A Curious Beginning

“That is better,” I said, satisfied.

“Hostility is exhausting to sustain,” he admitted. “Particularly at such close quarters.”

“Agreed.”

“I do not say I will not find it again,” he said in a warning tone. “But for the moment, I am rather more encouraged than I have felt in the past few days. We have shelter and food and a place of refuge, at least for a little while—long enough for me to discover the results of the inquest.”

“How? I trust you made arrangements before we left London?”

He hesitated, then decided, perhaps in the spirit of our recent amity, to trust me a little. “I did. I have a friend who will forward the newspapers as soon as the verdict has been published.”

“A friend! Why then did we not seek sanctuary there instead of with the show?”

“Because my friend is at present not in London.” I waited for him to continue, but he had resumed his shuttered expression.

“Then how will your friend receive the newspapers?”

“They will be forwarded from London, obviously. In turn, they will be sent to me in care of the nearest post office with only a day’s delay.” I opened my mouth, but he cut me off. “Yes, I was cautious enough to direct that they be sent to me under an assumed name.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him about my encounter at Paddington Station with Mr. de Clare, but I did not. He might have unbent enough to share a little information with me, and I took this as an excellent sign that we were making progress in this strange working partnership we had undertaken. But I also knew that my snippet of information could prove either entirely worthless or enormously valuable—and I had no intention of tipping my hand until I knew the significance of the cards I held.

Turning back to the conversation at hand, I gave him a grudging nod. “It seems you have thought of everything. But you have forgotten the most important element of your plan—you have me for an ally,” I reminded him. “And I vow I shall not leave your side until we discover the truth of what happened to the baron.”

He swore fluently then, cursing until the birds stopped singing. I did not mind. In fact, I had rather missed his irascibility, and I found myself smiling as we made our way down the country lane towards Butterleigh. I knew we ought to be devising a strategy, deciding upon a course of action. But fleeing London, while securing our safety, had also removed us from any meaningful involvement in the developments. We were hampered by geography, and I decided in the inviting warmth of that late spring morning that this was not an entirely undesirable situation. The tumultuous events of the past few days and the exotic atmosphere of the traveling show had conspired to create a curious effect upon me. I felt entirely relaxed for the first time since I had arrived back in England to nurse Aunt Nell.

I had not realized what a toll those cold, dreary months had taken. I was not meant for sickrooms and poultices; I was fashioned of the stern stuff of adventurers. I had not the temperament for nurturing, and the tedium of Little Byfield had leached me of my natural vitality. I felt in this new adventure I was rousing to life again. I was a butterfly, newly emerged from the chrysalis, damp winged and trembling with expectation. I had witnessed the process often enough on my hunts, and I made a point never to net such tender beauties. I left them to stand upon a branch, opening their soft wings for the first time to the sun, letting its rays warm and revive them until they were strong enough to fly. There would be time enough for my own flight, I decided.

For now I was content to sit upon my branch and restore myself. Besides, I considered, for all we knew, the baron’s murderer had already been apprehended. Even now he might be sitting in jail, awaiting justice. And if that were the case, it would serve us nothing to form a plan. No, far better to make our way quietly along with the traveling show for a few days while we let the police do their necessary work. In a larger town, it would be a small matter to secure a newspaper and see what new developments had arisen. If the miscreant had been taken, Mr. Stoker and I would have nothing further to fear, and we could return to London and thence go our separate ways. Satisfied with my reflections, I closed my eyes and turned my face to the sun. If I had known it was to be my last truly peaceful moment for some time to come, I should have made a point of enjoying it more.

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