Laura Lee Guhrke (7 page)

The room was utterly black, and Sophie had to fight back a wave of panic. God, how she hated the dark. Though she could see nothing, she knew he was standing right beside her. She could hear the measured rhythm of his breathing, she could feel the heat of his body and the full force of his anger. She tried to remember to breathe, but the darkness was all around her, and Sophie felt as if she were suffocating.

After several tense seconds, she was able to speak. “Could you—” Her voice failed her. She cleared her throat, then tried again. “It’s so very dark in here. I know it probably seems silly to you, but I don’t. . . I don’t like the dark. I never have, not since I was a little girl. I have very frightening dreams sometimes, you see. Do you think you could light a lamp?”

He said nothing, but after a moment she heard the rasp of a match, and lamplight flooded the room.

Sophie took a glance around and saw that she was in the only room of a flat. It was sparsely furnished, scrupulously clean, and tidy. Between herself and the
inspector was the lamp, resting on a small dining table. Nearby was a pair of overstuffed chintz chairs that had seen better days, and beyond them a bed stood in one corner, its sheets tucked in and its counterpane smoothly laid out. Against the wall to her right stood a tall bookcase, filled with books.

The sight of the books did rather surprise her. She wouldn’t have thought a police inspector to be in any way intellectual. Still, she had no doubt the books were alphabetically laid out by author or grouped in some other logical manner. She knew Inspector Dunbar was a man who believed in keeping everything in his life well-ordered.

Beneath the window directly opposite to where she stood was a shelf containing a gas ring, a kettle, cups, and a bright red tin of tea. Other than the books and the tidiness, there was nothing about this room to show the personality of its tenant. There were no pictures on the walls, there were no photographs or daguerreotypes, no keepsakes, no objects of intimacy whatsoever.

She returned her gaze to him. The lamp illuminated his face, and she noticed he needed a shave. His clothing was rumpled, his tie was undone, and the bruise beneath his eye had darkened to deep purple. He looked more dangerous to Sophie’s way of thinking than any member of the criminal classes could possibly be.

“Where is it?”

The question was so abrupt that it took Sophie a moment to assimilate it. When she had, she still didn’t understand. “Where is what?”

“Where is the gun that fired the bullet that missed
my head by inches in Victoria Embankment Gardens less than an hour ago?”

“Oh, God.” For a moment, Sophie was so relieved she could not reply to his question, but her relief was short-lived. When he circled the table and began walking toward her, his grim expression told her she had nothing to be relieved about. He looked as if he wanted to wring her neck.

Unnerved, she took a step back and hit the door behind her. With nowhere to run, she plunged into speech. “You don’t appear to be wounded, so I take it the assassin missed, Inspector?”

He didn’t answer but took another step toward her with ominous intent, and she rushed on, “Of course, at night, in the dark, I’m sure it’s much harder to shoot someone than it would be in broad daylight. And I hadn’t thought of a gun, in any case. I had thought a knife, what with all the blood. On the other hand, you don’t look the sort of man to be easily overpowered—”

“Where is the pistol?”

She blinked, looking at him in bewilderment. “How on earth should I know?”

“You seem to know quite a lot.”

“But not that. As I said, I hadn’t even envisioned a weapon, though I had concluded that a knife must have been used. Because of the blood, you see.”

He seized her wrists in one hand, raising her arms over her head and flattening her body against the door behind her. He was a head taller than she, and far stronger, and though Sophie reminded herself that he was a policeman, not a criminal, it did not stop the rapid pounding of her heart.

“If you still have it with you,” he said, “by God, I’ll have you in a cell before you have the chance to use it on me again.”

“You think I shot at you? Why would I? I don’t even know you!” She gasped, shocked, as he flattened his free hand against her hip. “What are you doing? Let go of me!”

He paid no heed. Sophie tried to lean away from his touch as he ran his palm down her leg, but it was useless. When he reached her ankle, his hand moved beneath her skirt and petticoats. He slid his palm back up her leg, the heat of his hand burning her through her stocking. When he reached the hem of her combination, Sophie couldn’t help a cry of fright and humiliation. “I don’t have any gun,” she said, twisting against his touch like a leaf in the wind. “I don’t have it.”

