Page 73 of The Devil in Oxford
IAM SORRY,MR.ANAND.ICANNOT.
“How very strange.… To go to such lengths to find you and then not appear at all.”
My mouth grew dry at the thought. Could the imposter be another trick by our killer—something to keep me occupied? Absently, I toyed with the chain of my locket, brushing the thoughtaway at once—it was impossible. The imposter knew things she oughtn’t, ones that even Hari’s friends at the Home Office could not know.
“Go,” Hari said softly. “I’ll call upon you as soon as I have more information.”
I brushed a kiss to Hari’s cheek and nodded, running out the door and straight into the lion’s maw.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-FOURMissing Men
ASI stepped out onto the street outside the Randolph Hotel, my stomach knotted. Not only had I been used in France, I had beenexpendable. Risked—without warning—lied to, and sent on a recovery mission. Whether or notIsurvived was immaterial. My sole use was to bring back that dying man. I struggled to link the then and the now—we were no longer at war, but there was unrest in Oxford. Unrest in Britain itself, a great roiling undercurrent of social and political tension beneath the storybook surface.
My gaze traveled up the facade of the Ashmolean, glittering in the morning sun. If Frederick Reaver was connected to that shadowy arm of the government, the peculiarities about the man, his habits, and the secretive nature of his past all suddenly made a great deal more sense. I doubted the British government was interested in the trafficking of antiquities, nor that they would kill a man like Julius Harker in such a grotesque way—but what if Harker hadn’t been the target of these men at all? What if it was someone else—someone a great deal more powerful?
My stomach sank.
More clues, andstillI was no closer to finding the killer, though I could be reasonably assured that it was not Frederick Reaver. Forwhile I did not think kindly upon the scarred man and his associates, my mistreatment during the war had been a strategic decision, a means to an end rather than capricious cruelty.
And what is more capricious than taking out a man’s tongue and locking him into a box? That was a crime of passion, of rage.
There were two different things at play here in Oxford, and I was not afraid of Frederick Reaver. Not anymore.
I entered the Ashmolean again, determined to get answers about the scarred man from Reaver. If what Hari said was true—that the scarred man was somehow tied to British Intelligence—interfering in such a way was the height of recklessness. But I was out of options if I was to find Leona.
“What do youmean?” I furrowed my brow, studying the young guide standing at the main desk. He couldn’t be twenty, if that. Fresh faced and round, still more boyish than a man in full.
“I’m sorry, miss. But, as I said before, Professor Reaver left yesterday afternoon in a hurry.”
“About when, would you say?”
He rubbed his jaw with the back of his hand thoughtfully, before glancing up at the high carved ceilings of the main entrance. “One. Perhaps two? A pair of well-dressed gentlemen came in asking to speak to him. He left right away.”
One or two? After I had spoken to him—certainly—but curiously enough,beforethe mysterious scarred fellow arrived.Twomen… Lord Amberley and his son. Ithadto be. That was roughly when they would have come to invite him to last night’s ill-fated party. “Was it a father and son, the older man was balding?”
The guide gave me a nod. “I think so, miss. I didn’t get a good look at him, but I got that impression yes. The younger one was bored, as if he had better places to be, the older did most of the talking.”
“And the Professor has not been back since?” My mind raced. Amberley certainly had a motive to kill Julius Harker and theposition to attract the attention of the government. Not to mention his son’s newly discovered penchant for cocaine.
Could it be that simple?
The young man shook his head again. His voice was low, as the galleries were all but empty today. “Not as I’ve seen, though he often does use the side entrance if he’s working late. I’m sorry if you’ve come all this way for naught. Shall I tell him you were looking for him, if I see him?”
“No… no, I’ll just try again later,” I said with a smile I did not feel, before disappearing out the door and back across town in the dying golden hues of the afternoon.
“LORD HAVE YOU,maid!” Mrs. Penrose turned to face me as I burst into the warmth of the kitchen. The air was filled with the faintest scent of ginger and cloves coming from the plate of biscuits sitting alongside the range. I cautiously glanced around the empty room.
It was quiet.
Tooquiet, considering there was supposed to be a prisoner in this house.
“Where is the inspector? What have the pair of you done with him?”
Mrs. Penrose cocked her head toward the drawing room and removed her apron, hanging it on a hook by the back door. “Oh, Owen trundled him off into the sitting room earlier today. Thought to give me a bit of space to fix our tea in peace without all the grunting and sweating.”
I ignored this newfound familiarity between Mrs. Penrose and the old man. “And Ruan, is he with them? Did he learn anything from the inspector this morning?”
Mrs. Penrose placed her hands on her hips. “No, my lover. I haven’t seen him since he took off after you this morning. But I’m sure he’ll be home dreckly.”
