Chapter Four. Harker’s Final Show
CHAPTER FOUR
Harker’s Final Show
IN the handful of minutes I’d been outside the museum with Frederick Reaver, dozens more people had joined the throng of onlookers, making it difficult to navigate between the bodies.
All the discordant sounds from their hundreds of conversations made my pulse thunder in my veins.
Raw, unbridled panic began to surge through me.
I hated crowds.
Had loathed them ever since my misadventures in Lothlel Green this past summer.
I could scarcely be in a room with twenty people or more without becoming rabbity, but this—this new sensation was nigh on unbearable.
My head began to ache as I thought of my days in that godforsaken hamlet.
Was this what Ruan had meant when he’d refer to his uncomfortable ability to hear people’s thoughts?
He’d told me once that it was akin to a train station …
a sense of something coming. If so, it was no wonder the man remained in his remote Cornish village most of the time.
I’d shun society as well if I could hear their every waking thought.
Good God, why could I not get him out of my head?
He was a plague and a pestilence. If only I could forget what had come between us.
What had almost happened. Of course, my attempts to forget were stymied by the fact I’d invited him to join us in Oxford in a gin-fueled missive, apologizing for the way I’d left things.
But he’d not deigned to come, instead he’d sent a response that was all of two words.
I SEE. R
Five damnable letters. One period and no indication whether he forgave me or not.
That was my answer, I supposed. Our would-be romance was over before it had even begun.
My fingers itched for the flask that was once my dearest companion, but I’d left it at home.
Hiding in the bottom of a bottle of gin was yet another habit I needed to break—regardless of the status of my wounded heart.
Across the room by the shrouded dais, Lord Amberley—whom I’d seen earlier today—was speaking with his son, gesturing at the flaming torches by the curtains.
At least I presumed the fellow with him was his son, as the two might have been twins, albeit ones separated by a good forty years.
Amberley waved me over with a broad smile.
He was a man of about Mr. Owen’s years, with a balding pate and a gentle face.
“I’d been waiting for you, dear girl. Owen was here a moment ago asking for you.” Amberley strained, craning his neck looking around for Mr. Owen before giving up with an affectionate sigh. “I must confess I do not even know why I’ve come tonight. I’ve always found this sort of display vulgar.”
Amberley’s son was tense, glancing around the room. A faint sheen of perspiration glistened on his brow. I couldn’t fault him for his discomfort, the crowd was unbearable. He blotted at his brow with a handkerchief.
“As do I.” I laughed, struggling to focus on Amberley’s face amidst the irrational unease that grew in my chest from the closing-in crowd. “It must be our mutual affection for Mr. Owen that makes us do these things. They do so bring him joy.”
“That and a dash of morbid curiosity—most certainly.” Amberley’s rheumy eyes sparkled.
“Don’t let anyone persuade you otherwise.
Half of Oxford has been wagering whether that cur Harker will even bother to appear tonight after shunning the Ashmolean as he did …
Did you know he’s not been seen in days?
It’s a bit of a surprise as much as the man adores being the center of attention.
” A trace of acidity laced his tone as he spotted the distinctive figure of Professor Reaver on the far side of the room surrounded by a half dozen young bucks vying for his ear.
“Dear me, even Reaver is here with his army of acolytes. The business with Harker at the Ashmolean must have truly set him off.” He clapped his hands in delight.
“This will be a show. Reaver’s a cold one, more likely to ice a fellow out than to show up and challenge him directly. ”
Reaver’s fair head was bowed as he listened to one of them. There were five of them surrounding him, each of the young men even wearing their hair in the same style as Reaver’s, having modeled themselves upon the fellow down to his sartorial choices.
Amberley leaned closer. “He is constantly trailed by that passel of pups from the University. All of them jockeying to claim the title of his prized pupil. Every year since he returned from the war, he selects one lad to be his pet for the year. It’s all nonsense if you ask me, but what fellow of that age has any sense? ”
“Was he teaching here before the war?”
“For a time, but he’d been away from the University for several years before the Germans marched on Belgium.
