Each of Ezra Wentworth's theories was more insane than the last, and Leah quickly came to regret her decision to work with him. He suggested that the killer could have been an officer, a member of parliament, and even a ghost. None of them had any basis in fact.

She was glad to finally leave him and return home, where her mother had already retired to her room and the servants informed her that her father would be returning late. Once again, she would have to amuse herself for the evening and her options were starting to limit. Had she been born a man, no one would have batted an eyelid at them walking the streets in the evening.

Leah dragged the wooden chair across the floor of her bedroom. Her breath fogged up the window, and she wiped the condensation away, looking out at the ground below. As the darkness moved in earlier, few people were walking the streets. The market stalls had closed trade for the day. The lamplighters were out early, but the factories continued to churn out smoke.

On the streets below, the officer's presence was high as ever and in the fading darkness, Leah saw just how easy it was for someone to go by unnoticed. The lamps failed to penetrate the darkness entirely, leaving small spots of pitch darkness where someone would fail to see their hand in front of their face.

There were plenty of alleyways, plenty of places to hide.

"Would you like to have your supper here or the dining room, Miss?" Emma asked, opening Leah's bedroom door.

Leah climbed off the chair and perched on the edge of her bed. "I suppose I shall take it in here. There isn't much point in me making use of the dining room if it is just for me."

"Very well. Mrs Black has prepared soup since it is so cold. She will keep some to the side for your father."

"I am sure he will appreciate that whenever he returns." Leah scuffed her foot along the floor. "What did you make of Mr Wentworth's theories?"

"Well, most of them were a tad outlandish, but he might have been right about the killer being an officer."

"I suppose it was the least insane of every theory he presented, which is saying something."

Even though Ezra's theory about the murderer being an officer seemed outlandish, it was the sanest of the theories he had listed. His argument had been simple enough. An officer would have been able to blend in and not be noticed. He would have known the alleyways and the streets better than anyone. Except Ezra couldn't explain why an officer would be killing these men.

The killer had a type of victim, a particular group of people they wanted to punish. Leah could see why such men would be a target, but she could not see why an officer would hold a particular grudge against them.

Leah didn't want to think about it any longer.

Emma left her alone and returned a little while later with a bowl of steaming hot soup and some freshly baked bread. Leah ate on her own, returning to the chair and cradling the warm bowl against her chilly hands as she stared out the window. The sunlight had all but faded, darkness holding the city to ransom until the sun rose once again.

The city returned to its slumber. People returned home, curtains were closed, and the vagabonds of the night returned to walk the streets once more. Leah watched an officer chase a man away from a darkened alley, the man stumbling over the stones and slipping on the wet ground. There was no sign of her father.

Leah unfolded her legs from the chair and placed the now empty bowl on her bed just as Emma entered the room.

"Is there anything else I can get for you, Miss?"

"Nothing, I'm fine. Thank you, Emma."

Emma nodded. "If you're sure."

"I am. I think I shall get myself ready for bed this evening."

"Very well, Miss."

Emma curtseyed, took Leah's bowl from the bed, and left Leah alone once more. Loneliness was not a strange feeling to Leah. It was one she had experienced plenty in the past, but it never became easier to bear. She always wished she had another sibling to spend time with. It would have helped to fight the loneliness, but she had never been that lucky.

Leah crossed her room, kicking a pile of clothes out of the way. She slipped through the door and crept across the hallway, tiptoeing past her mother's room so as not to disturb her. Everyone in the house, including the servants, had learnt to step without making a sound. The house had a blanket of silence over it.

Silence had become a friend.

She pushed open the door to her father's bedroom and stepped inside. Her parents had had separate rooms from each other for as long as Leah could remember. It meant that her father could work late and not disturb his wife if she was suffering from a headache or just felt unwell. Leah had never thought anything of it.

The bedroom contained the bare essentials. A bed, a dresser, a small window that looked out onto London's streets, and a writing desk that Mr Manston rarely used. Leah walked over to the writing desk and ran her hand over the sheets of paper her father had left behind. She didn't read any of them; she did not feel the need.

On the top of her father's dresser sat a stack of books that Leah borrowed when she found her needlepoint to be a little tiresome. She picked one of them up and turned it over in her hand, running her fingers along the lettering.

Leah decided that reading would be a far better use of her time and a decent distraction from her father's prolonged absence.

She tucked the book under her arm and headed towards the door, almost tripping over a pair of boots covered in red dust as she left.

~~~

First Published - February 5th, 2023