Page 74 of The Devil in Oxford
Took off after me?A peculiar numbness took over my fingers as I flexed them against my thigh. “How long ago did he leave?”
Mrs. Penrose brushed a stray wisp of long graying hair from her temple. “Why, almost ten minutes after you did. He told Owen that he was going to the Randolph. Didn’t want you dealing with that imposter nonsense alone.”
The heat rose into my cheeks. “He told you about the imposter?”
“He didn’t have to say a word. It was written all over his face. There’s not a thing the lad wouldn’t do for you. Surely you know that.”
Mrs. Penrose gave me an affectionate smile, fully misreading the surprise on my face. It wasn’t that Ruan had followed me that concerned me—it was that Ruan hadn’tmade itto the hotel that did. I’d been with Hari for well over an hour. Ruan should have arrived long before we received the note from the imposter.
My hand went to my chest, rubbing at the scar as I struggled to come up with any other possible explanation. Perhaps he’d gone to see Emmanuel Laurent.… Perhaps he’d gone to the museum on his own and we’d simply missed one another. Perhaps… perhaps… perhaps…
The radiator popped and cracked, the room growing stiflingly warm. My clumsy fingers struggled with the wool of my scarf as I tugged it from my neck, setting it on the table alongside Fiachna. “And he hasn’t returned? Sent a note around?Anything?”My voice grew shrill with the last word.
She took me by the arms. “Are you worried for him? He’s a good strong lad, I’m sure he’ll be all right. Why don’t I fix you a cup of tea while you wait on him to come back? Perhaps he went to pick up a Christmas gift?”
I raised a brow. There was no world in which Ruan would be doing last-minute Christmas shopping when we were in the middle of a murder investigation.
He’s likely with Emmanuel Laurent, Ruby.The rational voice in myhead did little to soothe my fears. I could not raise my eyes from the stone flags of the kitchen floor. “No. No tea, thank you.… I’m sure you’re right.” I swallowed hard, willing it to be so. Yet disappearing was unlike him, especially as adamant as he was about not leaving Annabelle alone.
My pulse rioted in my very veins as I pushed open the door to the snug where Mr. Owen was sitting. A serial novel in his lap and his old Webley revolver on the side table. Ordinarily the sight would give me a little comfort, but now it only underscored the peculiarity of Ruan’s absence.
He slid his wire-rimmed glasses down his nose. “Successful outing, my lamb?”
“You could say that.” I drew closer to the sweat-soaked inspector. His already porcine face had grown dark pink above the gag shoved into his mouth. “You think he’s all right? Should you… maybe loosen his restraints? I mean to ask him some questions and would like him conscious enough toanswerthem when I do.”
Mr. Owen shrugged, turning a page in his book. “I do not carehowhe fares. The villain tried to hurt that poor lass upstairs. If you ask me, he deserves a great dealmorethan what he’s received thus far, and I’ve half a mind to give it to him myself.”
While I didn’t disagree that the inspector deserved retribution for what he did to poor Annabelle, vengeance was not ours to deliver.
Mr. Owen took a sip from a chipped gold-rimmed teacup and set it down on the table beside him.
“Has he said anything useful?”
Mr. Owen’s white mustache twitched as he stood with a groan and grabbed another log, throwing it onto the fire. “If you count swearing and threatening me with dismemberment asuseful.”
No. No, I daresay I didn’t. “Perhaps it’s for the best he’s gagged.”
Mr. Owen let out a dark laugh, his fingers wrapped around an old iron poker, and jabbed at the orange embers at the bottom ofthe grate, sending up sparks. “I think you’ll find more information from the lass than this one.”
I brightened immediately. “She’s talking?”
“Aye, asked Dorothea for a bit of broth this morning.”
I threw my arms around his neck, giving him an uncharacteristic hug. “Oh, Mr. Owen, you have no idea how happy that makes me.”
I darted up the stairs to the makeshift sickroom and pushed open the door. Ruan had not slept in here in days and yet it still smelled of him. His herbs, his salves, his silly ginger candies. My eye caught on his worn British Expeditionary Force haversack sitting in the corner. A fresh box of medicines sat atop the dresser. That bone-deep wariness returned in force. Everything was precisely as it should be, but Ruan himself had vanished.
The girl slept easily in the narrow bed. Her breathing steadier and stronger than it had been when we first brought her here. I pulled the sheet up over her legs, and gently lifted the nightshirt we’d dressed her in to inspect the bandages at her belly.
The dressing was hours old. Likely from when Ruan saw to it this morning before leaving for the hotel. Fluid had seeped through the linen, staining the fabric.
I hurried to his haversack, reaching for the clean bandages he’d rerolled last night. With clumsy movements, I pulled that and a bottle of antiseptic, along with one of his salves. I uncorked the jar, taking in a heady sniff of the liniment to be sure it was the one I needed. Mint and honey. Calendula too, I thought.
I knew this one well. It was the same one he’d put on my wounds in Cornwall when I’d been stoned by the angry mob. My fingers tightened around the jar. First Leona. Now Ruan. Their disappearances had to be connected. He would not leave this place willingly.
He would not leaveme.
And he most certainly wouldn’t leaveAnnabellein this condition.