By that time, he was already in Egypt, making a name for himself in the field.
Then the war came, of course. Terrible business, that.
” Amberley gestured to the shrouded dais before us.
“If Harker had an ounce of good sense, he’d have accepted Reaver’s offer to speak at the museum the other night, played by the rules, and smoothed over the scandal once and for all.
But oh no, far be it from Julius Harker to choose the safe course and mend fences. ”
I started to ask him about the scandal at the University, as no one else had been able to tell me why Harker had been abruptly cast out, but any concern I had for Julius Harker disappeared when I spotted Leona—not ten feet away from Professor Reaver.
Her long dark hair was braided much as it had been the previous afternoon and hung loose over her shoulder.
Her expression drawn with panic as she scoured the faces of the room.
She was searching for someone. A frisson of worry climbed up my spine.
She wore a crisp white blouse, and a half-unbuttoned waistcoat.
Her shirtsleeves were rolled up and even from this distance I could see the careless stains of ink upon her forearms. A few tendrils of hair had come loose from her braid, giving the impression she’d run the quarter mile here.
Reaver said he’d left her at the museum—doubted she would come, and yet here she was.
Leona’s disarray stood out in stark contrast to the other attendees who were dressed for an evening out on the town.
“If you’d excuse me…” I murmured to Lord Amberley, slipping away from the fellow.
There would be time enough to puzzle out what he knew of Julius Harker’s scandal later.
Something was terribly wrong if Leona was here.
She detested these sorts of affairs. I squeezed between bodies, murmuring out apologies as I headed in her direction. My own fears warring with logic.
This was an exhibition in her field of study, after all.
And she was Egyptian, having been raised in Cairo by her grandfather and aunt after her mother died.
Her father had been a British officer, if I recalled correctly, but Leona seldom spoke of him.
I wondered, sometimes, why she settled this far from her family, but never asked.
It wasn’t my business, and she scarcely spoke of the why.
It shouldn’t have been unusual for Leona to be here at Harker’s exhibition—and yet I knew it was.
It was in her dress. The look on her face.
Leona was always so meticulous about her own appearance and how she was perceived by others.
She knew, unjust as it was, that to be taken seriously in a man’s world she had to be twice as clever.
Twice as perfect. Utterly flawless. And it was that small detail that had every warning bell in my body ringing.
If Leona had come here out of scholarly interest, she would be dressed like the rest of the audience who had paid good money to attend.
Whatever brought her here was more important to her than her scholarly reputation—and that concerned me a great deal.
I lost sight of her for a moment, before spotting her again, this time on the far side of the dais. Within seconds I was at her side and touched her elbow. “Darling, are you all right?”
She jumped at the contact. Confusion and fear flickered across her face. “R-Ruby, what are you doing here?”
I cocked my head to the side. “I presume what the better half of Oxford is doing: waiting for the exhibition. I didn’t know you were coming tonight, or I’d have come with you. I scarcely know a soul here.”
“I didn’t … I mean I wasn’t … I came to find someone … it’s important. I need to—” Leona’s expression grew stricken as she strained up on the tips of her toes. She was a good three inches shorter than me, making it difficult for her to see over the tops of the heads of others.
“Are you looking for Professor Reaver? I ran into him earlier. I can show you—”
Her eyes widened and she swore. “He’s here? Where? He cannot see me here … He cannot know I’ve come.”
I leaned closer, taking her by the hand. “What has he done, Leona?”
She squeezed my fingers, leading me deeper into the crowd. “It’s not that … He would be cross. I promised him that I wouldn’t set foot in this building today. I’m fine. I promise you.”
“You are not fine, you look as if you’re running from a ghost.” And I should know, considering my previous forays into the occult.
She struggled to school her face. “I’m fine, Ruby. It’s only that I need to find someone. You startled me when you came upon me like you did.” She laid a hand on my forearm. “All is well.”
Liar. I squeezed her hand, and rather than pull away, she wrapped her fingers tighter around my own.
“Who are you looking for? I can help you without drawing attention,” I insisted, as a man smelling of whisky and cigars bumped into me, pushing me against her.