Chapter Thirty-Four

Yep, I'm a big ol' coward. I throw Gray to the wolves and hide in the office until the low murmur of voices ends with Isla saying, "May I see her?"

"Of course. She wants to see you. I only ask that…" His voice lowers, and I don't hear the rest.

"I will."

They knock on the office door, and I call them in as I stand. Seeing me, Isla hesitates, her expression schooled to a pleasant but cautious smile, as if she's walking into the hospital room of a fragile patient. Which, let's be honest, I guess I am.

"Hey," I say. "I'm back."

She strides over and embraces me, whispering, "I am sorry for what you went through, but I am very glad to see you."

"I'm glad to see you, too." I hug her tight and then back up. "So…"

"Mallory would like to discuss the case," Gray says.

Isla turns a questioning look on me. "If that is what you want."

"It is. Please. The rest can wait. Apparently, I'm not going anywhere. We can figure all that out later. For now, we need to worry about Selim Awad."

Isla stiffens. "We will not let him get near you again."

"That's not it. He wasn't the one who attacked me," I say, and we catch her up on the story.

Halfway through my explanation, McCreadie shows up, which means starting over, both with the quick "how Mallory came back" story and then "how Mallory saw her attacker, who was not Selim Awad."

"I am relieved to hear it," he says. "Not as relieved as I am to have you back, of course. I was quite beside myself, worrying I had lost my detective-from-the-future advantage."

"That's what I was thinking too. The whole time I was gone. Oh my God, I need to get back so I can help Detective McCreadie or he'll never solve a case again."

We share a smile at that.

"It is good to have you back, Mallory," he says. "Also good to hear that it wasn't Selim Awad who attacked you. I rather liked Selim. Lord Muir, less so. It is always more satisfying that way."

"Well, we can't write off Selim just yet," I say. "Or pin Sir Alastair's murder on Lord Muir. My attempted murder, though? Definitely Muir. The problem is that if you arrest him, and it turns out he's holding Selim captive…?"

"We might endanger one by arresting the other. However, if we wait before arresting Lord Muir, it weakens our case."

"Because my statement has more weight if I make it immediately upon waking. Can we get another detective in to witness my statement without moving against Muir?"

"I would rather not ask another officer to participate in any delay against Muir. However, you could give your statement to a solicitor, who can date and witness it."

"Perfect." I lift my hand to check my watch and curse. Yep, I'll be doing that for a while. "It's probably too late to get out and investigate tonight, isn't it?"

"Too late for you," Gray says. "There is nothing that cannot wait until morning, and it is already dinner hour. If you can stomach more food, you should do that, and then I'll have my solicitor come to take your statement before the delay seems suspicious."

When it's time to serve dinner, I decide I need to face the staff. It's too awkward to have Alice and Lorna serving the meal when I haven't even said hello yet.

I start easy, with Simon. He doesn't know my real story, so it's simply a matter of popping out to the stable and saying hello. He's glad to see me and doesn't seem disappointed that my latest injury didn't somehow return Catriona to him. Back in the house, I nearly crash into Lorna. That makes for an even simpler—if more awkward—reunion, as she feels obligated to express her delight at the return of someone she barely knows.

Now comes Mrs. Wallace. I'd rather speak to Alice first. Like Simon, she doesn't know my secret identity. Unlike Simon, though, she does have reason to fear the return of Catriona. Still, that will be easier than speaking to Mrs. Wallace. Yet I don't know where Alice is, and I do know where Mrs. Wallace is, so I can't postpone this conversation any longer.

I steel myself as I open the door to head into the basement. When I catch voices, I pause. Seems I've found Alice. She's talking to Mrs. Wallace, and she's upset about something.

About my return? Shit. I probably should have reassured Alice sooner.

"I want her gone," Alice says.

Something inside me tightens. I know Gray reassured them it was me. Maybe that doesn't matter—Alice has realized she doesn't want to take the chance of Catriona returning.

"And how do you think we'll manage that, lass?" Mrs. Wallace replies. "Mrs. Ballantyne would never let her go without good reason. Do you have a good reason?"

"I don't like her."

That knot tightens more. Alice and I have grown closer in the last few months, and I really thought she'd come to see me as a true "sister in service," part older friend and part big sister. Has she been tolerating me all these months, pretending to be friendly to keep a peaceful household?

"That's not a reason for letting her go, lass," Mrs. Wallace says gently. "I understand it feels as if it should be. You have been here longer, and if you do not like her, then you should not need to work with her. But it's not enough."

"She's nosy."

Nosy? Okay, yes, I am overly curious. Occupational hazard. Also, when I work with someone, I like to get to know them, and I'd struggled not to push that with Alice. Still, I did invade her privacy once. Kind of.

I followed her when I was concerned over a letter she received, and I ended up getting her backstory, which she may resent.

Is she nursing a grudge over that? I certainly didn't think so. Instead, it'd been the turning point for her to start trusting that I wasn't Catriona.

"Curiosity isn't a crime, Alice," Mrs. Wallace says.

"Dr. Gray and Mrs. Ballantyne are entitled to their privacy. They are…" Alice lowers her voice. "You know how they are, ma'am. They're not quite normal."

Mrs. Wallace lets out a sound suspiciously like a chuckle. "None of us are."

"I do not mean it as an insult. They are different, and being different makes people talk. You and me and Simon, we know not to gossip because people have gossiped about us. That's why she doesn't belong here. She is normal—too normal—and I fear she will not hold her tongue when she has interesting gossip to tell."

Normal? That doesn't describe me at all.

"I will speak to Lorna," Mrs. Wallace says.

I pause. Speak to Lorna about me?

No, wait. They are talking about Lorna. That makes more sense.

