A Study in Revenge (37 page)

Grey sucked in a mouthful of air, wincing at the various pains shooting through his sore legs. He was about to urge Phebe on, but she had already started running again. They turned onto Pine Street. A horse-car had just passed and was thirty yards ahead of them. They chased it, following the rails that ran down the side of the street and garnering strange looks from the late-evening pedestrians whom they passed. As they drew even with the rear step to board the car, Grey pressed the thunderstone into Phebe’s arms. With his free hand, he took hold of her elbow and swung her up onto the step. The effort left him a few yards behind the moving car, and his legs were straining as he caught up once more. He used his walking stick this time to hook the upright post at the end of the car and pull himself forward onto the step. Phebe made room and grabbed hold of his lapel, helping to get him steady on his feet. The pair of them collapsed into the two closest seats. Behind them, at the intersection, their two pursuers appeared and looked in the direction of the car but did not give chase.

“That’ll be a dime, sir. Assuming you’re paying for the lady, too.”

At the sound of the creaky voice, Grey and Phebe looked up at the conductor. The old man’s glassed-over eyes showed no hint of surprise or any real interest in their sudden arrival. To him everything was
perfectly normal, all part of the routine. The absurdity of the man’s humdrum expression after she and Grey had just fled for their lives was too much for Phebe. She was seized by a spasm of nervous laughter.

Phebe watched as Grey tried to answer the conductor in the affirmative but failed, too winded to speak. This caused her to laugh even harder. Grey dug a quarter out of his pocket, and the conductor made change with a look of utter boredom.

“Thank you for the fare, Mr. Grey,” Phebe managed to say, “though, really, it’s the least you can do after all the trouble you’ve caused.”

He turned to her with a piqued expression and an eyebrow arched but said nothing. Phebe felt the urge to laugh rising once more.

Fifteen minutes later they were safe inside Grey’s parlor. Mrs. Philbrick was out, so no one had seen them come in. Grey didn’t light the gas jets until after he’d closed the heavy curtains. The nervous gaiety that had beset Phebe upon their earlier escape had now evaporated, giving way to the realization of how dangerous her situation had been. She sat in one of the spare chairs. Grey turned the lights up high. He could see that her face had gone pale, and so he reached for a decanter of brandy that he reserved for shaken visitors. Phebe accepted the tumbler in both hands with a tepid smile. After observing that a couple of small sips seemed to have a positive effect on her, Grey went to his phone. He rang the operator and requested to be put through to Archie Lean’s residence.

Grey waited as he was connected and watched Phebe down the last of her brandy.

“What’s this, Grey? I thought we we’re each on his own in this thing. Need my help, don’t you?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“I knew you’d come to your senses. What sort of trouble are you in now?”

“I’m not in trouble. It’s Miss Phebe Webster.” Grey glanced at Phebe, who was staring back at him with widened eyes. She marched over to the decanter and pulled out the stopper.

“Who, I should say, is no longer in any imminent danger either,” Grey announced loudly for her benefit. He continued, in a quiet tone, giving Lean a brief summary of events and listening to the deputy’s plan of action before hanging up.

“Do you feel safe going home?” Grey asked. “Deputy Lean is arranging to have men comb through your house. I suspect there’s likely an officer there already, given the gunshot that attracted your neighbors’ attention. He’s agreed to post a man outside until morning.”

“I don’t think I could sleep a wink in the house tonight. The front window is shattered. Not all the staff will even be back until morning.”

“A hotel, then. Do you have a preference?”

“I don’t feel safe going anywhere at the moment. Those men are out there somewhere.”

“I suspect they’ve been dissuaded from pursuing us further. They didn’t chase the railcar, and one has some broken fingers,” Grey said.

“But you drew the curtains as soon as we got here. That means you think they know who you are and where you live. They could be waiting outside this very minute.”

“If it would put you more at ease, I could step outside and reconnoiter the surrounding area. Make sure that no one’s lurking about in the shadows watching our every move.”

“Step out and leave me here by my lonesome, with killers just waiting to get at me?”

“Don’t take me the wrong way, and as they say, there’s no accounting for taste, but I believe it was the thunderstone, not you, they were after.”

