A Study in Darkness (52 page)

Nick busied himself with the papers. “There was an air deva who wanted a ship, and I wanted a life that would make me rich so that I could come home a gentleman with fine clothes and a full purse.”

She was about to ask why, but then guessed the answer. He had wanted to be a gentleman for her. She said nothing.

He gave a low laugh. “I found out I had a talent for this life and made the best of it.”

Evelina was suddenly heartsore, aching with the disappointment she heard beneath his words. She’d pushed him away for good reasons at the time, but she wasn’t going to do that again. She leaned into him once more, resting her head on his chest, and he slid his arms around her. “I’m so sorry,” she said, wishing she could give in to sleep.

“Why? You didn’t make me do anything. I chose this life.”

“It only takes a pebble to begin an avalanche. Sometimes that pebble is another person. They act, you react, and suddenly everything changes.”

Nick was silent a long moment. “Is that how Keating came to turn on you? I know you’re protecting your uncle, but there’s more to the story than that.”

Evelina closed her eyes, hating the conversation. “In his own way, Keating was protecting his daughter. Tobias was marrying Alice. Keating caught me with him.”

Nick stiffened. “
With
him?”

She turned her face to look up at Nick. His face was tense, waiting to be hurt. “I kissed him, that was all.”

“I thought you said it was over between you.”

“It is now, but I was still hurting then. And he had to marry someone he didn’t love.” Evelina shifted. “He isn’t the type to turn the world upside down to get what he wants.”

“To get you?” Nick’s gaze went dark with a possessiveness that brought heat to her skin.

“He’ll never fight for me.” She settled back into the comfortable spot on Nick’s shoulder. “And maybe that’s for the best, because I’m not the woman he needs.” It didn’t feel good to say it, but she knew now that was the truth.

“Why not?”

She lifted a hand to stroke Nick’s cheek, feeling the clean line of bone and the roughness of stubble. She didn’t want to talk about Tobias anymore. “Because he doesn’t know who I truly am. He only knows one part of me, and I would have had to hide the rest. I’m happier right now than I have been in years.”

A long silence lapsed. She could almost hear Nick thinking. Finally, he made a sound, a slight throat-clearing. When he spoke, his voice had gone flat. “I have to take these papers to the Schoolmaster, and you have to take them to Keating. And then you have to go home to your uncle.”

“What?” she sat up, twisting to look him in the face. Pain shot through her at the sudden movement, but she ignored it. “You’re telling me what to do again. What if I want to stay with you?”

His lips thinned to a line. “What about all the things you want—college, a future? You told me how much that meant to you. And what about your uncle?”

She saw what he was doing—trying to save her from making a mistake—and she loved him the more for it. “We’ll figure it out. You said it yourself: We see a world that no one else understands. You know who I am no matter what I’ve become, and you’ve put yourself in harm’s way for my sake.” She swallowed hard, realizing that she was making the difficult choice, here and now, between Society and
Nick, between the knowledge Magnus offered and the man she had always loved. “You’re the thread running through everything I’ve ever done.”

“Ah.” Nick’s voice cracked on the sound. It wasn’t a word, but it held everything he might have said more eloquently than an entire library of verse. Nick reached out, fingertips grazing her cheek. She could feel his magic yearning to escape like a warm fur of power brushing her skin. Emotions were high, and that made control hard. She folded her fingers over his, and the silver fire of wild magic crept over and around their clasped hands. Then he leaned in and kissed her, his hunger all too plain.

Digby coughed, and they jumped like guilty schoolchildren. “I know half a dozen good hotels in the area, if you would like some privacy.”

Nick flushed, but grinned. “Pillaging isn’t all about the loot.”

Evelina’s jaw dropped. “I beg your pardon?”

He took her face in both his hands, his eyes brimming with life. “Come with me. Now. Today.”

She put a finger over his lips. “No. That would tip our hand. If I run without explanation, with no warning, Magnus will be on the alert. That might undo everything we’ve accomplished.”

She could tell by Nick’s expression he didn’t like the idea, but he sat back with a sigh. “You’re right, of course. But that causes more problems. I need to tell the Schoolmaster about Magnus, but I can’t risk his men making a move as long as you’re at the theater—and I hate the fact that you’ll be in his company one second more.”

“And I don’t want to stay any longer. Take the papers to the Schoolmaster today, and then bring them to my rooms tomorrow morning. We can proceed from there.”

Nick’s brows furrowed. “What do you plan to do?”

“Settle with Keating, then it will be time for my uncle to find me. There is nothing in Uncle Sherlock’s discovery of his long-lost niece that Magnus would find strange, especially when the Great Detective drags me back home by the ears.”

“And then?” Nick said uneasily.

She took his hands. “Then we unfold our future.”

“No regrets? You know who and what I am.”

There were things she’d wished for but hadn’t got. She wished she had found something to hold over Jasper Keating’s head, and if she were leaving the Magnetorium, there would be no chance to learn more about her magic. But she couldn’t have everything, and it was Nick she wanted most. “No regrets.”

One corner of his mouth turned up. “You’re sure you want to be a pirate queen?”

Evelina glanced toward the back of Digby’s head. “If the pirates will have me. You’re my port, Nick. Any other place is exile.”

Finally, he truly smiled, and he looked just as he had as a boy. “Welcome home, Evie.”

“
I APPRECIATE YOUR EAGERNESS TO ASSIST US IN CATCHING
the Whitechapel Murderer, Mr. Holmes, but I’m not certain what you can do that we cannot.” Inspector Frederick George Abberline reclined in his desk chair, fingering his dark brown mustache. “Many good men are on this case already.”

