Page 60 of The Devil in Oxford
He touched the brim of his hat dubiously before telling his driver to go on. I watched as the car curved around the winding road, disappearing into the distance, before I started off again, overall pleased with the turn of events when my mother’s voice came to mind unbidden—yet again:Men are monsters, Ruby Vaughn. Never to be trusted. Do not forget that.
I brushed the voice away, not pausing to wonder why my mother had always been so fearful of strangers. I didn’t have time to think of my mother. Not now. The peculiar happenings here in Oxford combined with this newest imposter must have shaken me far more than I realized.
CHAPTERTWENTY-EIGHTAfter-Dinner Entertainment
DINNERat Lord Amberley’s was a far more tedious affair than I feared. And while he had promised that both professors ReaverandTreadway would be in attendance tonight, their continued absence grew suspicious. Would I wake in the morning to find reports of yet another dead academician? Or two? If so, I prayed Leona would not be in that number. With each second wasted here, my imaginings grew more fevered. Ihadto find her. I had to dosomethingand yet I was trapped. Trapped waiting for the party to end lest anyone realize that I was investigating Harker’s death.
I sat alone on a low settee in the drawing room after enduring six courses of over-sauced and painfully rich food. The walls were papered in a deep cobalt silk adorned with white birds. It was a lovely effect, accentuated by the golden accents throughout the room. Everything in here had hints of Eastern art. A Japanese screen near the fireplace; a large, intricate, blue-tinged celadon jar that reminded me of one I’d seen at the Victoria and Albert Museum last summer. Chinese in origin, if I recalled correctly. Then again, I was far better versed in books than pottery.
Lord Amberley stood by Mr. Owen’s chair, his hand on the back. The two chatting and gesturing, deep in their cups. I’d ruledAmberley out as a suspect almost immediately, but perhaps I’d been wrong to do so. He was questioned about theRadixthe first time it went missing. He also had a known conflict with Julius Harker, which was far more motive than most. And yet he’d not given me a single reason to suspect him. But hadn’t I learned my lesson before? Even the most wicked villain can wear a sheep’s coat. Mingling with the flock before striking.
I wet my lips, glancing around the room. No one was paying me any mind, nor had they for the last several hours. Ruan had disappeared earlier in the evening, at the side of Professor Laurent. He did not mind the older man’s attention, and I could not begrudge him that. During the war, I’d had no one who knew my family well enough to understand my pain at their loss. If I’d had, I thought it would have done me a great deal of good. As it was, I’d nearly been sent to a hospital for mentalstrain—that’s what the matron diplomatically called myepisode. Others had the right of it—whispering behind closed doors that I’d flat out cracked under pressure. Gone utterly, raving mad.
Images of the bearded man I’d seen outside the Covered Market after speaking with Mr. Mueller came back in a flash. All at once I recalled how I recognized him, and why he was so familiar.
My throat grew dry. It couldn’t be.
It simply couldn’t.
For the man outside the market had the same bearing, same…aura—for lack of a better word—as the man I’d seen during the war. The one I’d imagined when I cracked. I squeezed my eyes back tight. It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be happening again. I wasnotimagining things.
Even Ruan had seen a woman following me.Someonehad attacked me, and hallucinations most certainly donotattack.
The room was too small. Too tight to breathe.
No. Not again. I wasn’t going mad. I couldn’t be. Not now. Leonaneededme. I didn’t have time to have another episode. I shot to my feet, the ground oddly unsteady beneath me, and quickly slipped into the corridor. Air. I needed air. A moment of peace away from the chatter of the room and then I’d be all right.
No one would miss me.
No one at all.
I padded down the darkened corridor lit by ornate candelabras and made my way toward Lord Amberley’s library. The walls on either side were lined with taxidermy of all sorts. An entire lion stood on one side with his sharp open-mouthed grin. Upon the walls were the heads of buffalo and bison. All variety of deer. Trophies mounted and hung upon the walls, row after row reaching to the ceiling. Columns of death. My stomach recoiled at such violence, such waste. Animals slaughtered, skins taken and stretched over goodness knew what.
I could not bear it. There had been far too much bloodshed in my life for me to admire this sort of sport. Whether it was a trick of the light, or my third glass of champagne, I could have sworn the glassy eyes embedded into each of Amberley’s kills followed me. Watching as I moved down the hallway. Either in pity or warning.
Intruder.
Beware.
Run.
Not mad indeed.I gave my head a good shake, wrapping my fingers around the silver handle of the door to Amberley’s well-appointed library. Books would make it better. They always did.
I pushed hard.
Heat suddenly rose to my cheeks as I struggled tonotwitness the amorous scene playing out before me on the great rococo-style desk in Lord Amberley’s library. For there, splayed out on the top, was a very lovely woman in the throes of passion with Lord Amberley’s son Francis. Sweat was beaded up on his browas he locked eyes with me. And instead of shrinking back, pausing for decorum’s sake, he continued on… rutting, for lack of a better word.
I took a step backward, mumbling out an apology as a faint bit of blood pooled in his nostril before creating a thin trail to his upper lip. He wiped it away with a casual flick of his wrist, the garish smear marring his face as he continued on with his paramour, heedless of my presence. Instead, the fellow appeared to enjoy the audience.
“Love, you can either stay and join our party or go back to theirs. But please shut the door—it’s drafty!” The woman laughed as she stretched farther across the desk. I was not a prude—Iwasn’t—and yet the whole scene was so utterly horrifying that I could not move. I remained frozen in place. The red lacquer on her nails caught my attention as she scraped some white substance from the surface of an old mirror. I couldn’t tellexactlywhat it was she was doing, but I certainly had a good idea.
One step. Then another. I backed out of the room, closing the door. I shook my head, blotting the rather absurd scene from my head.
Cocaine and carnal appetites.
Well, that put a different light on things. Perhaps the evening was not totally wasted after all. Though a manusingdrugs and a manstealingthem are two separate things. It was something certainly worth remembering, especially in light of Lord Amberley’s connection to Julius Harker. Perhaps I had been hasty to dismiss Amberley as a suspect.
Lost in thought, I made my way back down the garish, taxidermy-laden hallway. I entered the main parlor where the party had mostly reassembled. Everyone was chattering and I looked to see what had caused such excitement, as they had been rather sedate when I wandered off. Perhaps the butler had put cocaine in the pudding to liven things up a bit?