The stone was set on his desk. Grey placed his hand on it.

“That useless piece of rock. I ought to bring it to the quarry and blast it down to bits of sand. I just want to be done with all this, feel safe again.” Phebe placed her hand on the stone as well, her fingers brushing Grey’s. “I don’t want to leave here tonight.”

Grey regarded her for a long moment. He could smell the scent of brandy on her lips, see the tension lingering in her eyes.

“Of course,” he said. “I could speak with my landlady as soon as we hear her come in. I’m certain she could accommodate you downstairs for one night.”

“I don’t want to leave,” Phebe said.

She leaned in, lifting herself up on her toes to kiss him. “I just want to feel safe, Perceval,” she whispered.

Her arms went around him. A second later his hands slid around
to her back, holding her close to him. Their lips parted for an instant before Grey kissed her again. He picked her up in his arms, overcoming the ruffles and underlayers that made up her full evening dress. She put her hands around his neck as he swept her across the study to his bedchamber.

G
REY HEARD THE DOWNSTAIRS DOOR IN THE HALLWAY
close. He moved across to the tall windows that looked over High Street and watched his landlady, Mrs. Philbrick, exit and march down the street to begin her morning round of errands. The last thing he felt like dealing with at the moment were the scandalized looks, or even an audible gasp, from his landlady upon witnessing a woman leaving his rooms at this hour.

Rasmus Hansen was waiting atop the carriage to deliver Phebe Webster back to her house. Grey understood from Lean that a patrolman was still stationed there.

“All looks ready,” he said.

Phebe gave him an apprehensive smile before checking herself once more in the mirror. She’d done the best she could with the tools and materials that constituted a gentleman’s toilet, but her hair was far from perfect. Her makeup was a disaster, and, worst of all, the evening dress she was still wearing had no business putting in an appearance on a sidewalk at this time of the morning.

“Thank you, Perceval. I’m sorry for so much fuss. Not to say that I’m at all …” She waited by the door and hoped her eyes were doing a better job than her lips in explaining her awkward behavior.

He gave her a small nod. “You appreciate the discretion. And your perfectly understandable desire to avoid any potentially compromising public appearance is in no way a reflection upon your feelings or thoughts toward me and what’s happened between us. Which feelings and thoughts are yours alone and need not be subjected to the undue rigors caused by outside speculation and rumor.”

“Yes.” She smiled at him again, this time without any hint of apprehension. “Something like that.”

He escorted her down the steps to the front entryway. Phebe waited just inside the door as Grey stepped out to assess the situation along the sidewalk. Rasmus had the carriage parked directly before the stairs. From the base of the front steps, Grey gestured Phebe to come along.

“Say, Mr. Grey, isn’t that the doctor’s niece, Mrs. Prescott?” Rasmus asked from his driver’s seat atop the carriage. “It is. Well, ain’t this a fine old morning?”

Grey looked up the sidewalk. Just twenty paces along, he saw a brunette stepping away from a cab that had just parked. He instantly recognized Helen Prescott. She looked the same as the last time he’d seen her, almost a full year past. Even from this distance, her clear blue eyes stood out from the fair skin of her comely face. Her long, dark hair was piled and secured at the back of her head. She held a packet in her arms. From her stylish yet functional dress, he guessed she might have been on her way to work; perhaps she’d already resumed her post at the historical society. He glanced back up the steps. Phebe had not yet emerged. She seemed to be making some last-minute refinement in her appearance.

“Mrs. Prescott?” Grey said as she neared.

“Surprised to see me? Delia and I came home earlier than we’d planned.”

“I wasn’t expecting you”—Grey tried to manage a smile—“here.”

Helen’s smile flickered for a second, but she launched into an explanation. “When you didn’t answer my note about collecting the information we found, I thought I would come by and deliver it for you.”

It seemed she was about to say more when her eyes drifted to her left and a sudden focus appeared on her face. Grey already knew what she had seen and how she was interpreting it. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from turning to look in that same direction. Phebe was coming down the steps. Her evening dress struck Grey as even more blatantly out of place than it had been just minutes ago. When he turned again to Helen, her eyes were full and wide, her lips pursed. The packet she’d been holding at her side was now clutched across her chest with both hands.

