Dangerous to Know

12

I lingered in bed late the next day, having slept well past noon, the natural result of staying awake and fitful until nearly sunrise. Still upset about having argued with Colin, my emotions were reeling. Half angry, half hurt, I didn’t know what to do. I felt sorry, too, knowing that I’d not reacted entirely fairly to what he’d said. I considered apologizing to him, but then found myself furious at the realization he’d not apologized to me. I was berating myself for being unreasonable when there was a sharp knock on my bedroom door. Expecting Meg with a fresh pot of tea, I called for her to come in. Instead, Colin peeked into the room, his eyes heavy and sheepish.

“Is the invitation to enter still offered now you know it’s me?” he asked.

My eyes narrowed and I pressed my lips together. Much though I wanted to hold firm, the truth was I melted at the sight of him. “I can’t say I much like being cross with you,” I said. He opened the door the rest of the way.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been in this room,” he said. “Is it comfortable?”

“Exceedingly,” I said, pulling the duvet up to my neck and snuggling against my pillows, feeling nervous as a schoolgirl. “I’m not sure I’ll ever come downstairs again.”

“I couldn’t leave you to languish without company. It would be ungentlemanly. I do hope you wouldn’t send me away in favor of other entertainment.”

His smile as he flirted delighted every inch of me. “How do you think you could keep me amused?” I asked.

“I’ve several viable theories,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed and sliding close to me. “But we’d need to explore each thoroughly.”

Relief and giddiness, tempered by a feeling of regret, flowed through me as we fell into our usual banter. “Colin,” I said, my eyes fixed on the floor. “I’m so sorry.”

He touched my face, his hand warm and gentle. “My dear girl. It is I who need beg forgiveness. I was a brute.”

“You were, rather. But I was as well.”

“You stormed out of the room with a remarkably elegant force.”

“Don’t be mean,” I said, lowering my eyes.

“There’s been too much pressure on us both,” he said, holding my hands. “Coming here was not my most brilliant idea.”

“We could go home.”

“Soon, I hope, but not quite yet. I spoke to Gaudet this morning—I’ve heard back from Scotland Yard, and all signs suggest Edith Prier may have died at the hands of the Ripper. They want me to assist in the investigation. To make sure it’s handled in the best possible fashion.” He pressed his hands together. “But you’re not happy here. My work needn’t prevent you from returning to London if you wish.”

“No,” I said. “I’d rather stay with you.”

“It might not be a bad plan. I just…” He stood and went to the window, beginning to pace, the way he always did when he worried.

“What?”

He leaned against the wall. “I’m worried, Emily, because Edith Prier looked so much like you.”

“But in Whitechapel—”

“Yes, that was different. He may have altered his method of selecting victims, but he’s not changed his manner of killing. And I cannot let you risk being hurt again.”

“I’d feel safer with you.”

“And I’d like nothing better than to protect you,” he said. “But how can I see to it properly when I’m working? I’ve been too lackadaisical about taking care of you, Emily. I’ll not make the same mistake again.”

I sat on the window seat, contemplative. “This isn’t like Constantinople.”

“It could prove worse.”

“I’m not involved in the investigation,” I said. “And am putting myself in no danger.”

“Have you considered he could come looking for you?”

“Is there a reason to think he might?”

He shook his head. “Instinct, maybe. I know I sound unreasonable, but all I want to do is pack you off to London.”

“Surely this house is safe.”

“We know how easy it is for an interested party to break in,” he said.

“Sebastian was here again last night,” I said.

“I know.” He pulled a calling card out of his jacket pocket and handed it to me.

“‘Sebastian Capet, A Thief of Refined Taste,’” I read.

“He’s been leaving them for the people he burgles,” Colin said.

I laughed. “He is amusing. You must grant him that.”

“Amusing and on the verge of going to jail. He broke into Gaudet’s house two nights ago.”

“I shouldn’t have thought the inspector in possession of anything Sebastian would want to steal.”

“He wasn’t,” Colin said. “Read the note on the other side. He left it on a table near Gaudet’s front door.”

“‘I shall return when you have something worth taking.’” I flipped the card back over. “You can’t say you don’t admire that just a little.”

Colin’s smile eased the tense creases around his eyes. “A bit, perhaps.”

“So when did you see him?” I asked.

“We met after dinner last night.”

“To discuss business?”

“Yes. And I admit freely to having made exactly no progress with the man. I’m beginning to think I’ll never win one of our bets.”

“I saw him last night as well,” I said. “After midnight. I’d gone into the garden.”

“The garden?” he asked, surprise coloring his face. “So late? Had you arranged to meet him and neglected to tell me? Or was it meant to be a secret? He didn’t mention it when I spoke to him.”

“No, nothing like that,” I said. “His presence was entirely unexpected.”

“I don’t much like the idea of you wandering about alone in the middle of the night. It’s not safe, Emily. Sebastian isn’t the only one who could so easily scale the wall and stumble upon you.”

“I had no reason to think I was in any danger. Nothing’s happened to suggest our garden is unsafe. And you know how Sebastian likes to follow me. It was completely innocuous.”

“This time, maybe. But how do we know someone else isn’t looking for you as well?” He started to pace. “Did you speak to Capet about working for the Crown?”

“Not initially,” I said. “But the subject did come up. He wasn’t interested, but I’m certain I can work on him.”

“Why had you gone into the garden so late?”

“I was looking for ghosts.”

“Ghosts?” he asked.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I said, and described for him what had happened after I left the house, omitting the particulars of Sebastian’s inhumane manner of sneaking up on me.

“You might have dreamed the ribbon,” he said.

“It was real.”

“You thought the girl in the dovecote was real, but no one was there.”

“Not by the time I went inside, but that doesn’t mean there hadn’t been someone there.”

“You’re not suggesting—” He stopped. “Emily, there are no children at the Markhams’ château.”

“None they admit to.”

“None full stop.” He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled me onto his lap. “You’ve suffered a spectacular trauma. It’s no surprise your mind would play tricks on you.”

“The ribbon was in the road. I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”

“You were half asleep and dreaming,” he said. “And if I recall correctly, there’s a painting in the Markhams’ house—a little girl in a white dress, a blue ribbon tied in her hair. Degas, I think. You must have seen it and filed it away in your mind. Now the image has returned to you, combined with Monsieur Leblanc’s silly ghost story, and is causing you to imagine things.”

I didn’t agree with him for a second. What I’d seen was eerie and sad, not like an odd version of a painting I had no memory of seeing. As for the ghost story, I was more inclined to think I’d been inspired by Madeline’s accident than Monsieur Leblanc’s fiction. Feeling ill at ease, I decided to change the subject. “So you made no ground with Sebastian?” I asked. “None at all?”

“None.”

“Where precisely is the house of Moët?” I kissed him on the cheek. “I’ve a suspicion you’ll be needing to make a trip there soon.”