Chapter Seventeen. A Great Aching Head
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
A Great Aching Head
A cold droplet of dew fell from the eaves of the Artemis Club, hit the exposed portion of my neck, and slithered down the back of my blouse. Lovely. Just lovely.
I chose a different path home than normal, a twisting and scenic route, to clear my head and order my thoughts.
Periodically, I’d pause to regain my bearings and be certain I hadn’t gotten lost. I was perhaps halfway back when I stopped outside a cobbler’s shop to adjust my own shoe, which had come unlaced.
I’d not even thought consciously of where I was, but as I looked across the street, the realization sank in.
For there, lying sleepily before me, was Julius Harker’s Curiosity Museum.
Windows darkened. Waiting in the early morning light for someone to stop by.
Hadn’t I already learned my lesson?
The iron gate to the alley beside the building gaped open.
I must have forgotten to shut it. Surely no harm would come from me checking to see if the back door was locked.
And if it wasn’t … then I could simply slip back down to the basement and continue examining the canopic jars.
If Leona believed that Julius had been trying to intercept a shipment of drugs, could he have hidden it amongst natron in his very own museum?
After all, an Egyptologist could plausibly have natron with no one batting an eye, and to the naked eye the two substances resembled one another well enough.
I, for one, had certainly confused the two last night.
Ruby Vaughn, you reckless creature.
Ignoring the warning voice in my head, I darted across the street as the rain began to fall and disappeared into the space between the two buildings.
The door was open.
Open?
My heart thundered in my chest. Surely not. We’d closed it last night—of that, I was certain. But before my mind could catch up with what my eyes beheld, something hard came across my throat and I tumbled backward.
The scent of liquor and stale sweat flooded my senses. A broad-chested man hauled me against his body, burly forearm cutting off my air. He wore a balaclava covering his nose and face and I could not make him out. He was of a height with me and a great deal wider.
I clawed at the fabric of his nondescript brown jacket, the sleeve abrading the delicate skin of my throat. I slipped on the wet stones, thrashing my hip toward him, reaching for something vulnerable. An eye. A nose. An ear. Anything at all. My eyes watered from lack of air.
“You need to stop putting your nose where it doesn’t belong, you little bitch.
” His spittle hit the side of my face. His voice was familiar, and yet in my panic I could not place it.
At long last my elbow caught his rib cage, jabbing hard.
He let out a pained grunt as my hip made contact with his male bits.
He stumbled backward a few steps, slackening his grip on me.
I started to run, but he caught me by my rain-damped skirt, ripping the fabric and pulling me toward him.
He threw his arm back around my throat, squeezing tight.
Dark spots appeared before my eyes like unholy stars.
This was bad.
Very bad.
“Fucking bitch,” he gritted out in my ear, before slamming my head against the wall—the sound of bone on stone echoing in my ears. A splitting pain erupted at my temple and the world around me fell to black.
A SEARING ACHE shot through my temple as I opened my eyes, staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling. I turned my head, shifting on the hard wooden bench where I’d been tenderly laid out. I wasn’t dead.
That was good, I supposed.
I reached up, hand latching onto a rolled-up woolen uniform coat smelling of salt and tobacco. It had been wedged beneath my neck as a makeshift pillow. An itchy woolen blanket had been laid over the top of me.
The police station.
Of course!
But how the devil did I get here? Shivering, I sat up, rubbing my arms over my still-wet shirtsleeves. I spied my jacket lying over a radiator to dry, with my soiled shoes sitting beside it.
I lifted my hand to the searing spot on my temple and drew my fingers away, sticky with dark, clotting blood.
“Morning, Miss Vaughn,” Jack, the young constable, said.
His expression sunny and bright as he came around the hinged counter toward me.
There was a catlike air to him, graceful and quick, and I found myself liking him a great deal—especially as he’d risked his own neck allowing me to speak with Mr. Mueller earlier this week.
I blinked. “You know my name?”
He grinned, tapping the folded newspaper on the desk. “I can read.”
Heat flushed to my cheeks. Of course he did.
If he was aggrieved by my lies, he did not let on.
“Inspector Beecham found you, called to have you brought here. Said a shopkeeper phoned in with reports of a woman who’d been murdered and left outside Harker’s Curiosity Museum.
” His gaze drifted down to my ripped skirt.