“Yes, well, I see you’re … occupied. I … I should have telephoned ahead.”

Phebe reached the bottom of the stairs. Though she greeted Grey and Helen with a curious smile, her voice was perfectly natural. “Perc—Mr. Grey, aren’t you going to introduce us?”

“Yes, of course. Miss Phebe Webster, this is Mrs. Helen Prescott. From the Maine Historical Society. You’re there again, I take it?”

“Yes,” Helen answered. “As I mentioned, I have some information from Archie and Mr. Meserve. Some historical documents they wanted you to see. I thought it would be helpful if I brought them as soon as possible. I tried the other day, but Mrs. Philbrick said you were off.”

“Thank you.” Grey accepted the packet of papers from her. “Yes, this is most helpful. Thank you so much.”

“If you want to discuss it, with them … I mean, you could …” Helen stammered.

“Certainly, I’ll make arrangements.”

There was an uncomfortable moment of silence during which Helen and Grey both looked down the sidewalk to see the cab that had delivered her already departing. It was Rasmus who brought the awkward pause to a merciful end.

“Mrs. Prescott’s cab’s gone off. I could take her, if it’s not too much of an inconvenience.”

“Of course.” Grey turned to Phebe to assure her agreement. “It’s the least I can do after she’s come out of her way with this valuable information.”

“Certainly,” Phebe said with genuine enthusiasm.

After a stilted handshake between them, Grey held the carriage door for Helen, and Rasmus took her off down the street.

Grey hailed a hansom cab. When it pulled to the curb, he offered his hand to assist Phebe into the carriage. Rather than immediately accept, she cast a wary eye toward Grey.

“That was all very queer. Who was that woman, Perceval? She seemed rather upset with you.”

“Mrs. Prescott was involved in a prior inquiry.”

“Mrs.?”

“A widow,” Grey said.

“Involved in a prior inquiry? I wonder if that’s how you’ll refer
to me one day,” Phebe said as she entered the cab, her tone slightly taunting.

“It was a professional association.”

“It struck me as more personal in nature,” she said as Grey settled into the seat beside her. Any hint of teasing had been replaced by a sincere tone that bordered on concern. “Is there something I should know?”

“No. Nothing that affects you.”

“But it affects you, doesn’t it?” she asked.

“Even in its abridged version, the story is not a short or simple one to tell.”

“You’re only succeeding in piquing my interest even further. And I’m not one to let the truth of a matter remain hidden from my view, any more than you are.”

The driver, who was awaiting instructions, cleared his throat.

“Very well. I’ll explain as we ride.”

As they rumbled along over the paving stones, Grey gave Phebe a very general and vague account of the murder inquiry he’d conducted with Deputy Lean the summer before, starting with a murdered prostitute. Recognition flickered across Phebe’s features. It wasn’t surprising, given that the news at the time had been rather sensational. Grey omitted mentions of other related murders, only stating that evidence had come to light that this murder had been inspired by a fascination with spiritualism and black magic. That detail seemed to grab Phebe’s attention. Even the most rational of people tended to have a strong reaction to the topic. Likewise he left out the connections to Portland’s temperance union. He also failed to include mention of Dr. Steig’s name or the true manner of that good man’s death, only offering that both Helen and her uncle had assisted in the investigation and that the stress had ultimately proved too much for the older man and his frail health.

“That’s terrible.”

“The trouble didn’t end there for Mrs. Prescott. The murderer and a female accomplice of his were aware of our inquiry and of Mrs. Prescott’s assistance. They abducted her and her eight-year-old daughter.”

Phebe’s hand went to her mouth. “Is she all right? The girl?”

Grey nodded. “Deputy Lean rescued her from one of the bay islands.
The killer’s female accomplice had her and intended to burn the girl alive.”

Phebe’s hand remained at her mouth. Her eyes had gone wider than Grey would have thought possible.

“She was pulled from the flames just in time,” he assured her.

“What of the woman—the accomplice?” Phebe’s voice trembled, barely more than a whisper. Her eyes harbored a look of deep horror.