Page 68 of The Devil in Oxford
Ruan shot me an unamused look and I sobered immediately. “Mr. Owen would never let any harm happen to her. Do not blame yourself for this evening.”
“He’s an old man. Dorothea isn’t much younger.”
I raised my brows. “And the pair of them together saved her life. But I agree with you. She must be the key to understanding what happened, otherwise Beecham would not have risked coming here to kill her.”
He nodded, casting his eyes to the whitewashed wooden ceiling. “We need her healthy enough to tell us what she saw.”
“I think the inspector is the one who attacked me. I must have stumbled across him when he went back to steal something else from the museum.”
“The comb.” Ruan’s voice was soft. Defeated almost.
“How did you know?”
He let out a dry laugh. “You forget what I am.”
“You hear it…”
“I do.” He scratched his nose with the shoulder of his coat and continued cleaning Annabelle’s wound. “It and you.”
“Are you afraid of it? Mr. Owen and Mrs. Penrose were acting very strangely just now. Mrs. Penrose gave me the impression that she knew what it was and didn’t want to talk about it.”
His expression grew pained. “No. It’s nothing. It simply reminds me of home, that’s all. It has nothing to do with Dorothea at all…”
But it does with you.He didn’t say it, but the unspoken words hung heavily in the air between us. He continued tending to Annabelle’s injuries. Wordless seconds ticked by. Liquid sloshing in the bottle. The rustle of fabric. The wet pop of a cork as he opened a jar. So excruciatingly familiar and domestic. It was on the tip of my tongue to probe him, to ask more about the comb, and yet there were things about us and our peculiar connection that he feared. Things I was not certain I ever wanted to know, for knowing them would not change the way I felt about him. What lived between us was sure and strong as the tide—and I would not risk the safety of those shores for mere curiosity.
“I have to meet Hari in a few hours.” My voice cracked as I changed the subject.
Ruan turned, his hand resting on the girl’s freshly bandaged abdomen. “Your solicitor? Do you think he can help us?”
Holding up a finger to pause him, I quietly shut the door behind me. Not that I kept many secrets from Mr. Owen, but this business with the imposter was one I wasn’t ready for him to hear. “The timing could not be worse.”
Annabelle’s chest rose and fell steadily. My eyes remained fixed upon that slow and reassuring movement, as I told him the other thing that had occurred at the Bodleian earlier today—about Hari and the imposter’s demands.
“You do not have to confront her.”
“I think I must. It will only take ten minutes at most. I’ve also asked him to see what he can find out about Leona. He has friends in Whitehall. People whoknowthings.”
“Government men, you mean?”
I nodded. “I’m not sure what Hari got up to after he was injured in the war, but he certainly has friends in very useful places.”
Ruan made a low sound of agreement. “And you think that these friends might be able to help?”
I lifted a shoulder. “It certainly can’t hurt to inquire.”
“Are you certain you want to do this? See this woman?” Ruan’s voice grew strained.
“I appreciate your concern for me, but I’ve come around on this. Hari is right. I have nothing to lose by speaking with her. My mother is dead. She has been for years. There is no way she could have survived out on the sea.”
“Ruby… I…” He rubbed his jaw with his left hand as he stifled a yawn. “I am tired. I should check on the fellow downstairs. We’ll be in even more trouble if Dorothea accidentally killed him with her pot. Besides, Owen will need help…”
“It would be far simpler if heweredead. Then we could hide his body somewhere remote and hope for the best.”
Ruan made a strangled sound in his chest. “You frighten me sometimes.”
“I frighten myself. Besides, I’m not going to kill the man. I’m notthatwicked.” I gathered up the soiled bandages to burn them downstairs. “You should get some rest. Mr. Owen will be fine. I don’t think Inspector Beecham is waking up anytime soon, and you know as well as I do that the old man craves a little excitement now and then.”
Ruan muttered to himself in Cornish and paused, brushing the girl’s hair back from her brow, running his thumb over her temple. The air grew sharp again, the scent of a summer storm in the air.
