Chapter Seven. An Unearned Trust #2
He inclined his head in acknowledgment, frowning at the rainy street beyond. “Indeed, I can. I only marvel they haven’t come up with more absurdities. Can I walk you wherever it is you’re headed? You appear to be in need of shelter.”
I snorted back a laugh, discomfited by the paper.
“I am, aren’t I? I was debating whether to wait out the shower or give in and just get wet.
” As if on cue, the mocking rain fell harder, splattering off the stone steps onto the hem of my skirt.
“I was going to Blue Boar Street, though I think I may wait it out. Surely it won’t rain forever. ”
The lines on his face furrowed for a half second. “That’s not far at all. Only a few minutes’ walk. I am headed to meet a colleague over at Brasenose College. It’s not terribly out of the way. Please let me see you where you’re going. I insist.”
Another bone-rattling gust of wind swept through the portico, plastering my skirt to my legs and dousing my stockings with icy rainwater.
While I wasn’t sure what to make of Frederick Reaver, I could see no harm in availing myself of his umbrella for the length of time it took to get to the police station. “That would be lovely. Thank you.”
He gave me a rakish smile, revealing that solitary dimple again.
I ducked under the shelter of his large umbrella and we started down the steps.
Frederick Reaver was an irritatingly attractive man and his physicality only accentuated his enigmatic presence.
One couldn’t be around him for more than a few moments without feeling the draw.
Perhaps that’s why I mistrusted him so. I never did care much for beautiful men after having fallen under the spell of one at sixteen years of age, and we saw where that got me—utterly ruined and shipped to another continent for my own safety.
A damp lock of sandy hair curled across Reaver’s brow as he lowered his head to speak with me, but the way his eyes glinted in the midmorning light gave me pause.
There was an intensity there that took my breath away.
Frederick Reaver had the eyes of an eighteenth-century missionary, burning with some unholy fire.
This was a man driven by his passion and the sheer conviction of his rightness.
Unaware of my discomfort, Reaver pulled his hideous hat farther down. “Leona tells me you were an ambulance driver during the war and that is how the pair of you met.”
I tucked my gloved hands deeper into the pockets of my woolen overcoat as we crossed the busy street.
“It was a long time ago. But yes. I was. Leona was the librarian at the hospital. The first time I met her, she was leading a reading circle with the soldiers there. It was quite entertaining to listen to the intense debates amongst the men over whether Austen or Bronte created a more compelling world.”
He let out a low chuckle, his stern expression softening at the mere mention of her. “I assume you both had opinions on the matter?”
“I am afraid when forced to choose, I found myself preferring Bronte every time, much to Leona’s deep consternation.
It felt far more real to me than Austen ever did.
There is a darkness in human nature that cannot be forgotten, even in fiction.
Leona thought it a dreadfully depressing way to approach literature, but I’ve never been afraid of the dark. For at least there is honesty in it.”
He chuckled fondly. “That sounds like her. It is our good fortune to have her at the museum. Leona is a singularly gifted young woman who never fails to see the good in even the bleakest of souls. I truly do not know what I would do without her.”
“Were you also in the war?” I asked, knowing good and well that he had been. I glanced over at him in time to catch a flicker of something in his expression.
“Here and there, but I was grateful to return home after it was done. After several years traveling the world, I found that I’d missed the comforts of Oxford.”
We continued, passing by shop windows decorated for Christmas, laden with bright colors and saccharine scenes. “How long have you and Leona worked together?”
He shifted the umbrella, brushing against my arm.
“I returned to Oxford two years ago, and that’s when I first met Miss Abernathy.
She’d been doing translations alongside Mary, down in the archives.
But when I was brought on as Keeper of the Egyptology collection, I employed her as my aide.
We’ve been sorting through the old collection for much of the last year.
There’s been an influx of items coming in since the war and even more in the month since Howard Carter’s discovery.
I’ve been tasked with ascertaining the provenance of some of the older pieces as well as sorting out which are authentic, and which are clever forgeries. ”
“I didn’t realize she had such an interest in antiquities.”
