Page 12 of The Devil in Oxford
“You said moments before you sought a book. Now it’s a plinth.” I narrowed my gaze at her. “Why are you lying to me?”
“I am not lying. Not about the museum. You must trust me on this, my trip back to the Ashmolean hadnothingto do with what happened to Julius Harker.”
I did not believe her. Not one bit. “Reaver did not come back to Harker’s museum after the two of you left. He wasn’t there when Mr. Mueller discovered the body. Did he even return with you to the Ashmolean or is that something else you are keeping from me?”
“Why are you behaving like this?” She stared at me dumbfounded. Her mouth opened, then snapped back shut. “Of course he came back to the Ashmolean, but I do not know where he went after. He left me in that storeroom. Had he stayed, I wouldn’t have broken my blasted nail trying to get out the jammed door.”
I wanted to believe her—I did—but her story didn’t make sense. I softened my voice. “Darling, I promise you. He didn’t come back to Harker’s museum. Do you know where else he might have gone?”
She sank back onto the bench in disbelief, tugging her long dark hair over her shoulder, braiding it loosely in her worried hands. “No. Professor Reaver doesn’t always entrust me with his secrets, and yes—I know what you’re thinking—he can be terribly brusque, but he’d never harm Julius. He’s not a violent man.”
Again, that low baleful howl came from farther down the lane. I shivered, wrapping my dressing gown tighter around me. “What about Mueller? What makes you certain he is innocent?”
Frustrated, she slapped her palm on the tabletop. “The mancollectsteakettles, Ruby! What cause would he have to harm his oldest friend?”
Thatwasthe question, was it not? I’d already ascertained that Julius Harker waspersona non gratain most academic circles, and yet Leona cared for him.Deeply.Add to that her peculiar relationship with Frederick Reaver. The two men could not have been any more different. One, the favorite child of the academy; the other, its black sheep, and I could not—for the life of me—understand how Leona fit into all of this.
The winter winds raged at the windowpanes, rattling the glass in the sill. I leaned over to the table and took a sandwich from the untouched plate beside her. I gestured at the others, with my little finger. “Eat. Please. Mrs. Penrose will take it as a mortal offense if you don’t.”
That earned a half-hearted smile from Leona as she tentatively picked up a sandwich, pressing the soft bread between her fingers.
“How well did you know Julius Harker? You’d never mentioned him before…” Truthfully, she had omitted a great deal, but Julius Harker was the safest place to start unraveling the truth.
She eyed the darkened doorway behind me leading back into the main house with a sigh. “Everyone knows him.” She wet her lips, weighing her words. “Most serious scholars do not associate with him openly. Frederick thought my continued dealings with him would reflect poorly upon the museum and discouraged me from continuing our friendship.”
I took a cautious bite of the cheddar and chutney sandwich. I had to go slowly with her for fear she’d stop talking altogether. “What did Harker do to be the subject of such scorn?”
Leona finished off her sandwich before taking a second. “I’m not entirely sure. I know Frederick and he taught together for a time. When the scandal occurred and Julius lost his position at the University, Frederick had already been in Egypt for a year or two. He’d left to work in the field. To make his name.”
Leona’s casualness with using Professor Reaver’s first name struck me as odd. Yes, the two worked together closely, but there was an intimacy in her tone that I wasn’t sure I liked. “Do you think there’s a connection between the two?” Each new question risked her shutting the door on the conversation entirely.
“I don’t know. I don’tbelieveso. Whatever it was that Julius had gotten involved in was bad enough that no one spoke publicly about what happened. Rumors spread like wildfire that he’d been involved inunnaturalthings—but by that time Frederick had been gone for years.”
My mind flitted to theunnaturalworld exhibit at his museum and a shiver went up my spine. “What sorts of things…”
“It’s all likely nonsense—but you know the type. Whispers of secret societies.Magic.No one truly believes it. The magic part at least… I mean honestly, Ruby. It’s absurd to even speak of it as everyone knows there’s no such thing.”
Not six months ago, I shared her sentiment, but now I had seen, no…experienced…things with no rational explanation and was far less sure of my own convictions now than I was then. The sharp scent of electricity filled the room around me, like the air before a summer storm. I did not even need to turn to know Ruan was here. The peculiar connection between us had its uses. In the same wayhecould overhear my thoughts, Icould somehow sense when he drew upon his abilities. Upon his power.It always smelled old and strong, like a powerful storm ripping across the land. I doubted he even realized I could smell it on him. An odd thing to tell a person, and I kept the thought guarded. We must have woken him with our discussion. I hadn’t thought to keep my voice down as up until this moment I’d blissfully forgotten he was evenhere.
Ruan wore the stern expression of the strange witch I’d first met in Cornwall, his eyes still bore the faintest echoes of silver. It wasn’t ourvoicesthat woke him then, he’dheardher distress. Either her thoughts or her emotions. It was the only explanation. “Iseverything all right?” His broad West Country accent was thick with sleep.
“It’s fine, Ruan. Just a friend of mine. She came to tell me that Mr. Mueller had been arrested for the murder of Julius Harker.”
Ruan’s expression grew dark. Evidently, he hadn’theardthat part yet. “The bookkeeper?”
Leona frowned, glancing between the two of us warily. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you, Mr.…”
“Ruan. Ruan Kivell. And do not worry yourself—I often wake early.” He shrugged, keeping to the shadows of the kitchen.
My chest tightened at the meaning behind his words. Of the hundreds of villagers constantly calling upon him to heal their injuries or broken hearts or to help their constable catch a thief. They might call him Pellar, theirwitch, but Ruan healed more than their bodies. He eased their hearts.
And I’d broken his.
For a third time the dratted hound bayed in the distance.
“I overheard you talking about this Mr. Mueller fellow as I came downstairs. Why do you think the police would have arrested him?” Ruan asked softly from the shadows.
You heard a bit more than that, I’d wager.
