Tasha Alexander - Dangerous to Know

Which was why I had no intention of taking a single step beyond Mrs. Hargreaves’s gate. But even that felt too far from the warm comfort of her sprawling house. I shivered, wet from the downpour that only grew harder the longer I waited for Sebastian. Clinging to the iron railing posts in an attempt to stop my hands from shaking, I watched for my friend on the road, periodically turning around in case he was approaching me from behind, as he had previously.

“Kallista!” His whisper was harsh, and came from behind a tree a few paces from me. “Come here, quickly.”

Without hesitating, I obeyed.

“Someone followed me here,” he said. “We need to get you back inside.”

“What about you?” I asked.

“I’m afraid I may need to join you. Could your mother-in-law spare a room for me?”

This was hardly a question I wanted to pose to Mrs. Hargreaves so soon after relations between us had begun to thaw, but I saw no other option. “How did you get into the grounds?” I asked.

“Over the west wall,” he said. “I heard someone drop behind me less than a minute later.”

My heart was pounding. The house felt a million miles away. “Will we be safe inside? Or will he pursue us there?”

“I’ve not the slightest idea—but it can’t be more dangerous inside than out.”

I looked around as thoroughly as I could, watching for any signs of unusual movement, and strained my ears to hear beyond the rain. Satisfied there was no visible danger—the best I could manage—I grabbed Sebastian by the hand and ran as fast as I could to the front door. We flew through it, slamming into my mother-in-law, who was standing on the other side.

“There is, I assume, a reasonable explanation?” she asked, looking Sebastian up and down.

He gave his most elegant bow, even as water trickled off the top hat he’d removed the instant he saw her. “I am delighted to see you again,” he said. “It’s far too long that I’ve been deprived of your excellent company.”

“You waste your time trying to charm me,” she said. Quickly assessing the situation as I told her what had happened, she pulled a heavily embroidered bell cord. “You, Emily, need to get into dry clothes at once. You, Mr. Capet, must do the same. Stay here, I don’t need you dripping everywhere.”

A footman, disheveled, his white wig not quite straight, appeared, out of breath, undoubtedly from running up the stairs. “Madame?”

“Watch this man. He’s a thief. I shall return momentarily with clothing for him. Do not let him out of your sight and do not be taken in by his ridiculous manners.”

She led me upstairs, but said not another word until we’d reached the bedroom I shared with her son. “What is the meaning of this running about in the middle of a stormy night?”

I explained to her that Colin had wanted me to talk to Sebastian. And then I explained the method Sebastian had given me to contact him. She stepped into our dressing room and began making her way through Colin’s clothes, looking for something her unexpected guest could wear.

“Do you think he will be useful?” she asked.

“I hope so.”

“Let’s find out,” she said. “Change your clothes and come downstairs. I’ll have the footman continue to keep an eye on Mr. Capet while he dresses. We can’t take any risks with that one. Let’s hope Colin won’t mind lending him a suitable outfit. We can have his own clothes ready for him tomorrow.”

She started out of the room, but I stopped her. “Mrs. Hargreaves…” I couldn’t keep my voice from trembling. “Would you wait for me? I’m afraid I’ve frightened myself. And Sebastian heard someone following him outside. I—”

“Say not another word,” she said, and rested the full weight of her body against the closed bedroom door. “No one is getting through here. Now. Dry clothes. And give me the wet ones.” There was a calm to her tone that reminded me of Colin in stressful situations. He was a master at being soothing in the midst of madness.

In short order we’d made our way back downstairs, and soon a blushing Sebastian, his hair wet and unruly, sat across from us in a smallish study dominated by an enormous brass globe. Tall, elegant chairs surrounded the ebony table dividing us from him as he leaned forward, clasping his hands.

“I do apologize for intruding on your hospitality,” he said.

“My daughter-in-law has told me everything. Who is following you?”

“I’m afraid I’ve no idea,” he said.

“What did you want to discuss with this man, Emily?”

“Edith Prier’s child,” I said, staring evenly at Sebastian. “The little girl you were with the last time I saw you outside in the middle of the night?”

“What on earth can you possibly mean? I was alone,” he said.

“I heard her crying. It’s what brought me outside. And I saw her ribbon in the road—the same one you picked up and took with you after you left me.”

“Kallista—Emily—I don’t have her,” he said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. As I told you that night, you’re seeing things, no doubt due to the grief caused by your own loss.”

“Mr. Capet.” Mrs. Hargreaves pulled herself up straight. “You will not torment a member of my family.”

“I assure you I’ve no intention of doing any such thing,” he said. “But she’s confusing two things here—the neighborhood ghost and a missing child.”

“Neighborhood ghost?” I asked.

“Don’t play dumb,” he said. “Markham told you about the girl who fell down the stairs. What do you think about the supernatural, Mrs. Hargreaves? Are you a believer?”

“I’ve not given the subject much thought,” she said. “I never found it interesting.”

“But you can’t deny there are strange things afoot here—and that not all of them have simple, or even human, explanations,” Sebastian said.

“Of course I can,” Mrs. Hargreaves said. “I’ve seen nothing to make me believe otherwise.”

Sebastian turned to me. “Don’t you think, Kallista, that the spirit of a lost little girl might seek out a woman who’s missing a child?”

I could hardly breathe, had to force words from my throat. “If that’s the case, she’d stay close to Madeline,” I said.

“Not if Madeline pushed her down the stairs.”

We stayed awake half the night, but I had trouble focusing on the conversation. I hoped Sebastian’s words weren’t true. Surely Madeline could never have done such a thing. I shook off the horror of the possibility, reminding myself we lacked any evidence and were speculating only because we’d been scared. Sebastian continued to insist he’d been followed, but none of us was about to go outside and search for the intruder—we would have needed Colin for that—and in the end decided sleep would be best.

The rain was still falling when Meg brought my tea in the morning. “Are there adventures afoot in the house, madame?” she asked, setting the tray down next to me on the bed.

“Not of the good kind,” I said. “Have you heard any gossip about Edith Prier’s murder, Meg?”

“Not really,” she said. “Everyone’s talking, of course, but there’s not much to say, you know. Nobody’s got a clue who did it and we all—all of us below stairs, that is—is convinced as it’s the Ripper, madam, no matter what the police is saying now. I told them all how I was in London when he was doing his evil work there.”

The glint in Meg’s eyes told me she was thoroughly enjoying getting to be the neighborhood’s resident Ripper expert. “Have you heard any other stories of violent death?” I asked.

“Oh, you mean the little girl? Whose father worked for the Markhams?”

“Yes, her.” My heartbeat quickened.