When he arrived, dressed in a uniform distinct from the other warders, he did not welcome them warmly. He inspected the warrant card closely before asking their business with his prisoner.

“I’m investigating a murder. The victim may have been connected to that of the Scotland Yard bombing, for which Mrs. Stewart stands accused,” Jasper replied. “I have questions for her.”

The chief warder, Mr. Vines, pursed his lips, his walrus mustache wriggling. He peered at Leo. “And what does this woman here have to do with your investigation?”

Before Jasper could answer, Leo spoke for herself, her annoyance with the chief warder evident. “My name is Miss Spencer. I am known to your prisoner and may help ease the questioning process.”

Mr. Vines sniffed his disapproval but granted them both access.

He led them into the graveled courtyard, where the three-story ragstone exterior of the juvenile wing stretched to the left and the female prisoners’ wing loomed to the right.

The spring flowers and greening shrubs that bordered the wall drooped morosely in the rainfall.

An inner warder greeted Mr. Vines at the wicket gate and showed them into the reception hall of the main prison.

A large staircase led to the central halls of the prison cells for the juveniles and women in this first building.

The men’s cells were in another building, separated by an exterior courtyard.

The reception warder, Mr. Smythe, joined them and, after a hushed conversation with Mr. Vines, took over and guided them forward into the long reception hall.

At the far end were the women’s receiving cells.

“As Mrs. Stewart has not yet been tried or sentenced, she is currently being held here rather than in general detention,” Mr. Smythe explained.

He approached a woman warder, standing guard outside a line of steel doors. The woman wasn’t tall, but she was broad and muscular. Jasper would have placed a steep wager that she could easily hold her own should any ruckus erupt. “Visitors for Mrs. Stewart,” Mr. Smythe said to her.

The warder kept an impassive expression and knocked upon one of the doors before promptly unlocking it.

“Miss Hartley will stand guard with the door open while you visit,” the reception warder said. “Ten minutes.”

He stepped aside, allowing Jasper and Leo entry.

The whitewashed cell walls were unadorned, except for a list of the prison’s rules and regulations for the occupant to read if they were capable.

A dark-haired woman stood timidly near the back of the cell, her hands clasped in front of her as she waited to see who had come.