Original: "Trafalgar & Boone," Chapter Eight
Today is the first day of a NaNo-lite. I need to up my word count something fierce, so I decided to push NaNo up a few months. Get some words down! And it bodes well that on Day One I get to post MUCH earlier than I have been. Granted I wrote most of these words a few days ago, but it's the thought that counts. Or something. ;) My goal is to add at least 50k to this novel by the end of the month. If you're reading and enjoying this, let me know! Nothing makes me write faster than having people urging me for what comes next! Thanks, alsogater! ;D
Chapter Eight
They searched the house thoroughly until they both had to concede there was nothing else to find. Even distracted as she was by the journal’s discovery, Trafalgar had to admit there was no secret passages or hidden rooms in which Quintel could be concealed. They stood at the top of the stairs after Dorothy confirmed the attic was a cramped, hot space with nothing larger than a coal chute, which she reported was completely empty.
“Ivy believed Felix Quintel was a real person because she found this place,” Dorothy said. “All signs point toward his being a construct. We’re not looking for a single man.”
“Then who sat in that room watching the street? Who brought this journal here, and who hung that portrait like some sort of idol?”
Dorothy shook her head. “A watchman, someone designated to act as Quintel if the necessity arose. The fact that Quintel is an amalgamation of many rather than an individual changes nothing. The organization who put all of this together will still have a man in charge. Now, we should leave this place and return to our own territory to sort out what we know. Perhaps something will come to light once we hear how Desmond has fared this afternoon.”
At the door Trafalgar paused and looked back over the house. “Such an elaborate artifice. Why go to such extremes with something no one should ever see?”
“I haven’t a clue.” Dorothy now sounded exasperated. “We’ve searched the entire house, Trafalgar. Everything points to the fact that no one has been here for weeks, perhaps months.”
“No one except the maid and the guards. Set pieces that are visible from the street.” She closed her eyes. “Oh, we’ve been so thick.”
Dorothy frowned. “In what way?”
“Ivy never saw anyone go into the house or come out of it the entire time she was watching. But no one knew she was watching.”
“Correct. They couldn’t have slipped by without her seeing because they’d have no idea what her vantage point was.”
Trafalgar gestured at the house. “This is a stage, set dressing for an elaborate ruse. It was built to serve as the public residence of Felix Quintel, whether he exists or not. It is a place for Felix Quintel to perform for the benefit of others. Pray tell, what kind of actor performs when there is no one in the audience to appreciate his craft?”
Dorothy raised an eyebrow. “Ivy was surveilling the house invisibly, so there would be no reason for Quintel, or a Quintel proxy, to make an appearance.”
“But if the guards reported someone taking an interest...”
“If Quintel is aware someone is watching the house, perhaps he will make an appearance. Or at the very least someone will.”
Trafalgar nodded. “Whether it is Quintel himself or a proxy we will have another clue in this mess. We can use him to find those responsible for the attacks today.”
Outside they reconvened with Beatrice, Leola, and Ivy. They explained what they had discovered and detailed Trafalgar’s theory. Leola and Ivy volunteered to stay and keep watch.
“Whoever uses this house, one man or a dozen, is the one responsible for Adeline’s death. I’d like to be the one who takes him down if I can.”
Ivy said, “And I’m just annoyed I wasted so much time being too good at my job. The one time being invisible kept me from seeing something.”
Beatrice said, “I’d stay as well, but someone has to be around for protection.” She nodded at Trafalgar and Boone. “You two have targets on your backs. Those guards still might have alerted their employers that you survived the attempt and came looking, so they might try again. I’d rather not take the risk of being across town in the event of a second attack.
“Thank you, Trix. Now that we all know where we shall be, let us part ways.” Dorothy looked at Ivy. “Can we trust you? Quintel may have hired you, but things have changed since this morning. And now you know that I’m involved.”
Ivy raised an eyebrow. “Do you think I’d take that into consideration?”
“One would hope,” Dorothy said in a seductive coo, smiling slightly as she dipped her chin.
Ivy chuckled. “What the hell. Whatever’s going on here is a lot more interesting than a simple assassination. But if this Quintel fellow comes after me for not finishing the job, I’m counting on you to have my back.”
Dorothy nodded. “Of course.”
“Then I’m on your side.”
“Excellent. Beatrice, play nice with Leola. Whoever is behind this decided Trafalgar and I are his enemies, and the old adage stands true. For the time being the five of us, and Desmond Tindall, are a united front against Quintel. Whoever or whatever he turns out to be.”
