“What about this, Inspector?” Ivers asked, pointing to a silver object lying on the dresser across the room. “It don’t look like it belongs to Miss Polly.”
All three men joined him, staring down at a silver snuffbox, inlaid with the design of a snake on the top.
“This looks promising,” Quinn told Ivers. “I highly doubt Polly indulged in this particular vice, and it isn’t the sort of gift a man gives a woman. Even if it had belonged to her, I doubt she’d leave it out in the open this way, given Lady Allison’s strict rules about gentlemen callers.”
Ness nodded. “Don’t touch it. I’ll find something to put it in and see if we can get some prints off it.”
“We can try,” Quinn agreed, though he still wasn’t quite convinced it was worth it. But Ness had read Sir Francis Galton’s book on the subject and had been diligently gathering a collection of fingerprints for the last few years. “But this looks like it belongs to a toff, and I don’t think you have many of those on your cards.”
Ivers’ eyes widened. “You think a toff did this, Inspector? Looks like some sort of monster got to her.”
“You’re a fool if you think monsters don’t dwell in the upper class,” Ness said darkly. “The ton’s full of them, if you ask me.”
Leaving his men to discuss the matter among themselves, Quinn took one last look around the room. He’d have the pictures to look at later, but nothing could replace the visceral scents and colors of the actual scene.
Polly’s nightgown lay shredded beside her on the bed. The killer had ripped it off her, which made him think she hadn’t climbed willingly into bed with her murderer, though he couldn’t be certain of that. Why had she let him in if they hadn’t been lovers? Was it possible he’d somehow broken into the house and crept up to her room without invitation? How had he known which room was hers?
The violence of the crime seemed to indicate a relationship of some sort. He hoped so because if he couldn’t figure out how Polly knew her killer, it would make it even more difficult to find him.
On the floor near the foot of the bed, a small rag doll sprawled in an ignoble heap. He guessed that Polly had kept it on her bed, and it had been flung aside during the commotion. This small reminder that Polly had been a real girl, with a doll she might have kept since her childhood, broke his heart. He had an urge to pick it up and tuck it beside Polly’s broken body, but he didn’t want to move anything before the pictures were taken.
Shaking his head, he moved to her desk, hoping to find some sort of diary, but there was nothing but a quill, an inkpot, and some blank sheets of paper. Perhaps she’d meant to write a letter? They’d have to find out if she had any family that needed to be notified of her death.
At last, Quinn felt satisfied that the room had told him all that it could. More than that, he had a good idea of who Polly had been and what her life at Mercy House was like. He motioned Ness over. “If you’ll make certain the boys do their work here, I’ll go talk with Lady Allison and the other ladies who live here, see if they know anything.”
Ness smirked a bit but didn’t comment on Quinn’s sudden interest in interviewing the witnesses when he’d usually leave that to someone else. “I’ll see it done, sir.”
Quinn nodded rigidly and left the room, deciding not to dwell on the fact that his sergeant obviously knew something of his fascination with Lady Allison. There was no way Ness could know the extent of it. He’d never told his friend about the Channel crossing he’d made with Lady Allison all those years ago. A careless word could have ruined her.
He found Lady Allison pacing the sitting room where he’d left her, only now she was joined by Lucy, a lovely woman he assumed was the lady’s maid Heather, and Daisy Upton and Belle Duffey, two of the women he knew lived at Mercy House.
“Tell us it ain’t so,” sobbed Daisy, the moment he entered the room. “Tell us our Polly ain’t dead.”
He shook his head at the brassy blonde former prostitute, suspecting her tears were for show. He’d once broken up a vicious fight between her and Polly. There couldn’t have been too much love lost between them. One thing the job had taught him long ago was that people lied. They lied all the time and for all sorts of reasons.
“I’m afraid it is true,” he told the women. “I wish I could tell you otherwise.”
“Who do you think did it?” Daisy asked, still pouring her grief on thick.
“Should I be worried for my other girls?” Lady Allison asked, her voice once more strong, her gaze direct.
“There’s no reason to think this is anything other than what it appears to be,” Quinn answered with a sigh. “Someone obviously had a reason to want Polly dead.”
“Everybody loved Polly,” Belle said quietly. Unlike Daisy, she actually seemed truly saddened by Polly’s death. “I can’t imagine who would want to hurt her.”
“Were there any men in her life?” Quinn asked. Given the extent of Polly’s injuries, someone had expended a lot of hatred on her. In his experience, that generally only happened in intimate relationships.
“Of course, there weren’t!” Lady Allison replied. “She gave all that up when she moved in here.”
Daisy was smirking, and Belle had cast her eyes to the floor, giving Quinn all the answer he needed. They knew far more about Polly’s love life than Lady Allison did, but they’d never tell him in front of her. He’d have to have them come down to the station and question them separately from the woman they owed their comfortable living situation to.
“Do you know anyone who might have had a grudge against her?” he asked instead, deciding to take another tactic. “Anyone who might have wanted her dead?”
None of the women had an answer for that, not that he’d really expected them to. Even if Polly had known she was in trouble, she might not have told anyone about it. She might have thought she could handle it by herself, or she might not have even known that a madman had her in his sights.
He sighed and looked around the room, meeting each of the women’s eyes in turn. “I’ll need you each to come down to the station tomorrow and give a statement. In the meantime, try to remember anything that Polly might have said or done recently that struck you as odd, especially given what we know now. Anyone she’d met recently, anything she might have been doing that someone might not have liked, any men who’d been showing interest in her.”
“What else should we do, Inspector?” Lady Allison asked, her little chin held high, her blue eyes full of determination.