Reaver laughed, his expression softening. “She is a constant surprise to me as well, but her childhood in Egypt and her skill with language has made her invaluable in this task. She tells me you are also a polyglot.” He cast me an assessing glance as we continued along.
My skin pricked. How much had Leona told him of me? I tugged my coat tighter as we passed by a cheerful bakery. The door opened, filling the street with the scent of bread. “You know an awful lot about me.”
“It’s my business to know a lot about people.”
I stiffened, pausing on the sidewalk.
“Does it bother you that I know these things? I told you yesterday, I am a blunt man. I do not have time for pleasantries. Some don’t appreciate my manners, but others … others grow accustomed to me.”
Others, like Leona? I brushed the thought away, taking hold of the conversation yet again. “What took you from the museum the night of Harker’s death? I don’t believe either of you returned…”
It was his turn to be discomfited. He sniffed, looking down at me. “I see I’m not the only one to pay attention to details.”
“It’s only fair.”
His cold blue gaze held mine for several seconds. “I needed her assistance in translating something.”
“At nine o’clock at night?” I raised a brow.
“She is very useful.”
The urge to look away was strong, but I could not. Could not even blink, lest he win whatever battle of wills we were fighting. “Is that all she is to you … useful?”
He sniffed and turned away, giving me the strangest sense that neither of us was the victor in this first skirmish. He took off, heading down the sidewalk. “My meeting is soon, we should keep going.”
A shiny new automobile passed along the street, splashing water onto the sidewalk as a paperboy shouted out the news of Harker’s death and Mueller’s arrest.
“A tragedy,” Reaver said with a shake of his head as we passed by. “An utter tragedy.”
“Harker’s death?”
“No.” Reaver glanced at traffic before gesturing for me to cross the street alongside him.
“It’s a tragedy that the police think that Mueller did it.
Mueller, who may be the only person in this town who still gave two damns about Julius.
I cannot understand why they would focus upon him when there are any number of likely culprits out there. ”
“Leona said the same.” A sharp cold gust of wind pricked my lungs as I hurried along after him. “Harker had enemies, then? I heard that he was kicked out of the University, but no one knows what exactly he did.”
“You are a curious cat, aren’t you?” He hesitated, rubbing at his jaw with the back of his oxblood glove. “Julius always had a keen eye for antiquities and an uncanny knack for spotting a fake from a mile away.”
“Wouldn’t that be an asset at the museum? Particularly with this project you and Leona have been working on?”
Reaver’s mouth curved up into a dry smile as he saw the ornate Town Hall in the distance.
“Julius and I did not see eye to eye on many things. He had also made some powerful enemies over the years who never would have allowed him to return to academia without a fight. Certainly not after what he did.”
Tugging my jacket closer around me, I brushed a dark curl back from my face. “Leona said there were rumors he’d dabbled in the occult.”
Professor Reaver let out a cynical sound.
“Utter nonsense. Julius landed in a spot of trouble a dozen years ago that got him kicked out of Oxford. He’s lucky it didn’t land him in prison.
I cannot imagine what he was thinking.” Reaver hesitated, weighing his words as a pall came over him.
“But I suppose he was not lucky in the end.”
“What … what did he do?”
Reaver readjusted his scarf, tucking it deeper into his jacket for warmth. “He took something that was not his to take and paid the price for it.”
“Do you suppose that what happened then had anything to do with his murder?”
He shook his head, gesturing for us to continue down Cornmarket Street.
“No, I suspect it’s his recent dealings that caused his demise.
Julius had a nasty habit of rubbing people’s noses in the fact he was cleverer than they.
It was obnoxious at the University, worse yet when he no longer had his position to protect him.
Then after what happened three years ago… ”
I leaned closer. “Three years ago?”
“It had to do with your friend Lord Amberley.”
“Amberley? The jolly old antiquarian?” I let out a startled laugh. I could not fathom what Julius Harker could have done to cross swords with the kindly old man.