CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO #2
With complete calm he towed me silently towards the steps of the college.
I willed him on, painfully aware of how slender a chance we had of success.
It would be but a matter of seconds before Mr. de Clare realized there was only one direction we could have gone.
Halfway to the steps, I felt a burning in my chest, my lungs stale and empty.
I pushed at Stoker, and he led me to the surface of the water.
I looked back as I sputtered and gasped to find I had underestimated my uncle.
He was already in pursuit, ordering his men to turn the boat and give chase.
The worsening weather had driven the pleasure boaters from the river.
There were few craft about, and none it seemed within hailing distance.
“We cannot make it,” I burbled to Stoker.
“At least you cannot if you are burdened with me.
Go on.
He shall not harm me, but if he gets his hands on you again, he will surely kill you.”
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.”
“You know her name?”
Stoker looked from Mornaday to me.
“Did you tell him that we are not really married?”
“I did not,” I replied.
“How he came to know my name is entirely beyond my ken.”
“My methods are my own,” Mornaday said silkily.
“Now, Miss Speedwell, I have in mind to be a chief inspector someday.
That will not happen with blots upon my record, and you will not be a blot.”
“Then why help us?”
I asked, drawing the blanket about my sodden body more tightly.
As I warmed a little, I was aware of a distinctly unpleasant aroma beginning to emanate from my person, and Stoker’s was worse.
The Thames was a filthy place, I reflected, and we would both be thoroughly fortunate if we did not contract one of the more virulent wasting diseases after our dunking.
Mornaday’s reply to my question was prompt.
“Because the police do not always get it right.
My superior likes Mr. Stoker for the murder of the baron, and he suspects you of being an accomplice.
I believe he is wrong.
And I very much like it when he is wrong.”
His mouth curved into an arch smile.
“Unfortunately, it is never wise to point out the shortcomings of one’s superiors.
So I have acquired the habit of occasionally circumventing him by conducting my own investigation and removing his suspects from under his nose.
I followed you to the traveling show on a hunch of my own.
I observed you there and formed my impression that neither of you was responsible for the baron’s murder.”
“Did you bribe the professor to let you have the position as groom?”
“I did.
I spun him a tale about thwarted love and disappointed hopes.
I persuaded him that Mr. Stoker had stolen my fiancée.
He was most susceptible.
I suspect him of being a romantic, and he was very quick to believe the worst of Mr. Stoker.
In fact, he insisted upon it.”
“And you promised him more money if he discovered any relevant information.
As you did Salome,” I accused.
Mornaday clucked his tongue.
“Very well, yes.
I paid them both to discover what they could.
And it was remarkably little,” he said with a repressive glance at Stoker.
“The promise of a few coins to the professor, a few more to Salome, and they were more than willing to turn over whatever information they discovered.
The professor still bears a grudge over some old quarrel, and Salome’s head for business is hard as nails.
She would sell her own mother for a copper.”
He glanced to Stoker.
“You really ought to choose your friends more carefully, old man.”
“You needn’t worry,” Stoker returned with equal coolness.
“It isn’t as though you were going to be one.”
“If you do not believe in our culpability in the baron’s murder, then how did that notice get into the newspapers?”
I asked.
Mornaday winced.
“As we had so few leads in the case, my superior was willing to let me take a short holiday.
I did not tell him I was chasing down a hunch, and so, when he grew impatient, there was nothing to stop him from pursuing what he believed to be his likeliest suspect.
I followed you back to London and picked up your trail again at the baron’s house when you broke in.”
I could see his disapproval.
“We had reasons,” I said coolly.
“I am sure that you did.
I have no doubt you went there with the idea of playing amateur detective and solving the baron’s murder in order to make certain Mr. Stoker was not unjustly accused of a crime he did not commit.”
“And how is it that you were on hand to effect such a timely rescue today?”
Stoker asked.
Mornaday smiled again.
“I have a number of contacts in the community of watermen.
By a little judicious bribery in the right quarters, I happened to learn that Mr. de Clare had secured the hire of a boat for himself, and that he insisted upon something light and fast.
It seemed logical that he meant to attempt to spirit Miss Speedwell away, and it was a small matter to find myself a boat that was even faster.
Once I had done that, I needed only to keep a close watch upon him and follow along to intervene when required.”
He gave us a severe look.
“But we are beyond that now.
You must believe me when I tell you that you must leave London.
My superior is growing suspicious of my frequent absences.
I cannot always be there to stand at your back, and these miscreants will not relinquish their pursuit.”
He gestured to the helmsman, who began to make for a short boat landing just before a great cluster of docks and ships.
“Those are the West India docks beyond.
You should be able to pick up a hansom here.
I cannot take you further.
And I cannot say more.
Please, for the sake of your lives, go.
Anywhere but England.”
“What about Ireland?”
I asked deliberately.
He swore softly.
“Whatever you think you may know about Ireland, forget it.
I have told you I cannot say more, but yes, Mr. de Clare and his friends are Irish, and you must give them a wide berth if you wish to live long enough to celebrate your next birthday.”
He turned anguished eyes to Stoker.
“You must make her see reason.
Get her safely out of the country.”
Stoker shrugged.
“I cannot even persuade her to stay in the house.
What makes you think I can force her to leave the country?”
I put a quelling hand to Stoker’s arm.
“Do not alarm Mr. Mornaday, Stoker.
Can you not see he is aggrieved on our behalf?
And we owe him so much already.”
The helmsman brought us gently up to the little landing, and Mornaday handed us onto the dock before pointing out the quickest route to a main thoroughfare.
I extended my hand to him.
“Thank you for your many kindnesses.
I hope if we meet again it will be under very different circumstances,” I told him.
He saluted and the little boat slipped away as swiftly as it had come, nimbly dodging the larger craft upon the water as it made its way upriver.
Stoker turned to me with an expression of frank skepticism.
“You are not actually thinking of leaving the country.”
It was not even a question, and I gave a little sigh of pleasure that he was beginning to know me so well.
“Of course not.
But why give Mr. Mornaday something to worry about?
He seems such a nice fellow.”
“A nice fellow!”
Stoker snorted.
“He bribed people I once considered friends to give information about us—a deed that will not go unpunished.”
“Something to save for a rainy day,” I promised him.
“In the meantime, we must return to Bishop’s Folly and get into some dry clothes and apply ourselves to the mystery at hand.
We have much to talk about.”