Right. Gray did say something about Catriona’s felonious past.
McCreadie continues, “I cannot count how many times I have bit my tongue against telling Isla the rest of your story. The parts I misguidedly decided were not your fault. I know better now. There was no Fagin in your life, Catriona. It is all you. The only reason you are still employed is because Isla is too good-hearted—nay, too stubborn—to accept defeat. And Duncan is too caught up in his work to see you for what you are. But I see you, and I will not allow this.”
“Allow what?”
His eyes narrow. “I warned you not to play me for a fool, Catriona. You owe me the respect of honesty. You did not take a sudden interest in science. You took a sudden interest in the man behind the science.”
I stare up at him. Then it hits. “You think I’m trying to seduce Dr. Gray?”
“I think you liked your stay in their guest room. I think it made that scheming mind of yours do what it does best.”
“Scheme?”
“Do not mock me, Catriona. You tread on very dangerous ground here. If I told Isla the rest of your story—and if Mrs. Wallace stopped shielding her from the worst of your misdeeds—you would be out on your arse. You have set your cap on Duncan. You are a pretty girl from a decent family, and Duncan is a very busy man with no time to look for a wife. You see an opening.”
A doctor marrying his housemaid? I want to say someone else has been reading romance novels, but then I realize it might not be so implausible. Gray isn’t a lord or an earl and, from what McCreadie is implying, Catriona didn’t grow up in tenement housing. She’s a girl from a good family who made poor choices, one who might be looking to climb back up to her old status.
“It will do you no good,” McCreadie continues. “That’s what I pulled you aside to say. I could warn that I am watching you and you’d best not try anything, but I needn’t bother. We both know how he is.”
“How he is?”
McCreadie eases back, a little of his anger dissipating. “An illustrative example, Catriona, in case you have failed to notice these things on your own. Last month, we were in a public house, and Duncan got into a brawl.”
“Dr. Gray?” There’s honest incredulity in my voice.
“He did not start it, which I should say makes the man happier than is decent. He does love the excuse for a good bout of fisticuffs. In this case, he had it, having been struck with a knife.”
“What?”
McCreadie waves off my concern. “He stitched himself up later. Again, not the point, which is that his blood cast a pattern on the wall. He began sketching it and comparing it with the wound and the angle of the blow. When a young lady evidenced great interest in what he was doing, he quite happily explained it to her, never once realizing that she was not interested at all in the blood pattern and was rather more interested in his—” He coughs. “In his ability to pay for her services.”
“Ah, she was a sex worker.”
“A what?”
“Lady of negotiable affections?”
He gives a short laugh. “I suppose so. Though I have the feeling she would have negotiated a very low price for those affections. They always do for Duncan. Yet the point is that he was oblivious. He is always oblivious to attention from the fair sex.”
“Because he prefers men?”
McCreadie’s eyes round, and he sputters incomprehensibly before saying, “No, he likes women. But the women he likes are not pretty shopgirls or fetching pie sellers or winsome housemaids, and they are certainly not ‘ladies of negotiable affections,’ as you put it. He will never notice your interest because he will not share it, and if you force him to notice it, he will find you alternate employment within the week. You have chosen your target poorly, Catriona.”
“Perhaps you mistake my interest, sir.”
He snorts. “So you’re actually interested in the science of dead bodies?”
“As you say, I come from a good family. While I have thus far concealed it, I do possess an education. And a brain, though you obviously do not think it.”
“Oh, I never doubted that, Catriona.”
“Yes, I see an opening here. An employment opening. Dr. Gray is in need of an assistant, and as I am not squeamish, I see no reason why I should not angle for the position. Yes, that might require exaggerating my interest in the subject. It is, however, vastly more interesting than scrubbing water closet pots.”
He eyes me, and I can tell I have made a valid argument. I only hope Catriona thinks so when she returns.
“All right,” McCreadie says slowly. “I will not interfere with your pursuit of the position. If your pursuit turns elsewhere, though…”
“It will not,” I say with a conviction that seems to settle his mind.
He leads me back around the corner to where Gray is scouring the area. Spotting us, Gray strides over, pies in hand.
“What the devil were you doing back there?” he asks.
He seems genuinely perplexed, failing to presume the natural reason a man might take a pretty maid around a shadowy corner. McCreadie is right, then. Gray does not see Catriona in that light. Which is a relief.
Gray hands me a pie and then explains my torture theory about the fingernails and the missing tooth. As promised, he doesn’t credit me, but neither does he take credit himself, crafting his words in a way that allows McCreadie to presume it was Gray’s idea but with an opening to correct that later. I can’t imagine Catriona will care who takes credit, but Gray is going out of his way to be fair-minded, and I appreciate that.
When McCreadie is called back into the station, Gray turns to me. “Now you may begin your truncated half day off, Catriona, which I will repay doubly.”
“Thank you, sir. Before I go, might I ask you an odd question?”
One brow rises with interest. “Of course.”
“Where was I found after my attack?”
“Where were you found…?”
“I wish to go there and see whether it jostles my memory. I have no recollection of the evening, and I would like to know what happened to me.” I glance toward the police precinct. “I presume there is an active investigation?”
He hesitates, and as he does, dark color creeps into his cheeks. He glances toward the station and then plucks at his necktie, as if it’s suddenly too tight. “Er, yes. I mean, no, there is not an investigation. Had you perished in the attack, there certainly would have been, but you did not and…”
“I am only a housemaid.”
I expect him to deny it, but he says, “Partly that and partly because, in the area of town where you were found, such attacks happen thrice a night. Perhaps not as serious as yours, but assaults are common enough that the police do not involve themselves unless it results in murder.”
“Which I’m sure is a great deterrent to the area’s thieves, ruffians, and rapists.”
He colors more. “Er, yes, as to that, you were not…” Another tug at his collar. “As the attending physician, I felt obligated to check for signs of tampering with…”
“My virtue?”
“Yes. Had that occurred, I would have insisted on an investigation, but that did not seem to be your assailant’s goal. Also, I assure you that I did only the most circumspect of inspections.”
“It was a medical exam,” I say. “It’s fine. Now, regardless of whether there’s an investigation, I would like to jar my memory if possible. I fear I was assaulted by someone familiar to me, someone I might trust.”
He frowns. “There was no evidence it was anything but a random assault.”
Was it? The detective in me can’t help analyzing what I heard that night. The first cry had sounded like a playful squeal, as if Catriona had been surprised by someone she knew. Someone she knew well? Or a mere acquaintance?
Again, not my monkey. Not my circus. With any luck, Catriona will return today and be able to name the attacker herself.
“Will you tell me where it happened?” I ask.
“I will take you there.”
I shake my head. “You have better things to do, sir.”
“I do not at the moment. Also, as I said, it is not the neighborhood for a young woman. I insist on escorting you.”
TEN