A Curious Beginning

“A necessity. I wanted to make certain we were not followed.”


Before I could ask him to elaborate, he nodded towards the ticket counter. “We have a quarter of an hour before our train leaves. Come along.”

I did not move and he turned back, his expression darkening. I forestalled him. “You may purchase the tickets. I will avail myself of the ladies’ accommodations while you do so.”

He opened his mouth—to swear at me, I had no doubt—but I lifted a hand to silence him. “I have no intention of eluding you, even though you must see now how absurd it is to attempt to abduct a lady in a public place.” I nodded towards the portly figure of a bobby striding into the station. To my astonishment, Mr. Stoker lifted the timetable as he pulled the brim of his hat lower, shielding his face.

Clearly he had no wish to attract the attention of the constabulary, and I pressed my advantage. “Now, my dearest possession is my butterfly net,” I told him. “It is the foundation of my profession and my most beloved tool. I will give it to you as a pledge that I will meet you on the platform before the train leaves.”

He made a strangled sound, but I was already shoving the net into his hands. I walked briskly away, leaving him to secure the tickets. The lavatory was some distance, past the bookstall and confectionary stand, and I felt my stomach give a hungry little lurch as I strode past the refreshment rooms and the wafting scent of roast beef. I completed my errand quickly, emerging with clean hands and smoothed skirts. I was just tweaking my cuffs into place when a gentleman fell into step beside me. I was not unaccustomed to such approaches, and in my experience, a frosty look of gravest hauteur is the best method of discouragement.

But as I turned to give him my most withering glance, I faltered. The gentleman was a stranger to me; of that I was certain. Yet he regarded me with an expression akin to that of Moses beholding the Promised Land. I hesitated a mere second, and in that second, he had his opportunity. He took my elbow and whirled me to a stop behind the tobacconist’s stand.

“Sir!” I protested, and instantly he dropped his hand.

“You must forgive my importunate approach, Miss Speedwell,” he said, giving a swift glance around us. The milling travelers passed us by without a second look, and he stared at me, his gaze avid as it roved my face. “A thousand apologies. I had no wish to startle you,” he said, his voice low and earnest and beautifully modulated. He was perhaps a few years above forty, well dressed, and smelling faintly of green spices. No grey yet threaded his black hair, and I wondered for a moment if he had resorted to boot black to retain an impression of youth.

But no. There might be a line or two at the corners of his eyes, and his jaw might have softened a touch beyond first youth, but his mouth curved into a smile of such dazzling charm, I knew this was a fellow who would retain his appeal well into old age.

“You have the advantage of me, sir,” I replied coolly.

“Again, I can only ask your forgiveness,” he said, but I marked he did not correct the omission. He raised his hands, sketching the outline of my form as he took me in from hat to hem. “Are you quite all right? I could scarcely breathe for thinking you might have been involved in this horrible business of murder.”

“What do you know of it?” I demanded.

He shook his glossy head. “I only know the gallant old fellow did not deserve to die in such a terrible fashion. But you are here and unharmed, and that is all that matters now. It was clever of you to elude that ruffian,” he added, no doubt referring to Mr. Stoker.

“The baron’s death is nothing to do with me,” I returned sharply. In spite of Mr. Stoker’s suspicions to the contrary, I refused to countenance the notion that I was in any way connected with that foul deed, and I resented this gentleman for suggesting it. “Sir, you are speaking in riddles,” I informed him.

He spread his hands, giving me another of his charming smiles. “Of course I am! I am half out of my mind with relief after so many frantic hours of worry about you. But you are safe now. I have come to take charge of you. The baron meant to deliver you into my care. That is why he brought you to London,” he said simply.