Page 28

Rain drummed against the police carriage windows as Evander and Rufus made their way through Kensington’s tree-lined streets. Evander gazed blindly at the elegant houses they passed, lost in contemplation.

“Do you believe Lady Whitley knows more than she’s letting on?” Rufus asked, breaking the silence. “Shaw did interview her briefly the morning she came to report her husband’s disappearance.”

“That’s what we’re here to determine,” Evander replied as the carriage slowed before a handsome brick residence set back from the road. “This visit is well overdue.”

They alighted under the shelter of their umbrellas and made their way up the gravel path to the front door. The sombre-faced housekeeper who admitted them into the house led them to a well-appointed drawing room where Elizabeth Whitley awaited.

She was a slender woman in her mid-forties, her intelligent face composed despite the strain evident in the shadows beneath her eyes. She wore a dark green dress that spoke of restrained elegance and wore her golden hair neatly coiled at the nape of her neck.

“Your Grace.” She rose and greeted Evander with a formal curtsy. “Inspector Grayson.” She addressed her housekeeper. “Betty, some tea, please.”

“Yes, my Lady.” The housekeeper left.

“Thank you for agreeing to see us on such short notice, Lady Whitley,” Evander said as he and Rufus took the seats she offered.

“It is I who must thank you for coming in person.” A trace of bitterness underscored her voice. “I would rather this than the incessant barrage of visitors from the Institute.”

Evander exchanged a surprised glance with Rufus.

“You’ve had unwanted guests from the Institute?”

“Yes. Some of Walter’s colleagues have been to the house.

” Lady Whitley’s expression grew pinched.

“Most came to enquire about my welfare, but a few persisted in suggesting Walter had simply gone on an unannounced research trip. As if he would ever behave so irresponsibly after twenty years of marriage.”

Rufus removed a small notebook from his coat pocket. “When did you last see your husband, Mrs. Whitley?”

“Four days before I reported him missing.”

The housekeeper returned with their drinks. Lady Whitley waited until she’d served them and left before continuing.

“Walter came home late the previous night. He was in a state of considerable agitation. He spent the entire evening in his study with the door locked.” Delicate lines marked Lady Whitley’s brow. “I could hear him moving about and there was a distinct smell of burning paper.”

Evander exchanged a significant glance with Rufus. “Did he explain what was troubling him?”

Lady Whitley’s fingers whitened on her cup. “He told me his research had taken an unexpected turn and that certain parties might be interested in applying his findings in ways he could not condone.”

Her words chilled Evander as much as they did Rufus.

Lady Whitley’s testimony confirmed what Chevalier had written in his letter to Professor Whitley.

“Did he mention who these parties might be?” Evander pressed quietly.

“No.” She hesitated. “But he did tell me that he and the French professor he was working with had made a disturbing discovery regarding their research sponsor.”

“Did he name this sponsor?” Rufus asked tensely, his magic quill poised over his notebook.

Lady Whitley shook her head. “Walter was always discreet about such matters. But I gathered it was someone of considerable influence. Possibly someone outside the Institute.”

Renwick’s mysterious master immediately came to Evander’s mind. Though there was no definite proof of any connection between the eponymous “ I ” and their current case, the probability was high that there was.

Evander leaned forward. “Mrs. Whitley, did your husband ever discuss his work with you?”

Her expression clouded over. “Not in detail. He had become increasingly secretive in recent weeks. When I asked him about it, he said it was safer for me not to know the particulars.” Lady Whitley’s composure briefly cracked, revealing the fear beneath.

“The morning he left, he embraced me as though”—she stopped and swallowed—“as though he might never return.”

Evander maintained a diplomatic silence while their host regained her poise.

“Is there any news of Walter?” Lady Whitley asked in a low voice, her eyes gleaming with hope.

“Not yet, but I believe we are getting close to finding out what happened to him,” Evander replied. “Can we take a look at his study?”

Lady Whitley blinked. “Of course.”

She led them through the house to Whitley’s office. Unlike the messy rooms at the Institute and the chaotic chamber hidden under Whitley’s lab, the study was tidy and well organised.

“The forensic mages Officer Shaw sent have already been over this room,” Lady Whitley said uncertainly, hovering near the doorway.

“We know.” Evander flashed her a reassuring smile. “Still, it doesn’t hurt to take a second look.”

He released a faint pulse of magic as he crossed the room and didn’t pick up on anything unusual. He made his way to the fireplace while Rufus moved to examine Whitley’s desk.

The grate was clean.

Evander frowned. “Did your servants clean this?”

“Yes.” Lady Whitley clasped her hands tightly. “To be honest, he doesn’t normally like anyone in here unless he’s present on the premises. But I asked our servants to tidy things up the morning I last saw him. Should I not have?” Guilt darkened her eyes.

“There was no way you could have known what would come to pass,” Evander said gently. He frowned at the fireplace. “Besides, if all that was left was ash, then it would not have been helpful to our investigation.”

“Oh.”

Evander looked over at Lady Whitley.

She had gone pale and was pressing a hand to her mouth.

Evander tensed. “What is it?”

“There was something that fell beneath the grate,” she mumbled. “A scrap of paper. I completely forgot about it with everything that’s happened!”

Evander rose stiffly, his pulse racing. “Do you still have it?”

“Yes,” Lady Whitley nodded shakily. “I shall go and fetch it.” She disappeared and returned a moment later with a small folded piece of paper that looked to have been torn out of a journal.

Rufus joined Evander as he took the paper and carefully unfolded it.

Though the outside was marked with smoke and stained with ash, the inside was relatively unscathed. Written in a cramped hand was an address on Flower and Dean Street.

Evander lowered his brows. It was a lodging house in one of the poorest areas of Whitechapel.

“I’m so sorry,” Lady Whitley said in a voice full of regret. “I wasn’t sure whether my husband meant to discard it, so I kept it. I was going to ask Walter about it when I next saw him.” She bit her lip. “Do you think it important?”

Evander folded the paper and tucked it inside his coat. “I’m not sure yet. But we will investigate it.” He gave Lady Whitley a kind smile. “Thank you for your cooperation. We’ll do everything in our power to find your husband.”

Lady Whitley’s expression grew mournful. “It’s the least I can do. I pray Walter comes home safe and sound.”

They left the professor’s residence under a downpour and hurried over to the carriage.

“Stepney please,” Evander instructed the constable in the box seat curtly.

Rufus gave him a surprised look as they climbed inside. “Where are we going?”

“To see Viggo,” Evander replied grimly.