A Curious Beginning

Stoker’s response was something entirely unprintable, but it warmed my heart to see how offended he was at the notion he should leave me behind. He gave me just enough time to take another breath before plunging us both underwater again, this time kicking with all his might as he pulled with his free hand, shuttling us through the dank green river like a son of Poseidon. The effort must have exhausted him, for the next time we surfaced it was at his behest, his chest heaving. I looked up to see Edmund de Clare’s boat coming hard, and turned again to offer Stoker a chance at escape.

Before I could form the words, a swift little yacht, as slim and fast as a dolphin, swooped in to slide gracefully between us and Edmund de Clare. A hand reached over the side of the yacht, and above the hand loomed a handsome, grinning face I had last seen only two days previously.

“Would you like to come aboard?” asked Mornaday, the groom.

Without further ado, he hoisted me aboard the yacht, turning back to offer Stoker an arm. We flopped onto the deck in floods of brackish river water, breathing hard as Mornaday turned to the skipper of the craft.

“Back upriver, Tolly. And be quick about it.”

The boat came nimbly about, nipping past the prow of Edmund de Clare’s boat. I saw him, his handsome face contorted in fury as he ordered his men to flee, pushing the boat hard downriver. Whatever he wanted with me, he wanted still less to attract the attention of anyone else, and I was as grateful as I was mystified by the turn of events.

Mornaday brought blankets and a flask of good Irish whiskey, which he urged upon us. He gave a nod to the Naval College as we sailed past, noting the bunting that had already been hung in honor of the queen’s Jubilee.

“All of London will turn out to watch her ride past,” Mornaday remarked. “A plump German housewife with little intellect and smaller understanding, and yet the whole world will pause to pay tribute to her longevity.”

His broad accents were entirely absent now, as was his usually cheerful demeanor. This Mornaday was altogether more serious a fellow, focused and attentive to the business at hand.

“Are you a republican?” I asked politely.

He smiled, baring his lovely teeth. “I am an Englishman. I serve my country first, queen second. All that matters to me is England.”

“And in what capacity do you serve England?” Stoker inquired.

“Policeman. Inspector Mornaday, at your service,” he said, sweeping us a bow. He made it sound as if he were a lowly bobby, but I knew at an instant he was far more highly placed than that.

“Have you been investigating the baron’s murder?” I demanded.

“Not officially, but yes. And I have been doing my utmost to keep you from danger, although you seem determined to thwart me,” he added dryly.

“But why would the baron’s murderer be dangerous to me?”

“I cannot tell you.” He held up a hand at my exclamation of dismay. “It will do you no good to remonstrate with me. It is more than my position at Scotland Yard is worth to even be with you now.”

“But why would your position at Scotland Yard be put at risk by aiding us?”

“Because he is concealing the whereabouts of a man who is wanted to help the police with their inquiries,” Stoker supplied.

Mornaday inclined his head gravely. “As you say. My duty is to bring you to my superiors and let them question you. But I have put another consideration first.”

“What consideration?” I asked.

“Your safety. I believe that Mr. Stoker, while most assuredly not your husband, is the man best positioned to ensure your continued good health.”

“That is rather generous of you, considering the fact that you have come to our aid twice,” I said in an acid tone.

The grin flashed again. “Yes, I was the one who chased Mr. de Clare away outside the baron’s residence. And if I were a better shot in near darkness, I might have brought this whole matter to an end then,” he added ruefully. I did not glance at Stoker, but I knew he would be entirely smug about having been right as to Mr. de Clare’s villainy. I had been wrong to give him the benefit of the doubt, and it stung—almost as much as the guinea I should most likely have to part with if our wager was settled in Stoker’s favor. Mornaday went on. “I have better reason than most to know Mr. Stoker would have acquitted himself more than adequately without my intervention. However, given his family history, I am not entirely certain he would have done so without unnecessary bloodshed, something I wish to avoid.”

“What family history?” I asked.

“I believe Mr. Stoker is better suited to explain that than I am.”

Beside me, Stoker had gone very still, his hands resting loosely upon his thighs. When he spoke, his voice was flat, almost bored, and the very lack of emotion in his tone was more chilling than the most murderous rage.

“Mornaday, when this business, whatever it is, is finished, I will find you. And there will be things to say.” To a disinterested observer, it might have sounded like casual conversation, but I knew it for the threat it was, and so did Mornaday.

Mornaday’s smile faltered only a little, but I noticed his lips went white even as he forced a cordial tone. “I should look forward to it. But if I have my way, there will be no chance. I do not want you in this country, Mr. Stoker. Nor do I want Miss Speedwell here.”