“Agreed.”
They arranged for Ivy and Leola to both check in at three hour intervals, or as needed. They climbed into the backseat of Dorothy’s car, and Beatrice set off toward home. They sat in awkward silence on either side of the bench, both watching the city through their own windows. Dorothy was recalling a number of encounters she’d had with Trafalgar and had no doubt the same litany of remembrances was occurring just to her left. She looked at the woman sharing her car and decided to try easing the tension between them.
“Tell me about her.”
Trafalgar looked away from the window. “Who?”
“Adeline Okoro. I know we encountered each other time and again, but she was always simply your steward in my eyes. She died because of this nonsense and I would like to know more about her as a person. I know she had a great talent...”
“Some might say a curse.”
“Some might. But she used it for the benefit of her friends. An ability like Adeline’s is neutral by nature. It’s what a person does with their ability that makes it a gift or a curse. From what I can tell Adeline turned it into a blessing for those around her.”
Trafalgar considered the argument and nodded slowly. She looked out the window again, her hands folded in her lap. They were nearly to the King Edward VII Bridge before Trafalgar spoke again.
“She was very fond of rabbits. When she was young, her mother would read her books. The books often had pictures. She thought the rabbit was particularly interesting and for one reason or another believed it was a fictional beast. The first time she saw one in real life she was overjoyed. She thought it was magic.” She smiled weakly. “In a world where magic was real, she saw proof in a simple long-eared swift-footed pest.”
Dorothy chuckled. “Rabbits.”
“She would draw pictures of them if her hands were idle for too long. She was quite talented.”
“Thank you. We’ll stop Quintel in her honor.”
“I appreciate that.”
The silence that fell between them for the rest of their trip was easier, a touch more amicable. Dorothy knew they still had quite a distance to go before they could consider each other friends, but she felt as if inroads had been made. At the very least she was starting to feel more comfortable working alongside Trafalgar to bring down the mysterious Felix Quintel.
#
Desmond was waiting at Dorothy’s townhouse when they arrived. He reported that Arthur Whitmore and Nigel Mummery were both confirmed dead. He had gathered some members of his social club and began calling anyone they could think of who may have been targeted. They went inside and Beatrice offered to put on a pot of tea. Trafalgar hesitated at the threshold, but eventually joined them and sat awkwardly in the wingback chair next to the fireplace.
“Professor Desmond Tindall,” Dorothy said, “allow me to introduce Miss Trafalgar of Abyssinia. Trafalgar, Desmond is my gentleman friend.”
“I see.”
Dorothy could see Trafalgar was revisiting their time with Ivy, the obvious flirtation they’d had with one another. She saw no reason to reveal the true nature of her relationship with Desmond so she ignored the confusion on her temporary ally’s face and took a seat on the couch. They recounted their findings, or lack thereof, at the Quintel house. Desmond made a note of the man’s name and the address and promised to see if either was familiar to his brothers in the club who had joined him that afternoon in seeking out more traps and sabotage. In the end they confirmed at least nine people had been killed that day under mysterious circumstances.
When Dorothy noticed how late it was, she suggested they take a recess until the morning. “Miss Trafalgar, we have plenty of food here if you would like to dine with us. There is a room upstairs you can take if you would like to sleep here.”
“I appreciate the offer, Lady Boone, but I must decline. I must see to Adeline’s arrangements. Would you happen to know where one could find a bus or train?”
Dorothy said, “Ah, your driver is indisposed. Beatrice, would you mind driving Miss Trafalgar home?”
“I would be glad to.”
“That’s not necessary,” Trafalgar said at the same time.
Dorothy said, “I insist. Either you spend the night in my spare room or Beatrice will see you safely to your door. Those are your options.”
Trafalgar sighed and inclined her head to Beatrice. “In that case, Miss Sek, I would be greatly obliged to you.”
“It’s a pleasure,” Beatrice said.
Trafalgar walked from the parlor where the unofficial briefing had been held. Beatrice passed by Dorothy’s chair on her way out, checked to ensure Trafalgar wasn’t lingering in the hall, and leaned down slightly so she could whisper to Dorothy.
“All on the level? You just want me to take her home?”
“Yes, Trix.”
Beatrice nodded. “Sorry, mum, but I had to be sure. But this is a woman who, if she had arrived on our doorstep naked and hungry at this time yesterday, you likely would have been reluctant to even give her directions to a soup kitchen.”
