Page 38 of The Devil in Oxford
She shook her head. “Julius was careful not to share more than was absolutely necessary with me. He said it was dangerous enough to be associated with him. I thought…” Her voice cracked as her eyes grew glassy. There was no pretense here, not anymore. “I thought he meant to my professional reputation, but now I realize that he meant a great deal more than that. Oh, Julius, how could you have done something sostupid?”
If Julius Harker had stolen a shipment of cocaine, that would be motivation enough for murder, but I was almost certain the substance I’d found in his basement wasn’t cocaine.
The clock struck eight and Leona leapt to her feet, knocking over her tea, spilling it on the tabletop. “Oh Ruby, I have to go. I am sorry. I just realized the time. I promised Reaver I’d be in early and now I’m already late.”
Whatever openness she’d shared moments before had fled with each toll of the chime. We said our goodbyes and I hastily moppedup the tea with my napkin. The soggy pages of the morning paper were little more than pulp now, muddled together into a congealed mess. I paid the bill for both of us and left several pounds behind, by way of apology for the state of the table, and then took my leave of the club.
I wasn’t sure what to make of Leona’s sudden change in mood. It could easily be ascribed to the fact that she’d learned that Julius Harker was not only an antiquarian, but he wasalsoa thief—that would certainly affect a girl’s attitude. But at least we had an ounce of truth between us. It was certainly more than we’d had when I started out this morning.
CHAPTERSEVENTEENA Great Aching Head
Acold droplet of dew fell from the eaves of the Artemis Club, hit the exposed portion of my neck, and slithered down the back of my blouse. Lovely. Just lovely.
I chose a different path home than normal, a twisting and scenic route, to clear my head and order my thoughts. Periodically, I’d pause to regain my bearings and be certain I hadn’t gotten lost. I was perhaps halfway back when I stopped outside a cobbler’s shop to adjust my own shoe, which had come unlaced. I’d not eventhoughtconsciously of where I was, but as I looked across the street, the realization sank in. For there, lying sleepily before me, was Julius Harker’s Curiosity Museum. Windows darkened. Waiting in the early morning light for someone to stop by.
Hadn’t I already learned my lesson?
The iron gate to the alley beside the building gaped open. I must have forgotten to shut it. Surely no harm would come from me checking to see if the back door was locked. And if it wasn’t… then I could simply slip back down to the basement and continue examining the canopic jars. If Leona believed that Julius had been trying to intercept a shipment of drugs, could he have hidden it amongst natron in his very own museum? After all, an Egyptologistcould plausibly have natron with no one batting an eye, and to the naked eye the two substances resembled one another well enough. I, for one, had certainly confused the two last night.
Ruby Vaughn, you reckless creature.
Ignoring the warning voice in my head, I darted across the street as the rain began to fall and disappeared into the space between the two buildings.
The door was open.
Open?
My heart thundered in my chest. Surely not. We’d closed it last night—of that, I was certain. But before my mind could catch up with what my eyes beheld, something hard came across my throat and I tumbled backward.
The scent of liquor and stale sweat flooded my senses. A broad-chested man hauled me against his body, burly forearm cutting off my air. He wore a balaclava covering his nose and face and I could not make him out. He was of a height with me and a great deal wider.
I clawed at the fabric of his nondescript brown jacket, the sleeve abrading the delicate skin of my throat. I slipped on the wet stones, thrashing my hip toward him, reaching for something vulnerable. An eye. A nose. An ear. Anything at all. My eyes watered from lack of air.
“You need to stop putting your nose where it doesn’t belong, you little bitch.” His spittle hit the side of my face. His voice was familiar, and yet in my panic I could not place it. At long last my elbow caught his rib cage, jabbing hard. He let out a pained grunt as my hip made contact with his male bits. He stumbled backward a few steps, slackening his grip on me. I started to run, but he caught me by my rain-damped skirt, ripping the fabric and pulling me toward him. He threw his arm back around my throat, squeezing tight. Dark spots appeared before my eyes like unholy stars.
This was bad.
Very bad.
“Fucking bitch,” he gritted out in my ear, before slamming my head against the wall—the sound of bone on stone echoing in my ears. A splitting pain erupted at my temple and the world around me fell to black.
ASEARING ACHEshot through my temple as I opened my eyes, staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling. I turned my head, shifting on the hard wooden bench where I’d been tenderly laid out. I wasn’t dead.
That was good, I supposed.
I reached up, hand latching onto a rolled-up woolen uniform coat smelling of salt and tobacco. It had been wedged beneath my neck as a makeshift pillow. An itchy woolen blanket had been laid over the top of me.
The police station.
Of course!
But how the devil did I get here? Shivering, I sat up, rubbing my arms over my still-wet shirtsleeves. I spied my jacket lying over a radiator to dry, with my soiled shoes sitting beside it.
I lifted my hand to the searing spot on my temple and drew my fingers away, sticky with dark, clotting blood.
“Morning, Miss Vaughn,” Jack, the young constable, said. His expression sunny and bright as he came around the hinged counter toward me. There was a catlike air to him, graceful and quick, and I found myself liking him a great deal—especially as he’d risked his own neck allowing me to speak with Mr. Mueller earlier this week.
I blinked. “You know my name?”
