The Mystery Woman (28 page)

S
eriously, Josh, how did you and Nelson know where to find me?” Beatrice asked. “And please don’t give me that line about looking in the right place. I want details.”

She and Joshua and Nelson were gathered around the dining table with Sara and Abigail in the cozy morning room in Lantern Street. Thankfully, Sara and Abigail appeared none the worse for their encounter with the incense drug. To all outward appearances, Joshua was his usual cool, controlled self but whenever he looked across the table at Beatrice she detected a little telltale heat in his eyes. For his part, Nelson was still brimming with excitement. He had been the one who had relayed every detail of the rescue to Sara and Abigail.

Mrs. Beale had also recovered from the hallucinogenic fog. She had served up a hearty early morning breakfast of eggs, potatoes and toast. Everyone was drinking a great deal of very strong coffee because none of them had yet had any sleep. Beatrice doubted that any of them except Joshua—who evidently could put himself into a trance whenever he wished—was capable of sleep. They were all still dealing with the edgy energy that followed violence.

“It was simple logic,” Joshua said. He reached for another slice of toast and slathered it with jam. “Once I realized that Victor was involved in the affair, everything else fell into place. I knew that if he had established a properly equipped laboratory for Lancing, it would be in a location that Victor deemed safe and under his full control. That location also had to be close to London because Victor would want to make frequent visits to make sure that progress was being made and to be certain his daughter had the appearance of being alive.”

Sara looked thoughtful. “It would also need to be a location that was convenient to Mrs. Grimshaw, the apothecary in Teaberry Lane.”

“Yes,” Joshua said. “I naturally concluded that the most obvious place was Exford Castle. It has been in Victor’s family for generations.”

Beatrice raised her eyes to the ceiling in a give-me-patience manner. “Naturally.”

“Victor knows how I think,” Josh said quietly. “That’s why he was always one step ahead. But I know him, too. Once I realized that he was the one plotting the strategy, I was able to second-guess him.”

Abigail frowned. “What on earth was going on with that statue of Anubis? Did it really have paranormal powers?”

“No,” Joshua said flatly.

“Yes,” Beatrice said at the same time.

Everyone looked at her. She put her cup down and thought about what had happened in Clement Lancing’s laboratory.

“The statue is a kind of engine,” she said slowly, “similar to an electricity machine, I think. It requires some psychical ability to activate the forces but the power that is released is just that—raw energy.”

“Like the energy released by a steam engine or a generator,” Nelson said. “You might be able to use it to turn a wheel or ignite a lamp but that’s all.”

“Exactly,” Beatrice said. “The Anubis energy is certainly not magical in nature. It has no special properties. The currents conducted into the preservative fluid agitated the Egyptian Water but that was all they did.”

“I would very much like to examine the statue,” Sara said eagerly.

“It’s yours,” Joshua said. “Consider it a thank-you gift for all that you did for me.”

Sara’s eyes widened. “That is very generous of you, sir.”

Joshua’s mouth twisted wryly. “Trust me when I tell you that I have no desire to install that antiquity in my own household.”

“I understand.” She sighed. “In spite of everything, I do feel sorry for Victor Hazelton. All these months he has been living on a false hope offered up by a madman. In the end his grief drove Hazelton mad, too.”

“How true,” Abigail said. “And how sad. I doubt that he will go to prison. He will probably be declared insane and likely spend the rest of his life in an asylum.”

“No,” Joshua said. There was quiet certainty in his voice. “Victor could not endure an asylum. And now that he knows that Emma has been dead all along he has nothing else to live for, so I do not think that he will survive for long.”

Nelson looked up from his eggs, startled. He frowned. “You believe that he will die of grief?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” Joshua said.

Beatrice understood. She knew from their silence that Sara and Abigail did, too. It took Nelson somewhat longer to grasp Joshua’s meaning.

“I see,” Nelson said, abruptly subdued. “You expect him to take his own life. But you can’t know that for certain—”

“I know him,” Joshua said. “I know how he thinks.”

Because you believe that Victor thinks a lot like you,
Beatrice thought. But she did not say it aloud. At that moment Joshua met her eyes across the table and she knew that he was aware of her thoughts.

