Chapter Thirty-Eight
THIRTY-EIGHT
I hurry into the station. It’s a cavernous wooden building, very clearly intended to be temporary, and it feels more like a barn. Finding Freddie in here is not going to be easy. My first thought is to check a digital departures board, which of course doesn’t exist in this time.
As I move through the station, I mentally run through my theory.
One snag I kept hitting with my theories was the way Nellie died. It matches Mary, and that cannot be a coincidence. Someone emulated the scenario, which means the most likely killer was someone who knew about Mary’s death—maybe Kate or MacNiven.
But then the real suspects all seemed to be from Nellie’s new life.
So how would they get her to that bog and know to copy Mary’s suicide, in hopes of making Nellie seem like a second tragedy?
They had to know about Mary, which made Freddie a viable suspect if he was her lover and she would have told him.
Only Nellie had never fit as Freddie’s lover. I can’t reconcile the practical Nellie everyone talked about falling for flighty Freddie. Nellie had so much more on her mind, and there’d been no sign of a beau.
Then, through Sully, I learned that Nellie had shared her secret investigation with one of her coworkers. Another maid.
Lily, right? After all, that’s what Sully said.
But Sully wasn’t sure, and even if she was, it doesn’t mean Nellie only told Lily.
The person who insisted Nellie had a beau was Rose. Mrs. Loomis thought Rose believed that because Rose was in love herself and therefore quick to imagine romance for all.
Rose was in love. She had a beau, someone who would whisk her away from her life of drudgery.
Rose, who was fascinated by spiritualism, who thought she had the gift herself.
Rose, who would be ripe for seduction by a young man of means, especially if he was the brother—and manager—of a known spiritualist.
As for Rose being attacked in the garden, that never happened.
Rose set it up. She was the one who heard whispers outside the window—which Polly thought was the wind.
Rose went out, being careful to stay where Polly couldn’t see her.
She faked the attack to remove herself from the suspect list. Surely she couldn’t have murdered poor Nellie if she’d been attacked and nearly kidnapped by the killer?
The target of that little performance had been Freddie Home. He must have been suspicious. He’d ended their romance. Rose would prove she didn’t kill Nellie, and maybe win him back at the same time.
So who rapped out the message for Stella that night? If Freddie normally did it but he didn’t that night, then he knew someone else must have. Someone in the household, someone with access to a room beside or above the séance parlor. Someone who knew the code … and apparently, knew Nellie was dead.
Why would Rose tell the Adlers that Nellie was dead and ask for Gray? That part I’m not sure about, but the rest works.
I’m moving through the station, scanning travelers, thinking of Rose while looking for Freddie, and when a face catches my eye, I almost ignore it because it’s not Freddie.
It’s a brown-haired young woman in a cloak, the hood pulled up, a quick flash of her profile reminding me of Rose. Because I’m thinking of Rose, right?
Nope. Because I actually just saw Rose.
My feet stutter to a stop.
Rose must have overheard Gray and me talking in the house, saying Freddie was on the move, in a hotel near the train station, that he hadn’t fled Edinburgh yet.
Did she only hear the words “train station”? That seems too big a leap, but whatever the explanation, she’s obviously here and I’m sure that’s no coincidence.
I inhale deeply and look back over my shoulder. I should go and get Gray. It was one thing to bring in a witness on my own. I really don’t like going after the actual killer without backup.
But I feel safe in this busy train station. While I might prefer Gray at my side, I can’t risk losing Rose, which I absolutely will do if I retreat.
She’s looking for Freddie. I just need one of us to find him and see where he’s going, what train he’s taking. Then I can grab Gray to help with Rose.
Tracking Parsons and Freddie had been easy. Neither looked over their shoulder. Rose is different. She’s obviously searching for Freddie, but she also knows that Gray and I are likely here, meaning she’s scanning constantly. I need to fall back, while wishing I could do a quick clothing change.
I’m in my workaday dress, which she’d seen, and it’d been too warm for a cloak.
Also my bonnet isn’t big enough to hide my hair.
I don’t think I ever fully appreciated the advantages of being a brunette.
I still don’t know whether blonds have more fun, but they definitely get more attention, especially in a time and place where dye isn’t a thing, making blond hair rare.
It’s like wearing a bright yellow bonnet when I really need to fade into the background.
Over to my left, two elderly women are talking on a bench. One has discarded a light cloak and it’s draped over the bench, her attention in the other direction.
Tempting. So damned tempting.
I even know how I’d nick it, having been getting some lessons from Alice in return for teaching her card tricks. I’d stride over, reach down and just tug it after me as I walk. If anyone noticed, it’d seem as if I’d accidentally gotten caught on it.
The question is whether I can bring myself to steal—even temporarily—from an old woman.
Damn it.
Maybe she’s a nasty witch who beats her maid and—
I catch another face in the crowd. Another familiar one.
