Thirty-Four
Nelson met them at the railway station in London. They all watched the rest of the passengers exit the train. None appeared unduly suspicious.
“Doesn’t mean he wasn’t on board,” Joshua said. “But in this fog he’ll find it impossible to follow us.”
Nelson escorted them through heavy mist to a nearby lane where a closed carriage waited. When Beatrice briefly heightened her talent she could see the heat in his footsteps.
“I have news, Uncle Josh,” he said, opening the door for Beatrice.
“Excellent,” Joshua said. “Save it until we are on our way.”
He handed Beatrice up into the cab and followed her into the shadowed confines. He sat down beside her. Nelson vaulted up into the small space and took the opposite seat.
Joshua used his cane to rap the roof of the cab twice. The vehicle rolled forward at a fast clip.
One look at Nelson told Beatrice that—a few minor differences aside—she was looking at a younger mirror image of Joshua. This was how he had appeared in the days before the scars, both physical and emotional, had changed him.
The men of the Gage line were not handsome in the classical sense but they were fascinating in their own way. Perhaps it was the masculine strength in their auras that compelled a woman’s attention, Beatrice thought. Whatever the case, Nelson’s barely suppressed excitement combined with the intensity of Joshua’s more mature aura of controlled power infused the atmosphere of the small cab with so much heat that she wanted to fan herself.
“Don’t worry, Miss Lockwood,” Nelson said. “Our driver, Henry, has had a great deal of experience, thanks to my uncle. He will ensure that no one follows us to the offices of your employers.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Beatrice said.
“And as Uncle Josh pointed out, the fog will make it all the easier to evade detection,” Nelson added.
Beatrice slanted a quick, speculative glance at Joshua. “Was this the cab you used to remove Mr. Euston from the garden the night we met?”
“As a matter of fact, it was,” Joshua said. He looked at Nelson. “Tell me what you have learned.”
“I did as you asked,” Nelson said. “I spoke with everyone I could find who had lived and worked in the street where the Academy of the Occult was located at the time of Fleming’s death.”
“What’s this?” Beatrice glared at Joshua. “You never told me that you were making inquiries into Roland’s murder.”
“Did I neglect to mention it?” Joshua frowned. “Sorry. I have had other things on my mind of late.”
“Why did you ask Nelson to conduct such an investigation?” she demanded.
“Because this affair has its roots in what happened that night,” Joshua said, not bothering to conceal his impatience with the distracting questions. He fixed Nelson with a fiercely intent expression. “What did you discover?”
Nelson took out a notebook and flipped through it. He stopped at a page. “There were, as you predicted, a number of inconsistencies in people’s memories of the events at the time but there were a few things everyone agreed on. Several suspected that paranormal forces from beyond the grave were involved in the murder. Naturally I discounted that theory.”
Joshua dismissed that with a short, brusque movement of one hand. “Of course. What else?”
Nelson gave Beatrice an apologetic look. “I’m sorry to say that many of the residents of the street concluded that the woman they knew as Miranda the Clairvoyant was the killer.”
She sighed. “No need to apologize. I read the papers at the time. The knowledge that the police were looking for me was one of the reasons I changed careers. No one ever expects a woman to do that.”
“Right.” Nelson turned another page. “But here’s the interesting material. Two shopkeepers and a baked potato vendor who do business in the neighborhood recalled an unusual man who loitered in the vicinity for a couple of days before the murder. He made them uneasy, they said. The shopkeepers wondered if he might be a thief who was making observations in preparation for a burglary.”
“They were on the right track,” Joshua said. “But he was planning a murder and a kidnapping, not a burglary.”
“The interesting fact was that they all gave a strikingly similar description of the man. They said he spoke very little but when he did it was with a heavy foreign accent.”
“The people who inhabit small, closely knit neighborhoods always remember outsiders, especially outsiders with strong accents,” Joshua said. “Did they give any more details?”
“It was all quite vague,” Nelson said. “But the baked potato vendor said the stranger had a face that could keep a child awake at night. Reminded him of a skull, he said. The shopkeepers agreed.”
“That confirms my conclusion,” Joshua said. “Lancing is using a professional assassin. Now we must locate the skull-faced man.”
“How?” Beatrice asked.
Nelson looked interested. “Yes, how do we do that, Uncle Josh?”
“A professional killer—especially one with a foreign accent—will not have gone unnoticed in the criminal underworld,” Joshua said. “That is a small, closely connected neighborhood, too.”
“But how do we make inquiries in that world?” Nelson asked.
“I have an associate who makes it a point to know everything that goes on in that realm. As it happens, he owes me a favor or two.”
“Now, there’s a surprise,” Beatrice said. She smiled. “I’m shocked to hear that you are acquainted with such an individual, Mr. Gage.”
Nelson burst into laughter. After a moment, Joshua’s mouth tugged upward in a reluctant smile.
Like uncle, like nephew, Beatrice thought.
“I cannot wait to go home and bathe and put on a fresh change of clothing,” she said.
Joshua looked at her. “You’re not going home, not yet. It’s too risky. There is a possibility that by now the assassin has discovered your address. He may be watching your house. There is only one place in London where I can be assured of your safety.”
“Where is that?”
“The home of an old friend of mine. Assuming I can prevail upon him to help us.”
“Does he owe you a favor like your associate in the criminal underworld?” Beatrice asked.
“No. I am the one who owes him,” Joshua said.