The Fleet Street Murders Read Online Free PDF

and tenderness, more selflessness, after all of their early turmoil. The apotheosis of this newfound happiness was a pregnancy: In six months Toto would give birth. It had been to check on her that Lenox was going to visit the McConnells’ vast house.
    When he woke, however, Lenox received a note from McConnell begging his pardon and asking him to delay his visit until he was bidden come. Lenox didn’t like the tone of the note, and visiting Lady Jane for his lunch, asked her about it.
    “I haven’t the faintest idea,” she said, worried. “Shall I visit Toto?”
    “Perhaps, yes,” said Lenox.
    She had stopped eating her soup. “Despite his request?”
    “You and Toto are awfully close, Jane.”
    “Yes, that’s true.”
    “Will you tell me what happens?”
    “Of course.”
    After she finished eating, she called for her carriage and in time went to her relation’s house. Lenox was in the midst of a biography of Hadrian and sat back with his pipe to read it. He was an amateur historian and, without a case, devoted at least a few hours of each day to study of the Romans. His monographs on daily life in Augustan Rome had been well received at the great universities, and he had a wide, international correspondence with other scholars. That day, however, all his thoughts had been on Pierce and Carruthers.
    Jane returned sometime later, looking ashen. “It’s bad news,” she said.
    “What?” he asked.
    “Toto fell ill in the middle of the night.”
    “Good God,” he said, sitting by her on his red leather couch.
    “They called the doctor in just past midnight. Thomas is worried to the point of utter exhaustion and blames himself for poor—what did he say?—poor medical supervision of his wife.”
    “She has a dozen doctors.”
    “So I told him.”
    “Is it—” He could scarcely ask. “Have they lost the baby?”
    A tear rolled down Lady Jane’s cheek. “It seems they may have. The doctors can’t say yet. There’s—there’s blood.”
    With that she collapsed onto his shoulder and wept. He held her tight.
    “Is she in danger?”
    “They won’t say, but Thomas doesn’t think so.”
    It was an anxiety-filled early evening. After Lady Jane had returned with her news, Lenox had written to McConnell offering any help he could give, down to the smallest errand. Now Lenox and Lady Jane waited, talking very little. At some point a light supper appeared before them, but neither ate. Twice Lenox sent a maid to McConnell’s house to inquire, and both times she came back without any new information.
    At last, close to ten o’clock, McConnell himself appeared. He looked drawn and weary, his strong and healthy body somehow obscene.
    “A glass of wine,” Lenox told Graham.
    “Or whisky, better still, with a splash of water,” McConnell said miserably. He buried his head in his hands after Lenox led him to the sofa.
    “Right away, sir,” said Graham and returned with it.
    McConnell drank off half the glass before he spoke again. “We lost the child,” he said at last. “Toto will be well, however.”
    “Damn it,” said Lenox. “I’m so sorry, Thomas.”
    Lady Jane was pale. “I must go see her,” she said.
    Lenox thought of all Toto’s long, prattling monologues about baby names and baby toys, about painting rooms blue or pink, about what schools a boy child would attend or what year a girl would come out in society. Lenox and Jane were to have stood godparents. He thought of that, too.
    “She didn’t want to see anything of me. May you do better,” said McConnell.
    Lady Jane left.
    After some minutes Lenox said, “You have a long and happy future ahead, Thomas.”
    “Perhaps,” said the doctor.
    “Will you sleep here tonight?”
    “Thanks, Lenox, but no. I have to return. In case Toto needs me.”
    “Of course—of course.”
    McConnell stifled a sob. “To think I once called myself a doctor.”
    “She had every attention a woman could,” Lenox gently reminded his