Freddie Home, his jaw slack, wide eyes fixed with horror on a face he has spotted.
Rose.
I take one step toward him, but he’s already pushing aside a man in his path. And then he runs.
I hesitate one second too long, as every option flashes before me until I land on one. Stop Freddie. I can’t risk losing my witness.
I take off after him, but my brief pause means he has too much of a head start.
No, actually, that’s good. I don’t want to take him down in the station, in view of Rose. Let him run outside.
Better yet, try to let him see me in pursuit, so I can steer him toward Gray.
A fine plan, but there’s no way in hell he’s stopping long enough to notice me. He isn’t even looking behind him for Rose. He’s in a panic, pushing past people. Heading …
Around the back.
Which means there’s no chance of getting Gray. I look behind me, toward where I left him, only to bash into an older man, who snaps at me and shoves me into a woman who shrieks “Thief!”
Goddamn it! Freddie can barrel through, and people only grumble at an impetuous young man, running for a train. I get an old guy shoving me aside for daring to bump him and a woman who thinks she’s being robbed when she’s jostled.
I hold my hands up, showing I have nothing in them. “Begging your pardon, ma’am. That fellow gave me a shove.”
As I explain, I’m already moving away, only to have hands roughly grab me from behind. I whirl, shoving off the assault, and see what must be station security. The man holds me by both arms and leans in, his stinking breath making me cough.
“What’s this?” he says. “A bit of bump-and-snatch?”
“Someone pushed me, sir,” I say, fighting to keep my gaze deferentially down. “I jostled the woman and apologized for it.”
“Jostled?” He sneers. “Such pretty words. Come down a bit in the world, have you, miss?”
I really can’t win. If I’m articulate and polite, it’s a con job—or proof that I’m a fallen woman.
If I’m rude and coarse, I’m a sex worker hiding in decent clothing.
I can glide through under ordinary circumstances, just a pretty girl minding her own business.
But the moment trouble strikes, I’m a brazen little minx up to no good.
I resist the urge to look for Freddie. I know where he’s headed. I keep my gaze down as I turn to the woman who’d shrieked.
“Ma’am?” I say to her. “Please. I have a train to catch. Would you confirm that I took nothing from you? Please?”
“Ten pounds,” she says, chin rising. “I had a ten-pound note in my pocket, and it is gone.”
I stare at her. She’s middle-aged, in a dress that puts her one notch lower than me on the social scale, which means there is no way in hell she had a ten-pound note in her pocket. That’s the modern-day equivalent of walking around with a thousand-dollar bill.
“I had ten pounds,” she says. “For my sick mama, and now I have nothing.”
I bite back a sarcastic retort as I reach to empty my pockets and show that I have only a few coins. Then my fingers graze my derringer, and I pause. I really can’t let anyone see that.
I pull out the other pocket, with the coins, and show them on my palm.
“This is all I have, sir,” I say. “Please. I really need—”
“What’s all this?” a voice says behind me. “Why are you manhandling my assistant? She has a train to catch.”
I exhale in relief as Gray strides over.
I manage a quick curtsy. “My apologies, sir. I was pushed into this poor woman, who believes I lifted a ten-pound note from her pocket.”
“A—” Gray makes a show of choking. “A ten-pound note? In your pocket? Dear Lord, I cannot remember the last time I carried so much at once, and I would hardly shove it into my pocket.”
“I—” the woman begins.
Gray turns on the security guard. “Obviously she is lying in hopes that someone will give her ten pounds. Which only proves she is very poor at this sort of imposture.” He leans toward the woman, mock conspiratorially.
“A crown. That is what you ought to have said. Some passerby is sure to take a look at this pretty young woman and decide to earn her gratitude by paying you off.”
“I—”
“Now, please unhand my assistant, good sir, and let us discuss whether or not this woman has committed a crime. I believe she has and…” His gaze goes to my arms. “Did I not say to unhand my assistant?”
The guard slowly releases me, looking confused, and Gray barrels on. “As I was saying, I believe this other woman has committed a crime, and I would suggest—no, demand—that the police be summoned…”
As he talks, I edge away. Both the guard and the woman have their full attention on Gray, trying to follow the rat-a-tat of words, all spoken in that imperious tone he learned from Annis.
Around them, others watch the drama, and a well-dressed young woman sees me easing away. I tense for her to warn the guard, but she only passes me a secret smile and mouths “Godspeed,” and then clears her throat.
“I saw it all,” she says. “The girl stole nothing. She will need to check her own pockets after that brute shoved her, but she is innocent. This other woman, though, accusing a poor working girl of stealing enough to have her thrown in prison?”
Everyone is watching her now. When Gray glances my way, I mouth “Freddie” and motion to the back exit where he entered. He mouths “Be careful” and lifts two fingers, as if to say he’ll follow in two minutes.
I turn and take off.