“What a difference a day makes,” Dorothy said with a sigh. “We’ve both cheated death today, we fought each other and at each other’s sides. It was a hell of a day, Trix, and that deserves a modicum of sisterhood.”
“Of course, ma’am.” She straightened and looked at Desmond. “Good evening to you, Professor Tindall.”
He inclined his head. “And to you, Miss Sek.”
They left Desmond and Dorothy alone in her parlor. She leaned forward and removed her shoes, setting them to one side and stretching out her toes. Her stockings were ivory-colored with reinforced panels of black at the heel and toe. She hadn’t noticed before but now that the day was over her feet were exhausted. She crossed one leg over the other and leaned forward to rub the arches with strong strokes of her fingers. Desmond, seated in an armchair nearby, noticed what she was doing but made no offer to take over the massage for her.
She didn’t expect such chivalry from him. Other than a quick kiss or linking arms at public affairs, she and Desmond very rarely made physical contact. She first met Desmond in a professional capacity when she had several artifacts from the Valley of the Kings she wished to have verified. A few questions to the right people led her directly to Desmond’s office at the University. They surprised each other with their easy rapport and, based on their mutual interests, agreed that having dinner together would not be out of the question.
After their first dinner together, Desmond offered to walk her home. She tempted scandal by inviting him inside to see her library. He, unable to resist the urge to take a peek, instantly agreed. Once they were inside she led him upstairs. When the lights came on he gazed awestruck at the collection as she explained that she was only supplementing the collection left to her by her grandmother.
“In many ways, I am stepping into her shoes to carry on the work she left unfinished.”
“Remarkable,” he said.
Dorothy smiled. “That’s not the only remarkable thing here, Professor Tindall. I spend a delightful evening with a man, a man with whom I share a great many interests, and I invite him upstairs without a chaperone. Most men in that situation wouldn’t be interested in these covers.”
Desmond appeared flustered. “Ah. Yes, well, one... does not wish to be thought presumptuous.”
Dorothy smiled. “Professor, I’ve never been an ordinary woman. I’ve never exactly been what someone might call traditional. I’m an outsider. We can recognize our own kind when we’ve spotted them in the wild.”
He stared at her nervously.
“My mother told me I was fortunate to live in the age of women’s rights. My grandmother was only allowed to own this house because it was bought in the name of my long-dead grandfather, while I am allowed to own it because I inherited it from her. And yet there are still institutions in this town, in this bastion of forward thinking, where I am denied access simply because I don’t have a man on my arm. I’m sure you have the same issues with the University. A single man of a certain age may raise a few eyebrows or invite comment.”
Desmond sneered. “There have been whispers.”
“Confirmed bachelor,” Dorothy said, and he nodded. “It seems we have a solution staring us in the face. We enjoy one another’s company, we share a variety of interests, and we can help each other professionally. I never have to worry about you wanting more out of the relationship, and you never have to worry about me, either.”
“You? Oh. You...”
She smiled. “In my journals and letters home I referred to my first love as Charles. But I called her Charlotte.”
“I see. Perhaps we can come to an arrangement after all.”
To the public, they became an item. She attended his work functions and he occasionally spent a night in her spare bedroom. There was a bit of scandal, of course, an unmarried couple spending the evening under the same roof, but it was the sort of controversy that came with a wink and an elbow in the ribs rather than cruel investigations and ruined reputations. They did share a deep affection for one another. Dorothy appreciated his ability to argue and concede when he’d been beaten, and he was greatly enamored with the depth of her intelligence and loved to hear reports of her various adventures.
As far as romance went, on the other hand, they were completely oblivious to one another. So Dorothy rubbed her own tired feet while Desmond stared into the fire and twisted an unlit cigar between his fingers. The house seemed quiet after the bustle of the afternoon, the violence and the threats from all corners. She reached up and touched her neck where Mr. Keeping’s sword had rested, well aware that if he hadn’t planned to interrogate her the situation could have turned bloody with just a little bit of pressure.
“Dot?”
She looked at him. “Yes, Des?”
“I asked if you were all right. You looked haunted.”
“It’s been a very busy day, which ended with me offering tea to a woman I’ve considered my nemesis for four years. I’m simply overtired.” She stretched where she sat, lifting both arms over her head and rocking her head one way and then the other. “I believe I shall take a bath and retire. You’re more than welcome to stay if you wish.”
