But there was something odd. Although the article seized a fair amount of space on the page, the author glossed over the most significant part of the whole event: the woman who jumped. Her description and features were not discussed, not even the color of her hair; it only said she wore dark, heavy clothing. The article did not reveal whether any words were exchanged with the woman and noted the whole affair had been rather disorderly. A number of spectators had descended upon the immediate vicinity, the confusion and chaos such that the officers briefly lost sight of the woman before she stepped over the railing of the bridge.

According to the article, there was no doubt the woman was an abettor in the death of Lord Clarence, and officers were certain the string of murders associated with the woman they’d dubbed the apothecary killer had come to an end. The River Thames was hostile that day, swift and frigid, littered with ice. After the woman jumped, police monitored the area for a long while. But she did not surface. She did not reappear.

Her identity, according to the article, remained unknown.

As twilight fell over London and nightfall neared, James began to stir. He turned over in the hospital bed, facing me, then slowly opened his eyes. “Hi,” he whispered, a smile pulling at his lips.

Sobbing in the waiting room had been more cathartic than I realized, and after fearing this morning that I might lose James, something within me had softened. I was still desperately angry with him. But in this moment, at least I could bear to be close to him. I reached for his hand and took it in my own, wondering if this might be the last time we would hold hands in a very long time—or perhaps forever.

“Hi,” I whispered back.

I put a few pillows behind James’s back so he could more comfortably sit up, then handed him the menu for the hospital’s cafeteria. I insisted it was no problem to go out and order him real food, but the hospital’s menu wasn’t half bad.

After he placed his order, I prayed he wouldn’t ask more questions about the police, like why they thought I poisoned him. If James asked what prompted the interrogation, he’d want to see the notebook himself. But for now, I meant to keep it between Gaynor and myself.