Chapter Twenty-Two. Jonathan Treadway, the Younger #2
“I did. You do not know what you are getting yourself involved in. Not all is as it seems. This glittering world”—he gestured out the door—“this bastion of learning. It is a mirage, Miss Vaughn. There are things at play that you do not understand, and I fear they are a danger to you most of all.”
I furrowed my brow, catching the peculiar scent of stale tobacco smoke and petrol on the air.
“Me?” My mind tripped through the years back to the war.
I grabbed onto the desk for a half second, regaining my bearings.
You’re not in France, Ruby. You’re not in France.
My hand began to tremble upon the desk. Why should my mind go there of all places? And now?
“If you think I will abandon Leona because you are frightened, then you have clearly not read enough about me in your papers,” I snapped before turning on my heels and storming out the door and out of the museum.
Ruan stood at the foot of the steps waiting for me, rubbing his hands together in the snowy night.
His expression mirrored that of Jonathan Treadway’s, tight and pinched.
His cap was under his arm as snowflakes swirled around him, catching in his dark curls.
The silver strands that laced through the black were all the more evident in the moonlight.
What’s wrong?
“Everything.”
I hadn’t realized I’d asked the question at all, but Ruan wasn’t looking at me. Instead, he remained fixated on the museum doors. “What did Treadway have to say?”
“How did you know? Never mind … of course you know. It is both terribly annoying and incredibly convenient how you do that.”
That earned me a wry quirk of his lips.
Groaning, I ran my hands over my face as my teeth began to chatter from the cold. “You know this Treadway fellow too, don’t you? From your time here.… I should have guessed.”
“I did once.” Ruan reached out, readjusting my fine cashmere scarf and tucking it into my woolen coat. “He doesn’t like me. Or at least didn’t. I haven’t spoken to him in years to see if he’s changed his mind on the matter.”
“He doesn’t like me either if it’s any consolation. Shall we start home?”
Ruan hesitated, as if there were more to this distrust of the young anthropologist.
I caught a bit of movement from the street behind us out of the corner of my eye and tucked my arm into his, quickening our pace. “Was he a student when you were here?”
Ruan’s head was dipped, eyes downcast as we made our way down the street.
If he sensed my unease, he did not mention it.
“He’s a bit older than he appears. Back then, Treadway was lecturing in Professor Laurent’s department.
They would occasionally butt heads over Treadway’s methods.
Nothing unusual. Academic jealousy, or that is what Ernst told me.
Treadway believed himself destined for greatness like his father before him and always let everyone know it.
Some of the lads would call him Treadway the Younger. ”
I glanced over my shoulder, but the street remained empty. It had only been my imagination. A trick of the wind. I nestled in closer to Ruan, using his size as a buffer against the cold. “Do you think he’s a bad man?”
“I don’t know,” Ruan said softly. “But we’ll find out soon enough, won’t we?
Yes. Yes we would.
We continued on as the snow began to blanket everything around, the slate rooftops dusted with the white powder, giving them a hazy, almost dreamlike appearance.
Oxford was the most beautiful town I’d ever seen, almost as if it had been cut directly from a children’s fairy-story book—and yet there was a dark undercurrent flowing alongside us.
Something evil that had come to town and that pulsed with every step as I grew closer to Julius Harker’s killer.
Neither Ruan nor I spoke for most of the way home.
Every few minutes, I’d cast a surreptitious glance over my shoulder to reassure myself that no one was following and would be rewarded by a cat, or a workman headed home.
No peculiar dogs. No more mysterious shadows.
It was four days before Christmas and the city had grown quiet.
Back home, Exeter was always brimming with life in the days leading up to the holiday, but Oxford was another creature altogether.
“When were you going to tell me about the Radix Maleficarum?” Ruan asked softly, breaking the comfortable silence that had stretched out between us.
My gaze shot to his. “How did you know about that?”
“Owen told me earlier.”
Of course he did. I pinched the bridge of my nose and gave my head a shake. “I’m not sure what to make of the book. I don’t see how it fits in with the rest of the clues.”
“Is that not why you went to see Treadway in the first place?” Ruan paused, turning to me with raised brows.
“I don’t know, Leona had me take a note. She’d been behaving peculiarly after the book was mentioned, but the note was about something that’s happened.”
Ruan stared at me, his jaw open. “Ruby … there’s something you should know.… Jonathan Treadway is the one who stole the book in the first place.”
“He what?”
“It happened when I was a student here. Laurent was incandescent when he learned of it, threatened to turn Treadway in himself if he didn’t return the book to the Bodleian at once.”
“Impossible. I saw the police report. There’s no mention of Jonathan Treadway there. None at all. And if he had stolen it, then why did Julius Harker end up taking the blame?”
Ruan caught his lower lip in his teeth. “I don’t know.
It was handled very delicately. Hardly anyone knew of the book—I only did because of the time I spent with Ernst. But Julius Harker and Jonathan Treadway were close when I was in school here—very close.
Always having lunch together on the green.
Perhaps they were friends, perhaps more.
I do not know. What I do know is that I was at the house with Ernst when Professor Laurent confronted Treadway about the Radix Maleficarum.
I couldn’t hear all of it, but I came to understand that Treadway denied any involvement.
Whatever he told the Professor must have placated him, for he let the matter die as soon as Harker confessed.
Supposedly Treadway was not to teach again, and that’s why he’s over at the museum. ”
“That is curious. Julius Harker was thrown out on his ear and yet Jonathan Treadway has a prime position. Do you suppose Harker actually did steal the book and hid it amongst Treadway’s things?”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps they were in it together and Harker took the blame as he had less to lose. If there was evidence implicating Jonathan Treadway, I doubt he’d be allowed to carry on in Oxford unscathed no matter who his father is.” Ruan hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his trousers.
“Who is his father?”
Ruan lifted a shoulder. “Only one of the most preeminent anthropologists in all of Britain.”
I groaned. Fabulous. I was enmired in a marsh of academics and murder.
Ruan let out a low laugh. “And cocaine. Don’t forget that.”
“How could I ever forget that?”
Ruan chuckled. “It sounds to me that the book must have something to do with this.”
“Or if not the book, then perhaps…” Treadway. And if that was the case, it led directly back to Leona. I was going to be sick. “I need to get my hands on that book.”
The knot had begun to tighten. Leona, Harker, and Treadway were all connected.
And now with Harker and Mueller dead, Leona and Treadway were left alone.
And afraid. Something had happened, she said.
Something more than simply murder, and it had to do with the book.
Had Leona surmised the danger that she was in, or the danger that she’d be putting me in by enlisting me in this quest?
I squeezed my eyes shut, unable—unwilling—to answer that question.
Ruan wet his lips. “How well do you know Leona?”
As well as I knew myself, I’d once believed.
But I now questioned that too. I shook my head.
“Of the two of us, she is the least likely to be entangled with criminals. But Treadway said something strange earlier.… He said he’d thought at first that Harker’s death was isolated.
Do you suppose that means that the killer is not who they first imagined? ”
Ruan made a low sound in his chest. “I think your friend is in deeper trouble than she bargained for.”
I do too. I laid my cheek against Ruan’s warm coat, grateful for his company. For his easy friendship, despite the fact I did not deserve it. “Thank you…”
“For what?” Ruan wrapped his arm around my shoulders, not slowing his pace, nor even looking at me.
“For being here in Oxford. I don’t know what I would do had you not answered my abysmal letter.”
“It truly was a terrible letter, but I believe in you. I have every faith you’d have managed to crack this case one way or the other,” he agreed with a laugh as we continued wordlessly into the night.