“You’re wrong, you know,” she said simply. “You are two very different men, in spite of your philosophical training and your martial arts abilities. You would never have allowed yourself to believe what you know is impossible—that the dead could be brought back to life by magic. And you would never have murdered people who had done you no harm in order to achieve your objective. You would have found other ways.”

Joshua’s brows rose. “Because I am a man of logic and reason?”

She smiled. “No, because you are a good and decent man.”

Sara chuckled. “She is trying to tell you that you are a hero, Mr. Gage, and I do believe she is correct.”

“There are no heroes,” Joshua said. “There are only those who try to make the right choice when choice is thrust upon them.”

Nelson grinned. “Is that one of Hazelton’s sayings?”

Joshua surprised everyone with a smile. “Actually, I made that one up myself.”

Beatrice looked at him. “What will you do now?”

Joshua’s smile vanished. “I’m going to do the only thing I can for Victor.”

“I understand. May I come with you?”

“Are you certain you want to accompany me?”

“Yes,” she said. “I want to be with you when you say your goodbyes to both of them.”

F
ollowing breakfast Joshua escorted Beatrice home in a cab and then went off to speak with one of his mysterious associates at Scotland Yard. Nelson accompanied him.

The house echoed with emptiness. Clarissa was still on assignment in the country. Mrs. Rambley had left a note saying that she had gone to visit her recently widowed sister.

Beatrice was in the middle of a bath when the exhaustion finally overtook her. Yawning, she stepped out of the tub, pulled on her wrapper and went to her bedroom to take a nap.

She awoke to the sound of rain on the windows and a knock on the front door. She rose from the bed and went to the window to look down at the street.

Joshua was on the front step. He was wearing a long black coat and a hat against the rain. The cab in which he had arrived was disappearing into the gray mist.

She tightened the sash of her wrapper and hurried downstairs, anxious for a report of his conversation with the police. When she opened the door she knew from the energy that shifted in the atmosphere around him and his fierce grip on the cane that it was only his iron will that was keeping him on his feet.

“Joshua,” she said. She stepped back. “Come in.”

“I’m sorry if I woke you.”

“It’s all right. I was just getting up from a nap.” She blushed. Her wrapper was entirely modest but she was suddenly aware that she was wearing nothing under it. “You look like you could use some sleep, too.”

“I will go home and get some rest after I’m finished here.”

After I’m finished here
did not bode well. A small shiver of uncertainty lanced across her senses, igniting her intuition. Whatever the reason for this visit, it was a matter of great seriousness to Joshua.

She stepped back. He moved through the doorway and shrugged out of his wet coat. She hung the garment on a wall hook and set his hat to dry on the console.

It was odd to realize that this was only the second time that he had crossed the threshold of her home. Then again, she had never been to his house. They knew so little about each other and yet they knew so much of an intimate nature. But that was the way of the world for those who indulged in illicit love affairs, she reminded herself. The one thing such couples could not share was a home.

A whisper of melancholia twisted her insides.

“What are you thinking?” he asked quietly.

Startled, she summoned her acting talents and managed a bright little smile. “I was thinking that in some ways we are for the most part still strangers. It seems that we have spent the whole of our acquaintance dealing with blackmailers, killers and the odd madman or two.”

He watched her with an unwavering intensity. “I have been waiting my entire life to meet you, Beatrice.”

She caught her breath. For a few seconds she stood frozen. Her instinct was to throw herself into his arms. But logic reminded her that the darkly passionate energy she sensed in him could easily be explained by the recent excitement and the strong emotions they had experienced together.

To cover her confusion, she led the way into the small parlor. “Would you like tea? My housekeeper is out but I am quite capable of putting the kettle on the stove myself.”

“No, thank you.”

“Your leg appears to be giving you some trouble today. That is hardly a surprise after what happened last night. I have a bottle of Mrs. Marsh’s tonic upstairs in my bedroom. I’ll just dash up there and get some for you.”

She started toward the stairs.

“No.”
He paused. “Thank you.”

