Miss Bremerton nodded. “I suppose that’s as good a description as any.” Her voice trembled the slightest bit, and Jonathan thought she might be holding back a laugh.
“And how can you tell she was wearing the wrong bustle?” Jonathan asked, wanting to return the conversation to the business of solving the murder.
“You see, here.” She pointed to the bottom ruffle of the woman’s dress. “The rear of her skirts have been dragging. The proper tournure would have lifted the hem off the ground.”
“So we can assume the woman purchased the gown secondhand, without the proper underclothing,” Jonathan said. “While it is interesting, it is not unusual.”
“I agree, Detective,” Miss Bremerton said. “But a dress such as this . . . its value is very dear. I believe it was made for last year’s Season. The collar design and color were the very height of fashion, and the basque-style overskirt had not yet been replaced by a polonaise.”
The men shared another bewildered look.
Miss Bremerton continued. “If we can discern where the dress is from or how she came to be wearing it, perhaps it would lead to her identity.”
Jonathan didn’t like the woman’s use of the word we or the way she was taking charge of the investigation. “Obviously, that is—what are you doing now?”
Miss Bremerton had pulled a notebook from her bag and started sketching. “It will be dark soon, Detective. And it looks like rain. I intend to document as much of the scene as possible. Would you move your lantern closer?”
Jonathan plunked down his lantern beside Sergeant Lester’s in front of the lady. His irritation was evolving into something much more like anger. He’d had quite enough of this woman’s presumptions and uninvited observations and intended to tell her. But before he had the chance, Sergeant Lester called to him. “Sir, have a look at this.” He motioned him toward the victim’s feet. “The backs of her heels are scraped.”
“She was dragged here,” Jonathan said. He noticed the young woman’s boots were old and worn. They were nowhere near the quality of the gown she wore. Perhaps Miss Bremerton’s observations about the woman’s clothing would be useful after all. But the idea that she’d offered helpful insight grated at him.
Dr. Peabody entered the alley, his cane making a clicking sound where it hit the paving stones. He nodded to the men and knelt next to Miss Bremerton, showing no surprise at her presence, as was his way. Dr. Peabody was rarely rattled. “How do you do, miss? Dr. Phinneas Peabody. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”
“Sophie Bremerton. And the pleasure is mine, Doctor.”
“Delighted.” The older bowed awkwardly from his kneeling position, then looked down at the dead woman. “Now, what have we here?”
“We believe the victim was strangled.” Miss Bremerton spoke before Jonathan could respond.
Sergeant Lester returned to kneel across from the others. He held his lantern closer. “Bruises on her neck, Doctor.”
“Skin’s cold,” Dr. Peabody said, touching the woman’s cheek with the back of his fingers. He lifted her arm and bent the elbow, checking for rigor mortis. “Hasn’t been dead long.” He pulled down her collar.
Jonathan crouched beside the sergeant, leaning forward for a better view, though so many people gathered around the body made it difficult.
“Definitely could indicate asphyxia,” Dr. Peabody said. “Have you finished your initial examination of the scene, Detective? Might we turn her over?”
“Yes.” Jonathan and Sergeant Lester turned the woman onto her back.
“Hold a lantern, if you please, Miss Bremerton.” The doctor examined the deceased woman’s neck, then pulled up her eyelids. “Ah, look here.”
The three leaned closer, the flowers of Miss Bremerton’s hat effectively blocking Jonathan’s view.
“Petechial hemorrhaging,” Dr. Peabody said. “Another sign of asphyxia.” He lifted the victim’s outstretched hand, studied it, laid it beside her, and then reached across the body to lift the other. “No defensive wounds.”
“You think she did not resist her attacker?” Miss Bremerton asked.
“Impossible to say,” Dr. Peabody replied. “I’ll know more once I can examine her in the morgue.” He looked closer at the hand he held, turning it over to study the nails. “Soft hands. A gentlewoman, perhaps?”
Jonathan spoke quickly before Miss Bremerton had the chance. “I’d considered it, but her clothing and jewelry would indicate otherwise.”
“Well, that is your area of expertise, not mine, Detective.” The doctor set the hand back.
“How long has she been dead?” Jonathan asked.
“Two hours, perhaps three.” He moved to stand.
Miss Bremerton jumped up and helped the doctor to his feet, retrieving his cane.
“Thank you, my dear.”
Jonathan and Sergeant Lester stood as well.
“I’ll let you know my findings,” Dr. Peabody said.
“Thank you, Doctor.” Jonathan and Miss Bremerton spoke at the same moment.
The lady took the doctor’s offered arm and accompanied him to the mouth of the alleyway, where he directed the waiting students from the medical college to retrieve the body and deliver it to the morgue.
Sergeant Lester picked up his lantern and Miss Bremerton’s notebook and bag and followed.
Jonathan clasped his hands behind his back and took one last look at the scene, wishing for daylight or a photographer. He had very few clues as to the dead woman’s identity and knew finding witnesses willing to talk would be difficult, if not impossible. As he walked to the mouth of the alley, he ground his teeth, frustrated that this would very likely be another unidentified woman in an unsolved case file.
“What is the next course of action, Sergeant Lester?” Miss Bremerton asked.
“We’ll interview potential witnesses, look into the lady’s identity, and hope the doctor is able to find anything on the body to give us direction.”
She nodded, writing something in her notebook. “Very good. As far as the gown—”
“That’s enough.” Jonathan had reached the end of his patience. “Listen, Miss Bremerton. I’ve had quite enough of your thrill seeking. This is a police matter. It is not your place to advise my sergeant on police procedure, nor for that matter, should you travel in this part of the city alone.”
“But I am not alone, sir. My carriage driver waits just—”
“Go home, Miss Bremerton.” He took her arm and led her from the alley. “Make yourself a nice cup of tea. You’ve had sufficient adventure in the rookery to earn the envy of your friends.”