“And endure her wrath alone?” His kind offer steeled her courage. “No, we’re in this together,” she said. “It’s clear that whatever path my sister has taken, it has converged with your investigation. Besides, she may not talk to you. Of course, she may not talk to me either, but perhaps together we can try and make her see reason. Or at the very least explain herself.”
The urge to enter the pub and call out to Mary to see if she truly was inside was held back only by the prospect of drawing the attention of everyone in the vicinity—friend, foe, or merely the curious. Edwina exhaled in frustration. Mary’s behavior had left her disoriented before, but this time she truly was adrift on a sea of confusion. What was her sister up to?
“Miss Blackwood?” A woman with a face like a dried apple approached on the pavement from the other direction. “Now there’s a fine hello. I was only saying how pleased I was with myself for buying one of your hatpins, what with another murder last night, and speak of the devil, there you are. I’d recognize that shawl anywhere.”
“Mrs. Dower, hello.”
“What brings you this way, love?” The woman looked around to see what might have induced a young lady with a man at her side to venture onto her street.
“I’m looking for my sister, actually.” Edwina’s eye went to the corner pub. “You haven’t run into her, have you?”
Mrs. Dower ran her tongue over her mostly toothless gums while thinking about it. “Can’t say as I have today, love.” She thought about it some more and offered, “But I saw her yesterday one lane over that way. She was with that tall young man of hers. Thinks he’s the cock of the walk, that one. Passes by my window some mornings, though by the look of him, he’s on his way home when the rest of the world’s just waking up.”
Ian took a photo from his pocket and held it out to the woman. “Would this be the young man she was with?”
Mrs. Dower leaned in, squinting at the photo from a few inches away. “My eyes aren’t what they used to be,” she said, angling the photo to better catch the light before shaking her head. “Sorry, I can’t make out his face that well, but it could be, though certainly not with a top hat.” She laughed at the notion. “Sorry I couldn’t be more help, but so many of these young men have the same look with their long coats and high-and-mighty manners.”
Ian retracted the photo and put it away in his pocket. “Thank you,” he said. Though the woman didn’t seem to notice the disappointment in his voice, Edwina did.
“Thank you, Mrs. Dower. You’ve been most helpful. Please come by the shop if I can ever be of service.”
They said goodbye, and after the woman went on her way, Edwina asked, “Is that a photo of George? Why did you show it to her of all people?”
He exhaled, avoiding her eye. “Just a hunch.”
“You think George is involved with my sister?” Edwina looked at the corner pub again, wondering if it could be true. She’d suspected for weeks her sister was seeing an inappropriate young man, but George?
“They’ve obviously crossed paths.” He crooked his finger to lure her into a darkened doorway to get out of view of the pub. “You said yourself you dinna know how his pin came to be in your shop, so it had to be Mary. The only question is, how did she acquire the damn thing?” He leaned in close, the heat of his breath on her cheek making her light-headed with want. “How did she acquire any of those things we found?”
“This can’t be happening.” Edwina leaned her back against the door as if to steel herself. “If those items belonged to the murder victims . . .” She shook her head when it didn’t make sense. “But George wasn’t one of the victims listed in the papers.”
“No, but there’s a connection. She must know George.” He leaned his shoulder against the door, losing any pretense of formality with her. “Listen, I couldn’t say this earlier with Sir Elvanfoot standing there, but you remember those drawings I left in the hotel?”
“The ones that nearly got you arrested?”
“I’ve done some digging, and apparently I’d been working on a theory that the murders were ritualistic. There was a mark found on each of the victims’ bodies during the autopsies. A sort of spiral shape. I thought it might be a symbol used in a forbidden spell or curse.”
“A death spell?”
“Or a form of blood magic,” he said. “I’ve seen something similar before when I worked for the Northern Constabulary, but I could never prove the intent or the motive. The victims there were all animals.”