Page 57 of The Devil in Oxford
Deep lines formed at the edges of Hari’s mouth. “It is possible. It is because of her that I’ve been trying to find you. She is threateningto go to the papers if you don’t speak with her. She’s given me three days to arrange the meeting.”
“Three days?” I let out a bitter laugh. “What does she think she has that is enough to tempt me to meet with her? The papers already know the worst of my secrets. What more could she expose?”
Hari shifted closer to me, wincing with the movement. The weather must have been aggravating his old wound. His voice came out scarcely over a whisper: “She is threatening to tell the world that you are not legitimate. That your parents—”
Whatever I’d expected him to say, it was certainly notthat. “How could she possibly know that? EvenIdid not know until we found the documents after they died.” I could still recall that stifling hot afternoon in my father’s study. Hari had insisted on joining me in New York when I went to settle their estate. I’d been going through my father’s books, boxing them up, when a slip of paper fell out. Innocuous looking, but when I unfolded it, I’d found record of my parents’ marriage. A marriage that occurred a year to the dayaftermy birth. I’d not thought about it in years—it hadn’t mattered at all to me, but there were some in this world to whom it would matter a great deal.
Hari touched the back of my hand gently, his expression a reminder that he recalled how poorly I took that discovery, wondering what other essential truths my parents hid from me. “I do not know how she could. But this woman has told me about your strange dreams.”
Hair pricked on the back of my neck as I swung my gaze to his sad, hazel eyes. Pity thick in the air.
It was impossible. Utterly impossible. The woman somehow learning of my parents’ delayed marriage was one thing, but evenHarididn’t know about my dreams, or how I sometimes saw things that later happened—how I’d witnessed their deaths on theLusitanialong before my family ever left America. I stepped back, shakingmy head hard. I could not deal with this now and especially not with Leona in danger. “It’s impossible. Make her go away, Hari. We have greater problems than an imposter.”
“I do not see how that is possible.” He reached out, taking my gloved hand in his, pulling me back toward him, and squeezed it gently. “You must deal with it. For your own sake. You put everyone before yourself—what would you have me do if I were in your shoes? Answer me that.”
I clenched my jaw tight, then saw the surrender in Hari’s eyes.
He stepped back, holding up his hands. “I ask you as a friend—speak to this woman. See what she wants.”
My nostrils flared.
But Hari had not been cowed by the German artillery during the war, and he certainly wasn’t threatened by my quicksilver temper now. “Sometimes I think beneath your skin you are the most frightened person I know. Every time someone gets too close to the mark you tighten your walls. Your Cornishman must be a madman or a fool to try to surmount your guard.”
I closed my eyes, willing the pounding in my brain to go away. “Three days?”
“Three days,” he confirmed. “What would you have me tell her?”
“Very well. We shall do it tomorrow. At eight in the morning, she has ten minutes of my time. I have no more to spare. Leona is missing. I have to find her.”
The color drained from Hari’s face. “Missing? Are you certain?”
A-half-dead-woman-in-my-attic certain.But I didn’t voice that, at least not here. “As much as I can be. Her house was ransacked. I think it has to do with a book in the library.”
“And you are investigating this, yourself.” Not a question. Hari knew me far too well for that.
“I don’t have a choice. I’ll explain later when we have privacy.”
“Do you think she is running or was taken?” he asked softly.
That was the very question I had been wondering myself. “I don’t know.”
“I will try to find her.”
In an uncharacteristic show of affection, I threw my arms around his neck and hugged him tight. “Thank you. I mean it. And Hari…”
“Mmm?” he asked, stepping back and smoothing his jacket from my unseemly fit of affection.
“Be careful. I could not bear it if you came to harm because of this.”
“I’ll inquire discreetly. You know Leona, she has a habit of doing exactly as she pleases. Just like someone else we know. I am certain she’ll come up all right.”
And I could only hope that Hari was right, like he had been so many times before.
CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVENMisdirection and Misadventure
Afew small fibs and a flash of my borrowed reader card gained me access inside the hallowed halls of the Bodleian. A far easier task than I’d imagined. As I waited for the librarian to return with the book, I stared out the great window of the medieval-era reading room. All around me were hundreds upon hundreds of old, rare, some one-of-a-kind, texts. A secondary gallery of books rose above where I stood, reachable only by a curving wooden stair. An impressive sight, but at present my mind remained stubbornly fixed upon Leona’s fate.
The librarian ought to be back by now. I looked away from the snowy courtyard, craning my neck to better glimpse the stairwell. Empty. I checked my watch again. I’d been waiting well over a half an hour now. Long enough that a faint sheen of snow had blanketed the slates of the courtyard.
