Page 6 of The Devil in Oxford
Which was likely how I ended up working with Mr. Owen dealing in rare, arcane, andoccasionallyillegal books. My curiosity about the unknown was likely also the reason I remained stubbornly captivated by Ruan. Not thatthatmattered anymore. He was unfortunately consigned to my past.
The main exhibition room broke off into smaller wings, each devoted to a different era.PRE-HISTORY, THE NATURAL WORLD, THEUNNATURAL WORLD—whatever that might be—ANTIQUITY,and lastlyTHE INDUSTRIAL WORLD. The museum grew hotter by the moment, the bodice of my gown dampening with sweat.
Desperate for a breeze, and perhaps an inch or two of space amidst the crowd, I sidled past the great stage already set for tonight’s spectacle. The dais was shrouded by a deep jade velvet curtain rigged up like some sort of macabre holiday package. On each of the four corners were large flaming torches. Edging around the flames, lest I knock one over and send us all to perdition, I hurried back outside and down the twelve steps onto the sidewalk. Lazy snowflakes drifted down from the wispy clouds overhead and landed on my dark hair. More snow. Poor Mr. Owen. He always did detest the stuff.
I leaned against the wall of the museum, tilting my face up to the moonlight. The icy wind pricked my exposed skin. Yesterday’s snow had only begun to melt, and now it was refreezing, leaving the ground around me slick with ice. Perhaps we’d hire a car home. Better than walking at any rate.
I rummaged in my pocket for my silver cigarette case, opened it, and pulled one out before putting it to my lips and lighting it. I drew the smoke into my lungs and blew it out again into the night air.
“Good evening.”
I flicked the ashes into the gutter before looking up. A strikingly handsome gentleman stood before me. He wasn’t much taller than me, with ashen strands laced through his sandy hair. He wore a clever houndstooth suit that fit his athletic form a bit too snugly for current fashion. There was a carelessness to his dress, presumably intended to be alluring, but the effect struck me as a bit too studied. I took another drag from the cigarette rather than answering. I was used to fellows like that.
“Professor Frederick Reaver.” He tried again with a game smile.
My pulse stilled. Or perhaps not fellows likethat.
The man had uttered the only three words in the English language to catch my attention this evening.Professor Frederick Reaver—the Keeper of the Egyptology collection at the Ashmolean Museum. In the flesh, the man was nothing at all like I’d expected. Instead of a pinched and thin academic in a tired jumper, this man could have stepped straight from the pages of a men’s fashion advertisement. Not to mention the way his jacket stretched at his shoulders—he was muscle upon muscle. How very curious.
I toyed with the paper of the cigarette with my thumbnail.
“And you… if I do not miss my guess, are Ruby Vaughn.”
“You do not miss.” I barely concealed my surprise. “Though I must confess I’m curious how you knew.”
“You have an unusual face.” His smile melted away as he mirrored my frank inspection before checking his watch and glancing over his shoulder at the rapidly emptying streets of Oxford. Nearly half the city had crammed itself inside the museum wondering if Julius Harker would truly arrive, and doubly curious how this Reaver fellow would react to the exhibition.
“I’ve read all about your adventures this year. You’re becoming a bit of a celebrity on these shores with your knack for finding trouble.”
His jab about my previous exploits was nothing I did not already know. I did not relish the fame that had been following me these past few months thanks to an irritating journalist…V. E. Devereaux. The man had made a point of sensationalizing my every move. If I ever met him… I would certainly give him a piece of my mind. For the whole reason I’d settled in Exeter in the first place was to avoid the notoriety that came along with being thatscandalous Vaughn girl. Little good that did me. My life with Mr. Owen proved to be a greater scandal than the one that sent me fleeing America.
Reaver’s expression faltered, revealing a deep dimple in one cheek. “I apologize. I am often told my manner is too brusque forpolite company and that I belong up to my knees in dirt in the field—not in these hallowed halls with my coarse manners.” He tilted his head down the street in the direction of the Ashmolean. The museum itself was not visible at night, but I could make out the shadowy gothic spire of the Martyrs’ Memorial from here, even in the darkness. “It is only that Miss Abernathy told me you were in town and that you spend your mornings together before she comes in, and I’ve learned that a friend of hers is well worth knowing.”
She might have toldhimabout me, but she’d scarcely mentioned him at all. In truth, when he came up yesterday afternoon, she skirted the subject. “Is she here tonight?”
Something shuttered in his expression. “I doubt it. Miss Abernathy was occupied with her research when I left her at the museum.” Professor Reaver watched a group of young men coming down the street before training his attention upon me. “Care to join me to watch the spectacle, Miss Vaughn? I daresay it will be quite the show.”
He was acting the perfect gentleman, but something about him gave me pause. I hesitated before laying my palm on the fine wool of his jacket. He tilted his head in acknowledgment to the young men now flanking him and one of them hurried ahead to open the door for us. The roar of sound from inside Harker’s Curiosity Museum flooded out into the street as I returned to the maw of the beast, wholly unprepared for the spectacle soon to unfold.
CHAPTERFOURHarker’s Final Show
INthe handful of minutes I’d been outside the museum with Frederick Reaver, dozens more people had joined the throng of onlookers, making it difficult to navigate between the bodies. All the discordant sounds from their hundreds of conversations made my pulse thunder in my veins. Raw, unbridled panic began to surge through me.
I hated crowds.
Had loathed them ever since my misadventures in Lothlel Green this past summer. I could scarcely be in a room with twenty people or more without becoming rabbity, but this—this new sensation was nigh on unbearable. My head began to ache as I thought of my days in that godforsaken hamlet. Was this what Ruan had meant when he’d refer to his uncomfortable ability to hear people’s thoughts? He’d told me once that it wasakin to a train station… a sense of something coming. If so, it was no wonder the man remained in his remote Cornish village most of the time. I’d shun society as well if I could hear their every waking thought.
Good God, why could I not get him out of my head? He was a plague and a pestilence. If only I could forget what had come between us. What hadalmosthappened. Of course, my attempts toforget were stymied by the fact I’d invited him to join us in Oxford in a gin-fueled missive, apologizing for the way I’d left things. But he’d not deigned to come, instead he’d sent a response that was all of two words.
I SEE. R
Five damnable letters. One period and no indication whether he forgave me or not.
That was my answer, I supposed. Our would-be romance was over before it had even begun. My fingers itched for the flask that was once my dearest companion, but I’d left it at home. Hiding in the bottom of a bottle of gin was yet another habit I needed to break—regardless of the status of my wounded heart.
Across the room by the shrouded dais, Lord Amberley—whom I’d seen earlier today—was speaking with his son, gesturing at the flaming torches by the curtains. At least I presumed the fellow with him was his son, as the two might have been twins, albeit ones separated by a good forty years. Amberley waved me over with a broad smile. He was a man of about Mr. Owen’s years, with a balding pate and a gentle face.
“I’d been waiting for you, dear girl. Owen was here a moment ago asking for you.” Amberley strained, craning his neck looking around for Mr. Owen before giving up with an affectionate sigh. “I must confess I do not even know why I’ve come tonight. I’ve always found this sort of display vulgar.”
