Tasha Alexander: Dangerous to Know

“The police?” she asked.

“Are already on their way,” he said and directed his attention back to me. “You’re quite certain of the location?”

“I’ll have to show you. I don’t know that I could explain how to get there,” I said. “I hadn’t followed a specific route.”

“I was frantic when your horse came into the garden without you,” he said. “I wanted to look for you but had no idea what direction you’d gone.”

“I can’t imagine you frantic. You’re beyond calm—infuriatingly calm—in the face of danger.”

“Not, my dear, when it comes to you. Not anymore.” He sat next to me and took my hand, rubbing it with both of his.

“I will not stand for you going all protective,” I said. “Next thing I know you’ll be sending me to bed early and censoring the books I read.”

“I know better than to try to influence your choice of reading material.”

“You do have excellent taste,” I said. “I might consider taking your advice.”

His mother sighed loudly and all but rolled her eyes. “I wish you would let me send for my physician to look her over, Colin,” she said. “Do you think, Lady Emily”—she insisted on addressing me formally, her voice full of sharp scorn, to remind me of her disapproval of the use of the courtesy title to which I, the daughter of an earl, was entitled—“that you’ll be quite able to bear the sight of the body again? I can’t help but worry about the constitution of such a delicate and sheltered girl.”

“I’ll be perfectly all right,” I said, feeling my cheeks blush unpleasantly hot. “Anyone would be upset by what I’ve seen, but that doesn’t mean I’m incapable of doing the work necessary to ensure justice for the victim of this unspeakable crime.”

“And am I to believe you are better capable of achieving such a thing than the police?” she asked. I had no time to reply as the butler announced Inspector Gaudet, a towering man, tall and broad, with a beard and handlebar mustache that made his face resemble George, newly created Duke of York, younger son of the Prince of Wales. His size, however, would have dwarfed the duke.

“I assume,” he said, crossing to me, “that you are Madame Hargreaves, who found the body.”

“ I am Madame Hargreaves,” Colin’s mother said, stepping forward. “I believe you want Lady Emily.”

“I’m afraid my own lack of a title puts me beneath my wife in rank,” Colin said, shaking the policeman’s hand. “Hence the confusion. But I must say, there’s no other lady I’d rather have precede me.”

“Yes, of course,” Mrs. Hargreaves said. “At any rate, Lady Emily is the one who found the murdered girl.”

“Investigation will determine the cause of death,” Inspector Gaudet said.

“There can’t be much of a question,” I said. “She was brutalized.” Before I could stop them, tears sprang from my eyes. I pressed a handkerchief to my face and tried to compose myself.

“I do not need you to describe for me what had been done to her. I’ve already summoned a doctor to analyze the state of her body. He can’t be more than ten minutes behind me. What I need is for you to show me the precise location of the scene. Do you feel able to do that? I understand how difficult all this is.” His voice was full of sincere worry.

“I appreciate your concern,” I said. “But I’m prepared to do whatever is necessary.”

Within a quarter of an hour the doctor and another policeman had arrived, and we were all mounted on horseback, Colin keeping close to my side. Mrs. Hargreaves had debated joining the party, but in the end was persuaded by her son to stay behind. We set off, and it quickly became apparent retracing my route was not quite so easy as I thought it would be. I had followed a path from the house beyond the road that led to the village, but then diverted through fields on whims in search of flowers, or to follow the sound of a particularly fetching birdsong, or hoping to find the peace that had eluded me since the day of my injuries in Constantinople.

“I know it wasn’t much farther,” I said, frowning. I’d made a habit of timing the length it took me to reach the beginning of the village road—exactly half a mile from the house—and I knew how long I’d been riding at approximately the same speed. Six miles in any direction was not so easy to find, and I made enough missteps—mistaking one field of poppies or flax or wheat for another—that the others began to doubt I would be of any use to them. In the end, I managed to recognize from afar the twisted limbs of the tree that stood over the body.

My horse reared as we approached, sensing, I suppose, my own tension as much as it did the smell of blood that hung in the air. We all slowed, then stopped, no one moving for several minutes. I could not bring myself to look again at the hideous sight.

“I can’t believe it,” Colin said, dismounting, his voice gruff. “I never expected to see something like this again.”

“Again?” Inspector Gaudet stood next to him.

“It’s as brutal as the murders in Whitechapel,” he said. The collective terror that had descended on all of London when Jack the Ripper stalked women in the East End was something no English man or woman would soon forget. Chills crawled up my arms at the mere thought of his horrible handiwork. “Emily, did you hear anything at all when you found her? Sounds that suggested someone was close by?”

“Only the crack of a branch,” I said, hesitating. “But I can’t say I was aware of much beyond her.”

“She hasn’t been dead long.” The physician was kneeling beside her. “You’re lucky not to have arrived any earlier than you did, Lady Emily.”

My eyes lost all focus. I came off the horse and tried to walk towards Colin, but my knees buckled. He stepped back and moved to catch me, but I pushed him away, knowing there was no stopping the inevitable. I ran as far as I could from the tree, then doubled over and was sick.

Gaudet turned to the other police officer. “Organize a search. We must comb the entire countryside. Hargreaves, take your wife home and look after her. She’s done all we need of her and ought not trouble herself with this matter any longer.”

From the beginning of our marriage, I had taken much pleasure from sharing daily routines with Colin. Dressing for dinner, for example, had become a time during which, once we’d shooed away our servants, we could discuss, quietly and in private, the events of the day. Often my husband dismissed my maid, Meg, before I was quite done with her, so he could help me finish fastening laces or buttons or jewelry. The only area into which he would not stray was the taming of my hair. Tonight, our rituals were the same, but I could not stop my hands from shaking long enough to put on the dazzling diamond earrings he had given me for a belated wedding present.

“It’s possible you’ve reached your physical limits, Emily. Now is not the time to be pushing yourself.” He took the dangling jewels from me and pulled me up from my seat in front of the vanity.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said. “My only problem is that I’m embarrassed and disappointed in myself.” With gentle hands he turned my face to him and carefully snapped each earring into place, then kissed my forehead.

“I’ve seen men with greater experience and stronger stomachs than yours have more violent reactions than you did today. But I do worry, my dear.”

“And you worry me. You promised you wouldn’t try to keep me from working when opportunity presented itself.” I leaned towards the dressing room’s mirror, biting my lips to give them color. I’d chosen a gown of shell-pink satin with a delicate moiré in a darker shade, hoping the hue might enhance my complexion, which looked unnaturally drawn and faded.