Undeterred by her protestations, he continued his relentless search until he reached the top of her thigh, then he repeated the mortifying procedure with her other leg. He added insult to injury by running his hands all over her bodice, including the dip between her breasts, before he finally seemed satisfied that she had spoken the truth.

Mortified beyond description, Sophie felt her own anger flaring. “Now that you know I don’t have this pistol you’re looking for,” she said through clenched teeth, “let go of me.”

His grip on her wrists tightened. “Did you leave it in the cab? Or perhaps you dumped it in a rubbish heap on your way here?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I—”

“Who’s the man downstairs in the cab?”

“My butler.”

“He’s probably quite loyal to you, so maybe he did it on your behalf.”

“What?” The idea was laughable, but just now she didn’t find it amusing. “This may come as a shock to you, but I don’t spend my evenings lurking in parks with my butler, waiting for detectives to walk by so I can shoot them! And if I did occupy myself with such a pastime, I wouldn’t warn you in advance of my intent. That would be insane.”

“Exactly.”

After the accusations he had made and the indecent way he had run his hands over her, his implication that she was crazy was the last straw. Too angry to speak, she kicked him in the shin.

His grip on her wrists loosened, and she jerked free, kicking him in the other shin for good measure. “You swine,” she said as she ducked past him. “You loathsome swine. I try to save your life,” she continued, turning around to face him, “and in return, you manhandle me like some sort of criminal, accuse my butler and myself of heaven knows what, then you have the gall to imply I’m insane?
You’re
the one who should be locked up.”

“Save my life?” He leaned down to rub his sore shins. “Is that what you call taking shots at me in the park?”

“I didn’t shoot at you. I don’t even own a pistol, and I don’t know anyone who does. Well, except the colonel. Since he was in the army, he might own a gun. Even if I did have such a weapon in my possession, I wouldn’t have a clue how to use it.”

“If you didn’t shoot at me, who did?”

“I haven’t the vaguest idea. As I tried to explain to you at Scotland Yard, I didn’t see the murderer. If I had, I would have described him to you. All I saw was you covered in blood, lying in the grass beside a statue of Robert Burns, and you were dead.”

“And you saw this in your mind?”

His contemptuous disbelief was plain. She thought she had long ago gotten used to skepticism, but from this man, at this moment, it was intolerable. “In a dream, actually. And,” she added as he began to laugh, “there was nothing amusing about it. It scared me out of my wits.”

“I’m not amused, I can assure you. You come to me, declaring that you had a dream I was lying dead and bloody in Victoria Embankment Gardens, then it very nearly happens. And when I reach home, I find you here, waiting for me. To my mind, all of that leads to one conclusion. You know all about it.”

“It isn’t knowledge, not in the sense you mean. It’s just—” She broke off, reluctant to expose herself to additional contempt and ridicule. But he continued to study her with those cold blue eyes, and she knew he would never let her leave until she had at least tried to explain her role in tonight’s events.

“Sometimes I can see the future. I often dream of things and then they happen exactly as I dreamed them. But sometimes it doesn’t even happen in a dream. Sometimes, I see things when I’m awake. Of course, when that happens, I usually feel very faint and dizzy, which is inconvenient if I’m out at the shops or at the opera. Sometimes, I sense things about people. I’ll see a
woman standing next to me in a shop, for instance, a woman I’ve never seen before, and I’ll know her brother just died. I just know things without being told.”

He folded his arms across his broad chest, unimpressed. “Opening day at Epsom Downs is a week from now. If you can see the future, tell me which horse is going to win the first race, so I can put a quid down.”

“It’s not like electricity! I can’t simply turn it on and off at will.”

“How convenient for you.”

The sarcasm, in his voice told her any further attempts to explain were futile. She lifted her chin. “There’s something else you need to know. Sometimes, I know what people are thinking. Right now, you are thinking things about me that nothing I could say would refute. This is hopeless, and I think I should leave.”

