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I turn away to blink back tears as I nod. “I don’t want to be retiring from the police force in thirty years, realizing I’ve achieved everything I want there… and having nothing to retireto.” I straighten. “But I’llfigure that out. The point is that I know it would be easier for everyone if I wasn’t in such a hurry to get home. It feels rude.”
He chuckles at that.
“It does,” I say, facing him. “Like a guest who can’t wait to leave. It makes everyone uncomfortable. I’m not unhappy here. If someone said my visit would last another month, I’d throw myself into that month and love every minute of it.”
“The problem is not knowing.”
“Yes. Not knowing when—or if—I can get back. I do have a life I need to return to. If I didn’t, I’d stay. I’ve been so lucky. I can’t imagine landing in a better place.”
He glances over. Our eyes meet, and his mouth opens. He starts to say something, but the words are drowned out by a sudden scream from below.
“Murder!”
TWENTY-FOUR
The scream rips through the quiet night air, as distinct as if the woman who shouted it stood right beside me, but I still look at Gray.
“Did she say—?” I begin.
“Murder!” The scream comes again. “Help! My master has been murdered! Poisoned!”
We look at each other. Then we both take off for the stairs so fast we crash into each other. Gray steps back, tipping his hat to tell me to go first, and it’s wonderfully gallant, but when I demur, he’s off with an obvious exhale of relief.
There are times when chivalry is terribly inconvenient, and this is one of them—when someone is in dire need of assistance and custom dictates that you rush to her aid behind a woman in long skirts. Also, the slower Gray goes, the longer it takes for him to find out what’s happening.
I take the endless stairs as fast as I can, and I still nearly fall twice. I’m wearing my maid skirts, which only reach the top of my boots and that helps, but I’m still moving slower than I’d like. Gray doesn’t notice, but in his defense, that’s only because he’s long gone.
I get outside to see him running in the direction of the woman, whose screaming has fallen to babbling. When he reaches the street, he glances back. I wave, and he takes off.
I would love to say I can move faster now that I’m on solid ground, but these boots aren’t made for running.
The woman’s voice comes from a street near the monument, and at first my heart clenches, thinking of Queen Mab. But I soon realize the voice comes from even closer, just over by St. Andrew Square. I can see the Melville Monument from here and run toward it. I find the right street and reach the end of it to see Gray giving orders to a man while anxiously glancing down the street. When he spots me, he nods and turns his full attention to the man.
Gray is outside a narrow town house. It’s on a street even finer than his, though this particular town house is smaller, as if two sets of builders had started from opposite ends of the road and didn’t have quite enough room when they reached the middle. A woman stands on the doorstep. White-haired and pale-faced, she’s kneading the skirt of a lopsided dress, one that looks as if it was hastily pulled on in the night.
The man Gray is talking to seems to be staff from a neighboring town house. Gray is trying to tell him to fetch the police. It’s a simple—and obvious—request, but the man’s face is set in a way that says he’s not taking orders from Gray.
“My master,” the woman on the doorstep whimpers. “He’s dead. Murdered in his bed.”
Two other people stand on doorsteps, one looking like a housekeeper, the other a homeowner. Gray wheels toward the housekeeper.
“You there—”
She shuts the door before he can finish. I walk up to the guy on the sidewalk.
“You heard the gentleman,” I say. “Get the police. Do you want to be arrested for obstruction of justice?”
The man gapes at me.
I wave a hand at him. “Did you hear me? Get the police. Now. And if you try hiding behind a door like that woman over there, I’ll be sure the police know where you live. If there has truly been a murder, she’s a suspect for sure.”
“What?” a voice says as the door reopens.
“Oh, there you are. Accidentally shut the door on yourself, did you?” I turn back to the man. “Go now. The address is…”
Gray rattles it off. I repeat it and say, “Now fetch the police.” As the man staggers off, I turn to the distraught woman and soften my tone. “You said your master is dead. Can you take us to him, please, ma’am?”
She only stares at me.
