The Mystery Woman (19 page)

“I think that is exactly what is going on,” Joshua said.

She shuddered. “Sheer madness.”

Joshua said nothing. He watched the falling rain for the duration of the short ride to the Blue Fox.

S
he awoke with a start. She was breathing too quickly and her heart was pounding.

“Beatrice, wake up. Make no sound.”

Joshua’s urgent voice was a low, dark whisper in her ear. She became aware of his hand on her arm. It was his touch that had jolted her awake. She opened her eyes and saw that he was bending low over the bed. But he was not looking down at her. His attention was fixed on the window that overlooked the street.

Her first thought was that the world around her had gone strangely still and silent. There was an unnatural hush in the atmosphere. She was vaguely aware that it had stopped raining.

Her second thought was that she was astonished to discover that she had fallen asleep in the first place. After the evening meal, which had been served in the inn’s private dining room, she had climbed the stairs with Joshua. She had requested a spare sheet from the innkeeper’s wife. When it had been sent up to the room she had draped it around the washstand, attaching two corners to wall hooks, to provide some privacy. Joshua had made no comment.

She had anticipated spending the night lying wide awake on one side of the bed until dawn. The only articles of clothing she had removed were her wet overcoat, her hat and her boots. She had set everything to dry in front of the small fire on the hearth.

Joshua had arranged his own, much heavier boots, his long black overcoat and his hat next to her things. She had been aware of a sensual intimacy in the atmosphere as they went about the task of arranging their damp garments.
As if we were a pair of lovers caught in the rain,
she thought.

She had firmly reminded herself that they were in reality a pair of professional investigators who had been caught in the rain.

When they had at last turned down the lamp, Joshua had made no attempt to use the far side of the bed. Instead he had settled into the room’s only chair and contemplated the night.

Now he was standing over her, watching the window with the focused attention of the hunter.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered.

“I’m not sure yet,” he said. “Possibly nothing at all. But a moment ago I saw someone strike a light in a doorway across the street.”

“No honest person would have a reason to be hanging about in a convenient doorway at this hour of the night. You think someone is watching this inn, don’t you?”

“It’s a possibility.” Joshua moved away from the bed. “I’m going outside to take a look. I want you to stay here and I want you to keep your stocking pistol in your hand until I return. Do you understand?”

“Yes, of course, I understand.” She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. The action hiked up her skirts. She removed the small weapon from the holster strapped to her leg. “Please be very, very careful, sir.”

“You have my word on it.” He went to the now smoldering fire to collect his coat. “Lock the door behind me.”

“I will.”

“Do not open it for anyone except me.”

“No,” she said.

She stood and followed him to the door. He let himself out into the hall. She closed the door very quietly and slid the bolt into place.

She waited there, listening intently for a moment. She thought she heard the faint thump of his cane in the hall but she could not be certain.

In spite of his old injury, Joshua could move very quietly when he chose.

A
heavy fog had followed hard upon the rain. It choked the street. The reflected light of the village’s two streetlamps caused the murky stuff to glow as if infused with an eerie energy. The cold moonlight added an additional, seemingly unnatural radiance.

There were times, lately, Joshua thought, when he could almost bring himself to believe in the paranormal. But it wasn’t the strange effect of the gas lamps and moonlight on fog that made him wonder about the existence of psychical energy. It was the sensation he experienced whenever he was near Beatrice; whenever he thought about her. Which was most of the time, he realized. Even when he was concentrating on murder and a madman, she was always there at the edge of his awareness.

The unfamiliar sense of intimacy between them went beyond sexual attraction, beyond admiration for her spirit and intelligence, beyond anything he had ever experienced with another woman. When he had kissed her last night it was as if he had unlocked a door somewhere inside himself and walked through it into a realm where things were different. The world on the other side of the door was somehow brighter and more interesting in every way.

For the first time since the wildfire of his young manhood he acknowledged that he was capable of strong passions.

At the start of his relationship with Beatrice he had told himself that if she was not involved in the blackmail scheme she might be in serious danger and he had a responsibility to protect her. But something inside him insisted that what he felt was more than a responsibility—it was his right to take care of her.

Which was nonsense, of course. He had no rights at all when it came to Beatrice. But there was a part of him that was not convinced of that.

He pushed aside his fanciful thoughts and watched the opposite side of the street from the shadows of the narrow stone walk alongside the inn. The figure in the doorway extinguished the light and started toward the inn, drifting like a ghost through the glowing fog. It was impossible to make out his features in the heavy mist but it was clear that he was tall and thin and that he moved with the long, easy stride of a predator.

He crossed the street and came swiftly toward the Blue Fox. The sound of his footsteps echoed faintly in the deep silence. He was dressed in a long overcoat and a low-crowned hat pulled down over his eyes. He carried a pack that was slung across one shoulder.

Instead of going up the steps to the front door of the Blue Fox, he veered toward the narrow walk where Joshua waited.