She reminded herself that he had been through a great deal in the past twenty-four hours.

He followed her into the parlor but he did not sit down. Instead, he braced himself with both hands on the hilt of his cane and did not take his eyes off her.

“I stopped here before going home because there is something very important I must say to you,” he said. “I want to say it before I sleep.”

Dread descended on her. The small parlor seemed to grow darker. She tried to prepare herself for whatever was coming. Perhaps this was when he would explain in a kindly fashion that he cared for her but that marriage was not an option. Was she willing to commit to the continuation of their affair? she wondered.
Yes
. But such an arrangement could last only as long as he did not take a wife. She would not be a married man’s mistress.

But Joshua would never ask that of her, she told herself. He would not deceive a wife. He was above all a man of honor.

“I understand why both of them did what they did,” he said.

Consumed with her wild speculations about their future together or lack thereof, she did not immediately grasp his meaning.

“What?” she asked, going quite blank.

“I understand why Victor and Clement did the things they did.”

She pulled her jumbled thoughts together. This was about the closure of the case, not about their personal affairs. Really, what had she been thinking? Naturally he would want to tie up all the loose ends before he allowed himself to consider the personal angle.

“Yes, of course,” she said crisply. “A father’s grief and a lover’s sense of guilt are both very powerful motives.”

“I don’t think you comprehend what I am trying to tell you, Beatrice. I know why they went to the lengths they did, why they allowed themselves to be deluded and driven mad. Why they were willing to kill to revive Emma. I understand those things fully and completely because I am no different.”

“What?” Once again she felt blindsided.

“I would do whatever it took to save you,” he said.

She took a deep breath and allowed herself to relax.

“Yes, I know,” she said. “You were born to protect others. But you would find another way to go about it.”

“Perhaps,” he said. “If there was another way. But in the end, whatever it took. I love you, Beatrice.”

She was so dumbfounded she could only stare at him for a few seconds. She said the first words that came into her head.

“Do you mean to say that you actually believe in love?” she managed. “A form of energy that you cannot see or measure or test?”

“I certainly don’t believe that love is a form of paranormal energy,” he clarified, very serious now. “And I will admit that until I met you I had never experienced emotions of the sort that I feel for you. But I do not doubt this sense of certainty. It would be like doubting the truth of a sunrise or the tide. Simply because some powerful forces cannot be tested or measured does not mean that one must resort to psychical explanations.”

She was suddenly breathless. There was a peculiar roaring in her ears. The world outside the parlor ceased to exist. Frantically she struggled to hang on to reality.

“Well, actually there are other explanations for strong passions,” she said carefully. “Physical and intellectual attraction. The stimulating effects of shared danger. Mutual admiration. That very long year you spent in the country—”

“Do you love me?” he asked. “Could you love me?”

With that she tossed aside the tattered remnants of common sense. Laughter did battle with tears. She flung herself into his arms. He staggered under the impact but he somehow managed to move the cane out of the way, catch her and maintain his balance all at the same time. She put her arms around his neck.

“Oh, Joshua, yes,
yes
,” she said, joy flooding her senses. “Of course I love you. Surely you knew that.”

He took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. “I have learned that some things require words.”

She smiled. “Do you mean to say that not everything can be deduced through logic and observation?”

“Am I going to have to listen to you tease me about that for the rest of my life?”

“That depends. Are we talking about the rest of your life?”

He frowned. “You just said you loved me. I love you. That means we will be married.”

“You haven’t asked. Some things require words.”

He smiled his slow, sensual smile, the one that set all of her senses aflutter.

“Will you marry me so that you will be in a position to tease me endlessly about my way of coming to conclusions?”

“How could I pass up such a spectacularly appealing offer?” She flattened her palms on his chest. “Yes, Joshua, I will marry you.”

His eyes were darkly brilliant with something she thought might be joy.

“I will take very good care of you,” he vowed.

“Just as I will take very good care of you,” she said.

He gripped the cane in one hand and wrapped his other arm around her. He kissed her. It was a binding kiss, a kiss that promised the future.

It was, Beatrice thought, the kiss she had been waiting for all of her life.