Dangerous to Know

19

“We’re not staying here,” Colin said, tightening my corset before I slipped into a luscious dark red velvet gown for dinner. Madame Prier had promised sole meunière, the delicate fish drenched in brown butter and lemon, and I found myself looking forward to the meal more than I’d anticipated. My husband did not share my enthusiasm, but it was not the food that caused him grievance. “I’d rather sleep in rooms over a tavern than in this house.”

“They are an interesting lot, aren’t they, the Priers?”

“If by ‘interesting’ you mean ‘slightly deranged’, yes, I suppose.” He fastened his cuff links. “I lunched with Monsieur Prier before you returned this afternoon. He didn’t speak to any of us. Read a book through the entire meal.”

“Could you see the title?”

“Les Miserables.”

“Quite a choice,” I said. “According to Toinette he keeps out of the house as much as possible, but she doesn’t know where he goes.”

“He has my sympathies. I’m ready to flee after less than a day.”

“I think there’s something to these visions Edith had,” I said. “The description of the child matches that of the girl I saw at the Markhams’.”

“Insofar as they were both wearing ribbons.” He put his hands on my shoulders. “Don’t let your mind trick you, my dear. All little girls wear ribbons.”

“But pale blue—”

“Madame Prier said nothing about color. You’re molding the situation to what you saw.”

“I feel like we’re missing something. Toinette said Laurent deliberately drove Edith to insanity.”

“Do you think he’s trying to do the same to you?” Colin asked. The lack of skepticism in his voice took me aback.

“I’m not sure why he would.”

“What if he killed his sister? What if he’s afraid you’ll find him out?”

“Heavens, what’s become of you?” I closed the clasp on a delicate gold and ruby necklace. “That sounds more like my wild speculation than the solid sort of theory you’d present.”

“Nothing in this case makes sense in an ordinary way. I don’t really subscribe to all this nonsense of hauntings and driving people mad. Edith came unhinged—I believe that. There’s a history of insanity in the family, and that’s the most likely explanation for her illness. Her brother may have exploited that with ghost stories, but I don’t believe it’s possible he literally made her come undone.”

“All right,” I said. “So she’s been forced to throw over the man she loves. She realizes she’s with child, and she’s terrified of what her parents will do—her mother’s beyond eccentric and it’s easy to believe she had cause to be scared of her father’s reaction. That sort of stress could put an otherwise stable mind close to the precipice.”

“So Laurent plays with her—”

“According to him because he was worried and wanted to get her help.”

“And she’s sent to Girard, who hides the pregnancy, delivers the baby, and sorts out a caregiver for the abandoned infant.”

“Which must have hurt Edith all the more,” I said. “To have her child taken from her like that—” I bit my lip and tried not to cry. Colin took my hand in both of his.

“I’m so sorry, my love. This must be incredibly difficult for you.”

“I thought you’d decided it was time for me to be over it.”

“There are ways in which it is time, but this case seems to be digging it all back up again.” Deep furrows appeared in his brow. He dropped my hand and started to pace. “Am I doing the right thing letting you pursue this?”

“Letting me?” I asked. “That’s not a term of which I’m particularly fond.”

“I realize that, but it’s also the truth. I say this not to irritate you but to try to make you understand that I’m carrying the burden of your well-being. I’m your husband, Emily. If I allow you to do things that cause you harm, is the end result not, in fact, my fault?”

I could feel myself getting caught up in his use of the word allow, but was sensible enough to see the reason—and the fear, and the guilt, and the love—in his words. “What happened in Constantinople was not your fault,” I said.

“If I’d been taking proper care of you, it never would have happened.”

“We’ve talked about this a hundred times—you agreed that we both did what we had to, given the circumstances.”

“I know that’s the case. Intellectually, at least. But emotionally I must confess to having more and more sympathy for husbands who appear to be considerably less enlightened than I. Perhaps there is a certain amount of wisdom to their beliefs about what a woman should be allowed to do.”

My heart sank hearing him speak like this.

“I know this is upsetting to you,” he said. “And I’m not suggesting at this moment that we revamp entirely the understanding we have about each other’s work. But I must be honest with you, my dear—this marriage between equals is more difficult than I expected it would be.”

I could hardly breathe.

“It’s not that I don’t adore you. I love you more than anything,” he said. “But how can I love you and not take care of you? I’m having trouble reconciling my intellectual beliefs with emotional reality.”

“Who’s to say the emotions are what’s real?” I asked. “Do you not better trust your intellect?”

“I do,” he said. “But I’m beginning to wonder if that’s always the correct path.”