From the other side of the cluttered desk, Holmes regarded the drifts of correspondence, reports, and forms that silted every flat surface. One might have thought the inspector was some woodland creature lining his burrow—but with public pressure about the case mounting the way it was, he might just as well have been digging his grave.

“Oh, but I might be of some small assistance,” Holmes replied, pushing his annoyance behind the steel door he kept between Holmes the detective and Uncle Sherlock.

“With all due respect, Mr. Holmes, this is a grave case. It’s more a matter for professionals.”

Holmes bit back a sour remark trying to make its way past his mental divide. Striking out at the inspector wouldn’t help matters. More to the point, it wouldn’t help Evelina. If the Blue King wanted Holmes on the case, that was fine with him. After all, what better excuse to walk unhindered through King Coal’s streets than a hunt for the very killer he was required to find?

Even better, he’d discovered that the Yellowbacks loathed police stations the way vampires feared sunlight. Keating’s Rottweilers would stay on the opposite side of the street from Scotland Yard, keeping out of sight of the coppers. No doubt Keating would keep his thugs out of jail, but old reflexes died hard and not every charge could be swept away. Today’s guard dog had been so distracted that he hadn’t even asked for details of Holmes’s errand. No doubt he would assume it was all about Evelina, which was the truth—in a roundabout way.

Privacy, freedom, and a case to work. It was enough to make Holmes covet a bunk in one of the cells. He couldn’t survive much longer as Keating’s caged lion.

But first he needed an invitation to join the chase, and Abberline was the obvious way in. Of the three officers Scotland Yard had sent to assist with the Whitechapel Murders, Abberline was the one Lestrade recommended that Holmes approach. Apparently the man was smarter than most.

If only this had been Lestrade’s case, everything would have been so much simpler. A surge of irritation rasped Holmes’s nerves like coarse wool, making him fidget. He was put out whenever one of his rare instances of civility wasn’t immediately rewarded.

Time for a new tack. “I understand you’re relatively new to Scotland Yard, Inspector,” Holmes said smoothly.

“That’s right.”

“But you’ve been requested to assist the H Division because of your superior knowledge of the area and its criminal population.”

“I know my way around.”

“You were promoted to first class just this year. You’ll be a chief inspector before long.”

Holmes had heard all this from Lestrade, although he could have told as much from the detritus in the room. The thick files on the desk were the most telling. Capable men were the ones who got buried beneath the most problematic tasks.

“Well, you’ve proven that you can research a man’s career and flatter his pride,” Abberline replied with a hint of amusement in his soft voice. “And I’ll return the compliment
by saying that I’ve heard my lads say how much they enjoy reading about your escapades in the papers. But as I said, we do have a full task force of talented men on the case.”

And if you can’t differentiate between them and me, you are—whatever Lestrade’s opinion—an ass
. “What have you found out so far?” Holmes asked, crossing his legs and leaning back in the uncomfortable chair.

Abberline grimaced. He was in his midforties, portly, and balding, as if all his hair had migrated to his luxuriant side whiskers. It should have been a friendly face, but he had the sharp eyes of a seasoned officer, and he was turning them on Holmes now. “I’ll be honest with you, Mr. Holmes. It’s been strongly suggested that I open my casebook to you. I don’t appreciate interference, no matter from how high up it comes. So I mean it when I ask what you can do to justify that I take the time from all this,” he smacked a hand on a stack of files, “to cater to a gentleman dilettante?”

Holmes’s mouth went sour. Ah, so the Blue King had made his wishes known, and destroyed all the goodwill the world’s only consulting detective might have brought to the table. Help like that was worse than a fatal pox. And Abberline’s reluctance to knuckle under meant that he valued the integrity of his investigation. That should have been a good thing, but right now it just made Holmes’s job harder.

“Give me five minutes to convince you of my worth. Perhaps that will erase the ill effects of my endorsements.”

Abberline narrowed his eyes. “You’re going to solve the case in five minutes?”

He had no idea what he could accomplish in five minutes, but he knew that he’d put on a good show. “Let us review the facts. First, there have been three victims, all unfortunates selling their bodies. The murder scenes are reasonably close together, one in George Yard Buildings, one in Buck’s Row, and one on Hanbury Street. Each attack was more savage than the last. The last two were certainly carried out with a long-bladed knife.” He had already bribed his way to the postmortem reports, which had been fascinating reading.

“Agreed,” said Abberline. “But I knew all that.”

“Have you found any connection among the victims besides occupation and area of residence?” Holmes prompted. “Who are these women?”

“Nobody,” said Abberline with a huff of frustration. “They were all middle aged, none of them beauties, and all of them poor. Dark Annie lived more or less honestly until her husband died and his ten shillings a week dried up. In the end, all got their living in the back alleys.”

“Regrettable, but not helpful. Did they know each other? Common acquaintances?”

Abberline’s mouth twitched, but whether in sympathy with the directness of the questions or disapproval of them, Holmes could not tell. “Not that I’m aware of, but it’s possible.”

Holmes was warming to the task. “Have you interviewed the other women on the street?”

“Of course. That’s when we started hearing about this Leather Apron character extorting money from the working women.”

“I read about that in the
Star
. You made an arrest but the suspect had an alibi.”

Abberline sank back in his chair with a sigh. “And since then we’ve had to suffer the assistance of George Lusk and his Vigilance Committee. The current suspects are anarchists, butchers, doctors, and sailors, and there are a great many of all of those in the East End. Interviews proceed apace.”

“Description of the perpetrator?” Holmes asked.

“Nothing consistent.” The inspector tugged on his whiskers, clearly being drawn into the conversation. The stiffness had left his shoulders.

“Physical evidence? Murder weapon? A dropped button?”