“I believe I will.”
She hesitated after she stood. “Are you merely staying here to act as my protector?”
“And if I am?”
“I will be offended at your machismo and touched by your concern. I’m sure the two will balance enough to cancel each other out.” She walked to his armchair and bent down to kiss the top of his head. “Pleasant dreams, Professor.”
“And to you, Lady Boone.”
She smiled and left him to brood. On her way upstairs she passed through the sitting room. The exploded package which would have killed her remained on the table, and the stink of cordite hung in the air. She wished she had thought to ask Beatrice to try cleaning it up but it was too late in the evening for a chore of that magnitude. Instead she opened two windows just enough to create a cross breeze in the hopes the fresh air would dilute or push out the tainted air of the house. Even with the attempted murder she wasn’t overly concerned by the idea anyone would take advantage of the opening. If someone wanted to kill her they wouldn’t climb her gate and traipse through the bushes in the hopes of finding the windows open. There would be easier and more direct ways to get into the house for a determined murderer, and she would have ample warning if someone did try to break in.
Dorothy returned to the box and picked it up to examine the mechanics of the bomb. It was incredibly intricate work, skillfully done. She brushed her thumb over the woodwork, to the brass latch, and something clicked in her mind. She realized where she had seen work of this caliber before and she cursed quietly at how long it had taken her to put the pieces together.
“Threnody.”
If Quintel required elaborate gadgets to use as weapons, there was one place in London he would go for quality work. Threnody had no qualms about working on opposite sides of a conflict. She provided weapons to whoever had the clout to find her in the first place as long as they had the coin to pay her once the job was done. She wasn’t cheap but Quintel had proven he wasn’t skint. Anyone who could afford to buy and maintain a house and surround it with guards could definitely afford to hire Threnody.
“I shall have to have a discussion with our masked tinkerer,” she muttered to herself as she put the device back down on the table.
Upstairs she drew herself a bath and disrobed. She lifted her arms over her head and examined herself in the mirror. No new scars, no scrapes or bruises that would color themselves in come morning. She let her hair down and stepped into the bathtub, sinking down to relax against the smooth curve of the porcelain. She drifted into a light sleep, aware of movement in the house - Desmond retiring to the library so he could read before bed, Beatrice arriving home and cleaning in the parlor even though she hadn’t been asked. Dorothy made a note to thank her for taking the initiative, sinking lower into the seductive embrace of the water as her mind drifted off into oblivion.
Chapter Eight
They searched the house thoroughly until they both had to concede there was nothing else to find. Even distracted as she was by the journal’s discovery, Trafalgar had to admit there was no secret passages or hidden rooms in which Quintel could be concealed. They stood at the top of the stairs after Dorothy confirmed the attic was a cramped, hot space with nothing larger than a coal chute, which she reported was completely empty.
“Ivy believed Felix Quintel was a real person because she found this place,” Dorothy said. “All signs point toward his being a construct. We’re not looking for a single man.”
“Then who sat in that room watching the street? Who brought this journal here, and who hung that portrait like some sort of idol?”
Dorothy shook her head. “A watchman, someone designated to act as Quintel if the necessity arose. The fact that Quintel is an amalgamation of many rather than an individual changes nothing. The organization who put all of this together will still have a man in charge. Now, we should leave this place and return to our own territory to sort out what we know. Perhaps something will come to light once we hear how Desmond has fared this afternoon.”
At the door Trafalgar paused and looked back over the house. “Such an elaborate artifice. Why go to such extremes with something no one should ever see?”
“I haven’t a clue.” Dorothy now sounded exasperated. “We’ve searched the entire house, Trafalgar. Everything points to the fact that no one has been here for weeks, perhaps months.”
“No one except the maid and the guards. Set pieces that are visible from the street.” She closed her eyes. “Oh, we’ve been so thick.”
Dorothy frowned. “In what way?”
“Ivy never saw anyone go into the house or come out of it the entire time she was watching. But no one knew she was watching.”
“Correct. They couldn’t have slipped by without her seeing because they’d have no idea what her vantage point was.”
Trafalgar gestured at the house. “This is a stage, set dressing for an elaborate ruse. It was built to serve as the public residence of Felix Quintel, whether he exists or not. It is a place for Felix Quintel to perform for the benefit of others. Pray tell, what kind of actor performs when there is no one in the audience to appreciate his craft?”