“It was a lucky stroke I had phoned for a physician a few moments before you arrived. He should be here and can make certain you’re all right.
I hope it’s not too uncomfortable on the bench, it was better than the cells at any rate.
” A dark flicker of worry ran across his expression as he looked at my soiled clothes.
I winced, shaking my head. “No. I’m fine. Just a little banged up is all. I hope you didn’t get into too much trouble with the inspector after allowing me down to the cells. I … I am sorry I lied to you.”
He gave me a lopsided smile. “Ah, I’ve had worse.
Besides I’m sure Old Mueller needed some company.
It gets lonely down there and he was always a nice old man.
” A strange expression crossed his face at mention of Mr. Mueller but he gave his head a slight shake.
“I’m glad you’re not too badly hurt. I was worried when you wouldn’t wake. ”
“How long have I … ah … been here?”
He rubbed his jaw. “Not long. A half hour at most. You do know you talk in your sleep?”
I blinked at him. “I hope I didn’t say anything too embarrassing.” Or incriminating, as I’d broken any number of laws lately.
He let out a laugh. “Nah. You kept saying how sorry you were. But when you stopped—”
There were voices from behind the closed door leading to the cells. Shouting and quite the commotion. “What’s that about?” I tilted my head toward the door, changing the subject from my peculiar sleeping habits and whatever it was I might have been apologizing for in my dreams.
“There was a bit of trouble last night at the University. We’re about full to bursting, miss.
Veterans, most of them. A few laborers. There’s been unrest all over the country in the last few years.
It was only a matter of time before it finally boiled over here in town.
” I noticed a faint purple blush of a bruise raising on his cheekbone.
“Inspector Beecham keeps saying it wasn’t a riot, but it’s the closest I’ve ever seen to one. ”
Ruan had downplayed what occurred, but it must have been truly terrifying. I shifted on the bench, wrapping the blanket more tightly around me as the old radiator popped and hissed. “You said the inspector found me by the museum?”
Faint lines appeared at the edges of his mouth. “He did. He telephoned from the cobbler’s shop to have you brought here and be sure you were well enough, so I did.”
“Thank you, Jack.”
He gave me a half-hearted smile. “It’s the least I could do. I tried to clean your—” He gestured with two fingers to his temple. “I also took the liberty to be sure you weren’t bleeding anywhere else. I’m sorry, miss. I’d have asked your permission if you were awake.”
I smiled at him—it was difficult to be angry at such a sweet boy. “I appreciate it. Truly I do. Is Inspector Beecham still here?”
Jack cleared his throat. “Ah. No, miss. Well, he is, but he’s been in the cells since he returned. As you can hear, there’s been a bit of trouble with a couple of the rioters.”
The commotion from behind the door grew louder. I raised a brow, wincing at the pull in the muscle on my temple. “Is everything all right down there?”
Jack weighed his words and opened his mouth to answer when the front door swung open and Ruan stormed into the station. As soon as he spotted me, his expression softened. Relief surged through his body as he took me in, from my bloody brow to my torn skirt.
I raised my fingers to the wound self-consciously and swallowed hard. I’d forgotten how intense it was to be the focus of his full attention.
“I’ll see to it,” he murmured, coming to my side and brushing my hand away with his own before tilting my head to get a better look.
“I’m fine. Perfectly fine.”
“I am the judge of that.” An irritated muscle jumped in his jaw as he continued to probe with his rough fingers.
I’m all right. But we should talk.
He gave me a curt nod, barely perceptible to anyone but me. He’d heard me. Good. I needed him to. What use was this peculiar ability if we couldn’t take advantage of it at times like this?
“You must be the physician the clinic was sending over,” Jack said, looking between the two of us. A sudden dawning of recognition then flashed in his eyes. “Wait, aren’t you the fellow I saw at the University last night?”
Ruan stilled, his fingers gently resting beneath my chin.
The young man examined Ruan with peculiar intensity as raw panic took hold.
He recognized Ruan.… What exactly had happened last night?
“You are,” Jack continued, sounding far more sure than before.
“You’re the one who helped Professor Laurent leave before you came back to tend to the wounded.
I wondered why anyone in their right mind would come back into the fray … but it certainly makes more sense now.”
Ruan exhaled softly, as anxious about the young constable’s recollections as I.