For a few seconds it appeared that he would not risk striking another light before he entered the deep shadows that drenched the walk. That would make things simple and efficient, Joshua thought. The man would not see that there was someone else nearby.

But just before the newcomer started into the passage, he paused. Evidently sensing that all was not right, he took a step back and reached into his pocket.

Circumstances were far from ideal but Joshua knew that he had no choice other than to move as quickly as possible. The man with the pack would see him as soon as the light flared.

Joshua went forward as swiftly and silently as possible but in spite of his great care the cane thumped softly on the stone walk.

“Who’s there?” The thick accent was unmistakably Russian.

He lowered the pack to the ground and produced a knife from his pocket.

“You’re the one he warned me about, aren’t you, the one with the cane? He said you were dangerous. I told him a lame bastard would not be a problem for the Bone Man. I owe you for interrupting my work last night.”

He swept forward in a low rush. The blade in his hand glinted in the odd light.

Joshua flattened his palm against the wall of the inn to brace himself and swung the cane in a slashing arc aimed at the Bone Man’s knife arm. He did not have the leverage he needed for a bone-breaking blow but he did have the element of surprise. The assassin was not expecting the cane to be employed as a weapon.

The stick struck the assassin’s forearm with considerable force. He grunted, dropped the knife and leaped backward with the fluid grace of a dancer.

In an instant he whirled and swept forward again, intending to retrieve the blade.

Joshua kept one hand flattened against the wall and used the cane to sweep the knife aside into the bushes, out of the Bone Man’s reach.

The assassin retreated a second time. Joshua expected him to produce another knife. Instead, he grabbed the pack, dragged it out into the street and reached inside.

Joshua started forward again.

The assassin removed an object from the pack and hurled it to the ground at Joshua’s feet. Glass shattered. A smoky mist erupted. Joshua instinctively held his breath and retreated out of range of the vapors. But he could not avoid all of the effects. His eyes burned and his throat tightened. He could only hope that he had not breathed in some lethal poison.

The sound of a window being yanked open somewhere above the street reverberated in the night.

“You down there,” Beatrice shouted. “Stop or I’ll shoot.”

Another window slammed open. “Sound the alarm. There’s a villain in the street.”

Joshua pushed through the vapors into untainted air but the sound of running footsteps told him that his quarry was escaping. There was no chance of overtaking him. A lame bastard had to accept his physical limitations.

In that moment it was all he could do not to slam the damned stick against the nearest wall. But he knew even as the searing anger and frustration threatened to overwhelm him that such a blow would likely destroy the cane. If that happened he would be even less able to protect Beatrice.

And protecting her was all that mattered.

More windows opened. Joshua looked up and saw the innkeeper, garbed in nightshirt and cap, peering down into the street. Beatrice and several other guests were watching from their windows.

“What’s going on down there?” the innkeeper demanded. “Shall I summon the constable?”

“Feel free to do so,” Joshua said. “But I doubt if he’ll find the villain.”

“A burglar, eh?”

“A would-be burglar,” Joshua said. “I spotted him in time to send him running off.”

“I thank you for the effort, sir, but you shouldn’t have tried to go after him on your own,” the innkeeper admonished. “You should have alerted me. What chance does a man with a cane have of stopping a member of the criminal class?”

“An excellent question,” Joshua said.

He grabbed the pack, slung it over his shoulder and limped back toward the inn.

T
his is more of Lancing’s work,” Joshua said. “The plan was to smoke us out—literally.”

He was in his shirtsleeves, the cuffs rolled up on his forearms, the collar undone. His coat and boots were once again warming in front of the rekindled fire. The edgy sensation that always followed in the wake of violence was heating his blood. The knowledge that Beatrice was anxious and concerned about him added fuel to the fires inside.
Lame bastard. You’re not much good to her but you’re all she’s got.

He forced himself to concentrate on the three unexploded canisters that he had removed from the pack. He positioned them on the small table and turned up the gas lamp. The smoke devices were made of heavily tinted glass. Each was fitted with a rubber stopper.

“No wonder he handled the pack with such care,” he said. “The gas is released when the glass is shattered.”

“He meant to burn down the inn in an attempt to grab me?” Beatrice asked. She looked and sounded horrified. “So many people could have been killed, including us. That makes no sense unless the person who is after me wants me dead. Maybe we were wrong to assume that he needs me for some crazed reason.”

“No.” Joshua held one of the glass balls up to the light. “I’m sure he intended to kidnap you tonight. These devices generate unpleasant fumes and a thick vapor that resembles smoke. The effect simulates a fire but there are no flames. If he had been able to smash all four of these things inside the inn, there would have been a great deal of panic. Everyone would have run out into the street, thinking the place was on fire. He planned to take advantage of the confusion to grab you.”

“But he must have known that he would have had to deal with you before he could get to me.”

“He said he had been warned about me.” Joshua put the glass ball down on the table with great care. “But he did not think that I would prove to be much of a problem.”

“Because of your cane?”

“Yes.”