Dorothy raised an eyebrow. “Ivy was surveilling the house invisibly, so there would be no reason for Quintel, or a Quintel proxy, to make an appearance.”
“But if the guards reported someone taking an interest...”
“If Quintel is aware someone is watching the house, perhaps he will make an appearance. Or at the very least someone will.”
Trafalgar nodded. “Whether it is Quintel himself or a proxy we will have another clue in this mess. We can use him to find those responsible for the attacks today.”
Outside they reconvened with Beatrice, Leola, and Ivy. They explained what they had discovered and detailed Trafalgar’s theory. Leola and Ivy volunteered to stay and keep watch.
“Whoever uses this house, one man or a dozen, is the one responsible for Adeline’s death. I’d like to be the one who takes him down if I can.”
Ivy said, “And I’m just annoyed I wasted so much time being too good at my job. The one time being invisible kept me from seeing something.”
Beatrice said, “I’d stay as well, but someone has to be around for protection.” She nodded at Trafalgar and Boone. “You two have targets on your backs. Those guards still might have alerted their employers that you survived the attempt and came looking, so they might try again. I’d rather not take the risk of being across town in the event of a second attack.
“Thank you, Trix. Now that we all know where we shall be, let us part ways.” Dorothy looked at Ivy. “Can we trust you? Quintel may have hired you, but things have changed since this morning. And now you know that I’m involved.”
Ivy raised an eyebrow. “Do you think I’d take that into consideration?”
“One would hope,” Dorothy said in a seductive coo, smiling slightly as she dipped her chin.
Ivy chuckled. “What the hell. Whatever’s going on here is a lot more interesting than a simple assassination. But if this Quintel fellow comes after me for not finishing the job, I’m counting on you to have my back.”
Dorothy nodded. “Of course.”
“Then I’m on your side.”
“Excellent. Beatrice, play nice with Leola. Whoever is behind this decided Trafalgar and I are his enemies, and the old adage stands true. For the time being the five of us, and Desmond Tindall, are a united front against Quintel. Whoever or whatever he turns out to be.”
“Agreed.”
They arranged for Ivy and Leola to both check in at three hour intervals, or as needed. They climbed into the backseat of Dorothy’s car, and Beatrice set off toward home. They sat in awkward silence on either side of the bench, both watching the city through their own windows. Dorothy was recalling a number of encounters she’d had with Trafalgar and had no doubt the same litany of remembrances was occurring just to her left. She looked at the woman sharing her car and decided to try easing the tension between them.
“Tell me about her.”
Trafalgar looked away from the window. “Who?”
“Adeline Okoro. I know we encountered each other time and again, but she was always simply your steward in my eyes. She died because of this nonsense and I would like to know more about her as a person. I know she had a great talent...”
“Some might say a curse.”
“Some might. But she used it for the benefit of her friends. An ability like Adeline’s is neutral by nature. It’s what a person does with their ability that makes it a gift or a curse. From what I can tell Adeline turned it into a blessing for those around her.”
Trafalgar considered the argument and nodded slowly. She looked out the window again, her hands folded in her lap. They were nearly to the King Edward VII Bridge before Trafalgar spoke again.
“She was very fond of rabbits. When she was young, her mother would read her books. The books often had pictures. She thought the rabbit was particularly interesting and for one reason or another believed it was a fictional beast. The first time she saw one in real life she was overjoyed. She thought it was magic.” She smiled weakly. “In a world where magic was real, she saw proof in a simple long-eared swift-footed pest.”
Dorothy chuckled. “Rabbits.”
“She would draw pictures of them if her hands were idle for too long. She was quite talented.”
“Thank you. We’ll stop Quintel in her honor.”
“I appreciate that.”
The silence that fell between them for the rest of their trip was easier, a touch more amicable. Dorothy knew they still had quite a distance to go before they could consider each other friends, but she felt as if inroads had been made. At the very least she was starting to feel more comfortable working alongside Trafalgar to bring down the mysterious Felix Quintel.
#
Desmond was waiting at Dorothy’s townhouse when they arrived. He reported that Arthur Whitmore and Nigel Mummery were both confirmed dead. He had gathered some members of his social club and began calling anyone they could think of who may have been targeted. They went inside and Beatrice offered to put on a pot of tea. Trafalgar hesitated at the threshold, but eventually joined them and sat awkwardly in the wingback chair next to the fireplace.