“What would you have me do?”

“Do you want absolute candor?”

“Always,” I said, my heart pounding.

“I would have you study Greek and read scandalous literature and host political dinners and torment society ladies. I would see you catalog art and travel the world, but as a well-educated tourist, not in pursuit of this work of ours.”

“It’s dangerous for you as well. What if I asked you to give it up?”

“I wouldn’t.” He closed his eyes. “I’m sorry, Emily. I do consider you my equal—absolutely. But we are not the same. We are not capable of handling the same situations in the same ways. Your strengths are not mine and vice versa. I’m qualified for what I do. You’re brilliant and insightful and good at it—but the physical requirements are beyond what can reasonably be expected of a lady. And without being able to handle the physicality of it, you would be putting yourself in danger again and again. I know you hate to hear me say it, but how can I allow that?”

“I—I’m stunned,” I said. “I love working with you. I thought we were making progress. This conversation, even—we were analyzing the situation. Making reasonable deductions—”

“Yes. But when it comes time to pursue the culprit—to unmask him—that is a task I cannot in good conscience allow you to take part in.”

His words hurt like a slap, stinging against my skin. “You didn’t say such things to Kristiana,” I said. “You believed she could be your equal in all ways.”

“I did. And now she’s dead. You and I went into our marriage believing we could do everything together—but look what happened when I let you, forgive me, behave like a man. You were nearly killed.”

“I don’t know what to say.” I wanted to cry, but wouldn’t let myself, suddenly feeling an overwhelming urge for privacy.

“I’m so sorry.” He knelt in front of me and wrapped his arms around my knees. “I’m at a complete loss and don’t know what to do. But I couldn’t go on any longer without telling you how I feel. If we can’t be honest with each other, we have nothing. I know I’m letting you down, disappointing you, proving that all your hesitations about marrying again were reasonable.”

“If things hadn’t gone so horribly wrong in Constantinople—”

“They would have gone horribly wrong somewhere else. It’s inevitable in this line of work.”

“So I’m to sit at home waiting for news that you’ve finally been bested, that I’m widowed again?”

“I don’t know, Emily.”

“What happened to your easy arrogance?” I asked, my voice growing stronger and loud. “You used to tell me not to worry—that you were trained, that you were invincible. I didn’t believe it, but could understand that confidence helped protect you. What am I to think now? That you’ve lost faith in yourself?”

“There’s no one better than me at this job, Emily,” he said. “But even I cannot go on forever.”

“Then stop.”

He looked up at me, his eyes fixed on mine. “I won’t.”

“And I’ve no choice but to accept that?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that.” I could no longer stop the tears from pouring down my face. “You are dashing all my happiness.”

“I’d rather have you irritated and alive than dead with a smile on your face.”

“That’s not your choice to make,” I said. “Regardless of your status as my husband.” Even as I said the words I knew they weren’t true. I’d given up everything when I’d married him. If he refused to let me assist his investigations, I would have to stop my work. He was equally aware of this, but had the courtesy—and good sense—not to broach the subject. Instead, he pulled me down on my knees, so that we were facing each other.

“I’m confused, Emily. I don’t know what to do. I’ve not made any decisions, and can’t even tell you our options at this point, because I haven’t figured them out. I need your mind—your quick, wonderful mind—to help me solve Edith’s murder. But there will come a time in the case when you will have to step back. And when that time comes, I can’t have you protesting or sneaking around on your own. I have to be able to trust that you’ll do as you’re told, or I’ll be too distracted to do my work well. And then I will be in danger.”

“I don’t want that,” I whispered.

“Can I count on you to stop when I tell you to?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“No, Emily, you don’t.”

“Then why bother to ask?”

“Because it matters to me that you understand why I’m doing this,” he said. “I’m not some unreasonable brute.”

“I know.” My voice was barely audible.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that,” I said.

He looked at the floor, then rose to his feet, lifting me up with him. “So knowing her child was lost to her made Edith’s mental state deteriorate more quickly,” he said, his voice rough.

“What if a man came to visit her—maybe the man who was looking after the child?—and he agreed to let her meet the little girl?”

“You’re sure it’s a girl?”

“Absolutely,” I said, numb.

“He helped her escape.”

“And months passed before she was found murdered. What happened during that time?” There was no joy in this for me now.

“Forgive me. I see how unhappy you are,” he said. “It’s not that you can’t do anything, Emily, only that you can’t do everything.”

I did understand. I did see the reason in his arguments. I even could accept that his position was just, even correct. But it made no difference. The only thing that mattered was wondering if I’d ever be able to forgive him.