He seized her arm as she started to walk past him. “So soon? I couldn’t possibly allow that.” He pulled her to one of the two chintz chairs, pushed her into it, then sat down in the opposite chair. He leaned back as if settling in for a long conversation.

“Let me see if I have this right. You had a dream I was going to be murdered, but you have no idea who the murderer might be.” He studied her so closely that she had to fight back the impulse to squirm in her chair. “What was your reason for coming to see me? You decided to be a good citizen and warn me of my fate?”

“Actually, yes.”

He made a sound of disbelief, and Sophie frowned
at him in vexation. “There’s no point in trying to tell you anything. You aren’t prepared to listen to a word I say.”

His expression grew even more grim. “Tell me anyway.”

“I didn’t know the man in my dream was you until I saw you at Scotland Yard. All I knew was that a man was going to die unless I could prevent it, and my conscience dictated my actions. The only step I could think to take was going to the police, which is something I was loathe to do, believe me.”

“Why? If you knew a murder was about to be committed, I should think you would be eager to inform the police about it.” He straightened in his seat, and his gaze locked with hers. “Unless you were protecting the murderer.”

That suggestion was as ludicrous as the other, and Sophie shook her head in disbelief. “You change theories so quickly, Inspector, you make my head spin.”

He shrugged. “There are two possible solutions to this little puzzle. One is that you know who the potential assassin is, but having a conscience, you decided to warn me in advance. But you didn’t want me to know the identity of this person, so you made up this rigmarole about a dream, and you came here tonight to find out if your visit to me this afternoon had worked. The only other theory is that you are the one who shot at me, and you came to warn me in advance because you are, shall we say, a bit touched in the head. Which scenario do you prefer?”

She jumped to her feet. “I think you are the one who is touched, Inspector.” She folded her arms and
glared down at him. “There is a third possibility, one which you have failed to consider. I might be telling the absolute truth.”

“Right.” He smiled. “I forgot about that one.”

“It’s a wonder Scotland Yard ever solves a crime. Are all police inspectors as rude and hardheaded as you?”

His smile vanished. “Forgive me, but getting shot at doesn’t put me in a sociable mood.”

“Well, I didn’t shoot at you!”

“But I think you know who did.” He stood up, his eyes narrowing as he stepped toward her, but when he spoke, his voice was deceptively soft. “I don’t know what sort of game you’re playing, but I don’t find murder a game, especially when I am the possible corpse. If you know anything, this is not the time to be coy about it. You had best tell me everything you know. Right now.”

“I’ve told you all I know.”

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way. It’s your choice.”

He leaned closer to her, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek. “The easy way,” he murmured, “would be for you to tell me the truth.”

“I already have.”

“The hard way it is, then.” He straightened away from her. “I don’t know what your motives are in all this, but I will discover them, no matter how you try to hide them.”

“I don’t have any hidden motives. I told you—”

“Whoever has tried to kill me,” he interrupted, “that person must be associated with you in some way.
To find out who that person is, I will turn your life inside out, I will uncover everything about you and every member of your family, I will interview every relative, servant, and acquaintance you have. You won’t have any secrets left when I’ve finished with you. This will be unpleasant for you, but as I said, it’s your choice.”

Despite her resolve not to be intimidated, she suddenly felt afraid, but she refused to let him see it. “Do what you must, Inspector. I’m not afraid of you, and I don’t have any secrets.”

He stepped past her. “Everybody has secrets, luv. Everybody.”

With that, he unlatched the door and opened it. Sophie ran out of the flat and down the stairs, sucking in great gulps of air as she stepped out into the warm spring night.

Catching sight of her, Grimstock jumped out of the cab, frowning with concern at the sight of her face in the moonlight. “Miss Sophie? What happened? Did that copper hurt you?”

She shook her head. “No, Grimmy. I’m perfectly well,” she answered and stepped up into the hansom.

In reality, Sophie felt sick with dread. There was no doubt Dunbar meant what he said. He would find out things he had no business knowing, things that would expose her family and herself to scandal and ridicule. With a groan, Sophie leaned forward and lowered her face into her hands. Dear God, what had she done?