“Professor Desmond Tindall,” Dorothy said, “allow me to introduce Miss Trafalgar of Abyssinia. Trafalgar, Desmond is my gentleman friend.”
“I see.”
Dorothy could see Trafalgar was revisiting their time with Ivy, the obvious flirtation they’d had with one another. She saw no reason to reveal the true nature of her relationship with Desmond so she ignored the confusion on her temporary ally’s face and took a seat on the couch. They recounted their findings, or lack thereof, at the Quintel house. Desmond made a note of the man’s name and the address and promised to see if either was familiar to his brothers in the club who had joined him that afternoon in seeking out more traps and sabotage. In the end they confirmed at least nine people had been killed that day under mysterious circumstances.
When Dorothy noticed how late it was, she suggested they take a recess until the morning. “Miss Trafalgar, we have plenty of food here if you would like to dine with us. There is a room upstairs you can take if you would like to sleep here.”
“I appreciate the offer, Lady Boone, but I must decline. I must see to Adeline’s arrangements. Would you happen to know where one could find a bus or train?”
Dorothy said, “Ah, your driver is indisposed. Beatrice, would you mind driving Miss Trafalgar home?”
“I would be glad to.”
“That’s not necessary,” Trafalgar said at the same time.
Dorothy said, “I insist. Either you spend the night in my spare room or Beatrice will see you safely to your door. Those are your options.”
Trafalgar sighed and inclined her head to Beatrice. “In that case, Miss Sek, I would be greatly obliged to you.”
“It’s a pleasure,” Beatrice said.
Trafalgar walked from the parlor where the unofficial briefing had been held. Beatrice passed by Dorothy’s chair on her way out, checked to ensure Trafalgar wasn’t lingering in the hall, and leaned down slightly so she could whisper to Dorothy.
“All on the level? You just want me to take her home?”
“Yes, Trix.”
Beatrice nodded. “Sorry, mum, but I had to be sure. But this is a woman who, if she had arrived on our doorstep naked and hungry at this time yesterday, you likely would have been reluctant to even give her directions to a soup kitchen.”
“What a difference a day makes,” Dorothy said with a sigh. “We’ve both cheated death today, we fought each other and at each other’s sides. It was a hell of a day, Trix, and that deserves a modicum of sisterhood.”
“Of course, ma’am.” She straightened and looked at Desmond. “Good evening to you, Professor Tindall.”
He inclined his head. “And to you, Miss Sek.”
They left Desmond and Dorothy alone in her parlor. She leaned forward and removed her shoes, setting them to one side and stretching out her toes. Her stockings were ivory-colored with reinforced panels of black at the heel and toe. She hadn’t noticed before but now that the day was over her feet were exhausted. She crossed one leg over the other and leaned forward to rub the arches with strong strokes of her fingers. Desmond, seated in an armchair nearby, noticed what she was doing but made no offer to take over the massage for her.
She didn’t expect such chivalry from him. Other than a quick kiss or linking arms at public affairs, she and Desmond very rarely made physical contact. She first met Desmond in a professional capacity when she had several artifacts from the Valley of the Kings she wished to have verified. A few questions to the right people led her directly to Desmond’s office at the University. They surprised each other with their easy rapport and, based on their mutual interests, agreed that having dinner together would not be out of the question.
After their first dinner together, Desmond offered to walk her home. She tempted scandal by inviting him inside to see her library. He, unable to resist the urge to take a peek, instantly agreed. Once they were inside she led him upstairs. When the lights came on he gazed awestruck at the collection as she explained that she was only supplementing the collection left to her by her grandmother.
“In many ways, I am stepping into her shoes to carry on the work she left unfinished.”
“Remarkable,” he said.
Dorothy smiled. “That’s not the only remarkable thing here, Professor Tindall. I spend a delightful evening with a man, a man with whom I share a great many interests, and I invite him upstairs without a chaperone. Most men in that situation wouldn’t be interested in these covers.”
Desmond appeared flustered. “Ah. Yes, well, one... does not wish to be thought presumptuous.”
Dorothy smiled. “Professor, I’ve never been an ordinary woman. I’ve never exactly been what someone might call traditional. I’m an outsider. We can recognize our own kind when we’ve spotted them in the wild.”
He stared at her nervously.