“I expect that he has revised his opinion of you by now,” Beatrice said. “I saw how you used the cane. In your hands it was a weapon.”

The cool satisfaction in her voice had a surprising effect on him. The knowledge that she had such deep—albeit probably misplaced—faith in him elevated his mood somewhat.

“Every object has the potential to be a weapon,”
he said.
“It only requires that one views it in the right light.”

“Another Mr. Smith adage?” she asked, smiling a little.

“I’m afraid so,” Joshua said. “I don’t know if the encounter tonight changed the Bone Man’s opinion of me. It was your threat to shoot him that sent him away. But he will certainly be better prepared the next time we meet.”

“I do not even want to consider the possibility that you will encounter him again.”

“It’s only a matter of time.”

“What a dreadful thought.” Beatrice’s brows snapped together. “How do you think he found us?”

“He and I did not hold an extended conversation but I think it is safe to say that he anticipated that we would leave the train before the last stop in London. Or, more likely, someone who knows how I think anticipated that maneuver.”

“Clement Lancing?”

“Lancing and I worked together for a long time,” Joshua said. “We trained together. We each know how the other thinks. I knew there was a risk stopping here in Upper Dixton until the storm cleared but there was not much choice.”

“Yes, I know,” Beatrice said. “That’s why you insisted on keeping watch tonight, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“And because you did keep watch, you were able to stop the assassin,” she concluded crisply. “You saved me. For the second time.”

Joshua said nothing. He did not want to tell her how close they had come to disaster tonight. The knowledge would only make her more anxious.

“Where do you suppose the Bone Man acquired the smoke devices?” Beatrice asked. “His original plan was to kidnap me at Alverstoke Hall. It doesn’t seem likely that he would have carried those heavy glass canisters around on the off-chance he might need them.”

“I doubt if it was his idea to have a backup plan in the event the first strategy failed. But Lancing knows me. He would have anticipated just such a possibility.”

“What is our next step?” Beatrice asked.

“It is time to stop evading the enemy. I must take the battle to him. I know Lancing as well as he knows me. The one thing I am absolutely certain of is that if he is alive he will be in a laboratory somewhere. I want Mrs. Marsh’s opinion of the contents of these smoke devices.”

“You said they are Lancing’s work. What can Mrs. Marsh tell you that you don’t already know?”

“I am hoping she will be able to direct me to the shops that stock the sort of chemicals that are used to construct such devices.”

Understanding lit Beatrice’s eyes. “Yes, of course. The formula for the smoke no doubt requires some unusual ingredients.”

“As do the formulas for the incense and the Egyptian Water. There cannot be a great many apothecaries and chemist shops in London who can supply the rare and exotic chemicals that Lancing needs.”

“You think the apothecary will lead you to him.”

“I think that is our best hope at the moment. But there is another strategy I intend to implement as well.”

“I take it we will be traveling to London on the morning train?” she asked.

“The answers we need are there.”

“In that case, you must get some sleep.”

“I can do without it.”

She looked at him with eyes that were both brilliant and very serious. “You have gone more than a full day without sleep, sir. You need rest.”

Anger spiked somewhere deep inside. “Just because I’m forced to use a damned walking stick, it doesn’t follow that I can’t survive a few hours without sleep.”

“I’m sure you can, but there is no need. I will keep watch while you rest.”

“I will take care of you, Beatrice,” he promised. His voice sounded rough, more like a growl, even to his own ears.

“I do not doubt that,” she said. “But in addition to lack of sleep, you were recently in a fight for your life. It does not require psychical talent to know that you need time to recover and fortify yourself for whatever lies ahead.”

He opened his mouth to argue but closed it again without speaking. She was right. Logic and common sense dictated that he ought to try to get some rest.

“You are correct when you say that I need to fortify myself,” he said. “A short period of waking sleep would not be a bad idea.”

“What is a waking sleep?”

“It’s a form of meditation—a self-induced trance—that will allow me to gain some of the benefits of sleep without shutting off my senses.”

Her expression softened. “You can trust me to keep watch while you rest.”

“I know,” he said, without stopping to think.

It was only after the words were out that he registered their full meaning. He
could
trust Beatrice. Hell’s teeth, he
did
trust her; he had trusted her almost from the start even though logic told him that was not wise. He had broken one of his own cardinal rules—never trust anyone involved in a case. Everyone was hiding something.

But somewhere along the line he had made an exception with Beatrice, an exception that could not be justified by logic and cold reason. He had allowed himself to be ruled by his passions and he did not give a damn.

It was a stunning discovery, definitely one he wanted to think long and hard about, but this was not the time to contemplate such a significant event.

Belatedly he realized that Beatrice was watching him very intently.

She cleared her throat. “Excuse me, I don’t mean to intrude, but are you in some sort of trance at the moment? You appear quite transfixed.”

He pulled himself together. “Yes, I am transfixed. But I’m not yet in the trance.”

He limped to the bed, sank down and stretched out on the quilt. He closed his eyes and started counting backward from one hundred.