Hours passed. Sidney called down for a pot of coffee, and the two of them sat without speaking. At first, the atmosphere was distinctly uncomfortable, punctuated by sharp, restrained glances and tightened lips. But it was impossible to maintain the tension as the night wore on. Amelia tilted her head back against the chair and lapsed into the kind of fuzzy, disjointed thoughts that come with extraordinary fatigue. The things Sidney had said flitted through her mind, but she refused to let them linger. They weren’t worth considering. He was wrong.
It was well after midnight when Jonas stirred. Amelia, drowsing on the chair by the bed, jerked awake at the movement. Sidney leaned forward.
“Jonas, I’m here,” she said. “Don’t try to move.”
“ ’Melia,” he mumbled, his eyes still closed.
She leaned in and put her hand to his forehead, relieved to find it cool and dry. “Could you take some water, some broth?”
He made a weak pushing gesture with his uninjured arm, then dropped it back to the bed as if the movement had been too much.
“Mmm ’ockt.”
“What?” she said, mystified.
“M’ pocket,” he tried again. “List. Names.”
Understanding dawned. “You made a list? You think you found some of the women?”
He made a sound that might have been agreement.
“That doesn’t matter now.”
He grunted, frowning, and shifted on the mattress.
“Stay still,” she soothed. “I’ll look, I promise. But you need to rest. Sidney’s here,” she said after a moment, looking up at him.
Something that might have been a smile flickered across Jonas’s mouth before fading away. Amelia stood and stepped back as Sidney slid into the chair she’d vacated and took Jonas’s hand.
“Where are his clothes?” she asked. “The ones he was wearing when you found him?”
Sidney gestured into the other room without turning from Jonas. “In a sack beside the table.” He seemed to forget she was there as soon as he’d stopped speaking.
Amelia went into the other room. The sack was where he’d indicated, and Jonas’s bag sat beside it. Amelia sat and pulled each item from the sack in turn. Already sober, she went positively grim. The shirt was stiff with dried blood. The sleeve and front of the thicker jacket he’d been wearing were mostly saturated and still wet in places. Her heart lurched. How much blood could be left in Jonas’s body, with this much soaking his clothes?
She steadied herself with a breath and felt through all the pockets. There was no list. She frowned. Perhaps he’d put it in the bag. She spread the contents out on the table. His pocketknife; his watch, the face cracked—it must have happened when he fell; a few coins; a magazine folded in half; his wallet, stuffed with notes and reminders; a single ragged calling card, the name illegible; a blank notepad; a stubby pencil with the marks of his teeth.
She felt through the clothes again, making sure she hadn’t missed something. She looked at all the papers again, then scrutinized the magazine. Perhaps he’d written in the margins? She teased apart the pages, looking for Jonas’s familiar scrawl. Nothing. She stuffed the ruined clothing back into the sack, then sat back on her heels.
There was a soft knock at the door, and Sidney came out of the bedroom. “I called for broth, and more coffee.”
He opened the door to a uniformed waiter, who swiftly stepped inside and deposited the tray on a table. Sidney handed him what must have been a sizable tip, judging from the way the man’s eyes widened, and closed the door behind him.
Sidney picked up the pot of broth. “Help yourself if you’d like the coffee,” he said over his shoulder as he went back to Jonas.
Amelia poured herself a cup and sat, brooding, until he came back out.
“He took most of the broth. I gave him the three drops of laudanum the doctor allowed. He’s out again.” Sidney sat down opposite Amelia. “The list. Did you find it?”
“No. It’s not here.”
He looked at the things spread across the tabletop and frowned. “But his watch and wallet are. If it was a robbery, the thief would have taken those.”
“Yes. He would have.”
“It wasn’t a robbery, then.”
“No. Someone knows.”