“My mother told me I was fortunate to live in the age of women’s rights. My grandmother was only allowed to own this house because it was bought in the name of my long-dead grandfather, while I am allowed to own it because I inherited it from her. And yet there are still institutions in this town, in this bastion of forward thinking, where I am denied access simply because I don’t have a man on my arm. I’m sure you have the same issues with the University. A single man of a certain age may raise a few eyebrows or invite comment.”
Desmond sneered. “There have been whispers.”
“Confirmed bachelor,” Dorothy said, and he nodded. “It seems we have a solution staring us in the face. We enjoy one another’s company, we share a variety of interests, and we can help each other professionally. I never have to worry about you wanting more out of the relationship, and you never have to worry about me, either.”
“You? Oh. You...”
She smiled. “In my journals and letters home I referred to my first love as Charles. But I called her Charlotte.”
“I see. Perhaps we can come to an arrangement after all.”
To the public, they became an item. She attended his work functions and he occasionally spent a night in her spare bedroom. There was a bit of scandal, of course, an unmarried couple spending the evening under the same roof, but it was the sort of controversy that came with a wink and an elbow in the ribs rather than cruel investigations and ruined reputations. They did share a deep affection for one another. Dorothy appreciated his ability to argue and concede when he’d been beaten, and he was greatly enamored with the depth of her intelligence and loved to hear reports of her various adventures.
As far as romance went, on the other hand, they were completely oblivious to one another. So Dorothy rubbed her own tired feet while Desmond stared into the fire and twisted an unlit cigar between his fingers. The house seemed quiet after the bustle of the afternoon, the violence and the threats from all corners. She reached up and touched her neck where Mr. Keeping’s sword had rested, well aware that if he hadn’t planned to interrogate her the situation could have turned bloody with just a little bit of pressure.
“Dot?”
She looked at him. “Yes, Des?”
“I asked if you were all right. You looked haunted.”
“It’s been a very busy day, which ended with me offering tea to a woman I’ve considered my nemesis for four years. I’m simply overtired.” She stretched where she sat, lifting both arms over her head and rocking her head one way and then the other. “I believe I shall take a bath and retire. You’re more than welcome to stay if you wish.”
“I believe I will.”
She hesitated after she stood. “Are you merely staying here to act as my protector?”
“And if I am?”
“I will be offended at your machismo and touched by your concern. I’m sure the two will balance enough to cancel each other out.” She walked to his armchair and bent down to kiss the top of his head. “Pleasant dreams, Professor.”
“And to you, Lady Boone.”
She smiled and left him to brood. On her way upstairs she passed through the sitting room. The exploded package which would have killed her remained on the table, and the stink of cordite hung in the air. She wished she had thought to ask Beatrice to try cleaning it up but it was too late in the evening for a chore of that magnitude. Instead she opened two windows just enough to create a cross breeze in the hopes the fresh air would dilute or push out the tainted air of the house. Even with the attempted murder she wasn’t overly concerned by the idea anyone would take advantage of the opening. If someone wanted to kill her they wouldn’t climb her gate and traipse through the bushes in the hopes of finding the windows open. There would be easier and more direct ways to get into the house for a determined murderer, and she would have ample warning if someone did try to break in.
Dorothy returned to the box and picked it up to examine the mechanics of the bomb. It was incredibly intricate work, skillfully done. She brushed her thumb over the woodwork, to the brass latch, and something clicked in her mind. She realized where she had seen work of this caliber before and she cursed quietly at how long it had taken her to put the pieces together.
“Threnody.”
If Quintel required elaborate gadgets to use as weapons, there was one place in London he would go for quality work. Threnody had no qualms about working on opposite sides of a conflict. She provided weapons to whoever had the clout to find her in the first place as long as they had the coin to pay her once the job was done. She wasn’t cheap but Quintel had proven he wasn’t skint. Anyone who could afford to buy and maintain a house and surround it with guards could definitely afford to hire Threnody.
“I shall have to have a discussion with our masked tinkerer,” she muttered to herself as she put the device back down on the table.
Upstairs she drew herself a bath and disrobed. She lifted her arms over her head and examined herself in the mirror. No new scars, no scrapes or bruises that would color themselves in come morning. She let her hair down and stepped into the bathtub, sinking down to relax against the smooth curve of the porcelain. She drifted into a light sleep, aware of movement in the house - Desmond retiring to the library so he could read before bed, Beatrice arriving home and cleaning in the parlor even though she hadn’t been asked. Dorothy made a note to thank her for taking the initiative, sinking lower into the seductive embrace of the water as her mind drifted off into oblivion.