I exhale in relief.

Mrs. Wallace continues, "You are correct that she does not share our histories, and so she may not see the harm in a bit of tongue wagging."

"I do not see why I couldn't have been promoted. I would make a better housemaid than her or Mallory."

"You are too young to be a housemaid, and Mrs. Ballantyne has bigger plans for your future."

"Bigger plans for my future. That does not mean I cannot be a housemaid now."

I retreat and wait for them to finish the conversation. Now I understand Alice's animosity toward Lorna. She's upset that she wasn't promoted. Yes, she worries about gossip, too, which is a valid concern.

I recall Annis's objection to hiring someone who hasn't had trouble with the law. This is what she must have meant—that Isla's usual hires are less likely to look askance at their employers' eccentricities and gossip about them.

Once the conversation winds down, I open and then shut the door louder before clomping down the steps so I cannot be accused of sneaking up.

Alice glowers toward the stairs, until she sees who it is. Then she gives me a very gratifying smile—all the more welcome after my fear she was talking about me.

"You are back," she says.

"Yes, and I still remember that you owe me a thruppence from last week, when you needed extra money for that new hat at the market, so don't think you got away without paying me."

She rolls her eyes, but she relaxes into another smile, too. I don't give a damn about the thruppence. I'm just proving it's really me.

Mrs. Wallace hands Alice a plate of rolls for the table. "Off with you now. They are already dining late, and I do not want the roast growing any colder."

Once Alice is gone, Mrs. Wallace turns to the aforementioned roast, setting it onto the butcher's block and slicing a few pieces. I wait until she has the roast on the plate and turns to the potatoes.

"So you're just going to ignore me," I say.

"No, I am preparing dinner."

"That's fine. I can come back afterward, and we'll talk then."

"I have dishes to wash."

"I'll help. The perfect opportunity for a nice chat about what I said before being strangled."

"Are you taking back what you said?" She adds carrots to the platter, still not looking my way.

"Nope."

"Then I do not believe we have anything to discuss."

"So we would have something to discuss if I rescinded my statement?"

"Only if you are going to tell me the truth."

"Well, that's a Catch-22, isn't it? You'll only discuss it if I tell you the truth, but I already did tell you the truth, which you refuse to discuss."

She fishes out a carrot intent on escape.

I continue, "Catch-22. It means a paradox, a situation where you can't proceed without first having something that you can't get until you proceed. Taken from the novel of the same name, written by Joseph Heller in the middle of the twentieth century. The book is a satire about war. World War II, specifically, but the title refers to absurd bureaucracy. I can discuss the themes of the book if you like. That's the peril of having an English-lit prof for a dad. Would you like me to continue?"

She hands me the vegetable platter. "I would like you to take this upstairs."

"Alrighty then." I pause. "That's a phrase used to move past an awkward situation, popularized in the movie Ace Ventura: Pet Detective."

She pauses and then says, as if in spite of herself, "Pet detective?"

"It's a comedy. American. Most blockbuster movies—motion pictures—are."

"Take the vegetables upstairs."

"You do believe my story. I can tell. If you didn't, you'd challenge me on it and prove that I'm lying. But if Dr. Gray and Mrs. Ballantyne have accepted it, then you must, too, however difficult it is. Yet you can't bring yourself to admit you believe me, so you're going to ignore it and pretend you still think I'm lying. Got it. Taking the vegetables away now. But if you ever want to discuss mid-twentieth-century literature or late-twentieth-century pop culture, I'm your gal."

I walk out of the kitchen without another word. I won't say I've won this battle, but I have a feeling I don't need to worry about Mrs. Wallace holding me at gunpoint again. At least, not for a while.

We have another guest for dinner. Annis, who shows up, sees me up and moving about, and says, "You are alive then? Good. You are making a terrible habit of that."

"Being alive?" I say as we enter the dining room.

"Being strangled and left for dead. What is it about that pretty throat that makes people think they would like to throttle it?" She lowers into her seat. "Or perhaps it is not the throat but the owner of it."

"Annis…" Isla warns.

"That was no insult," Annis says. "I am certain many people have wished to do the same to me."

As we settle in, the door opens and Lorna enters.

"Ah," Annis says. "The new maid has not fled. Having second thoughts yet, child?"

Lorna freezes and looks about, as if Annis must be addressing someone else.

"Is there another maid here?" Annis says. "Of course I mean you."

"I… I am doing well, ma'am. Everyone is very kind to me."

Annis snorts. "Of course they are. They are all too kind by half." She lifts her wineglass. "Fill this and then be off with you. The adults have a murder to discuss."

After dinner, Annis leaves and the solicitor arrives to take my statement. Then it's a short evening before we're all off to bed. I don't have a restful night. Once dark comes, it drags all my fears and anxieties with it. Have I made the right choice? What if I really do never see my parents again? Was this worth giving up my former life for?

I think it was, and if I have doubts, then I need to make sure it's worth it. Immerse myself in this world and helping those around me.

First thing the next morning, Gray and I are off to the university. McCreadie is busy with the search for Selim Awad. Isla has chemist orders to fill—she has arrangements with male chemists, where they pay her for medicine they pass off as their own. I'm sure Isla could spare the time to join us, but obviously "poking around a professor's office" doesn't strike her as exciting detective work. She's holding out for a real adventure.

Can't say I blame her. Universities aren't the most exciting place in the world. Now, I do have good memories of my years at one. I love learning, and university was far better at scratching that itch than high school had been. Yet for some people, just breathing the rarefied air of a university is exhilarating. For me, a university is like a law office. It's where one of my parents works, which takes all the mystique out of it. For Isla, university is also a place she was prevented from entering as a student.

Gray occupies a weird place within the academic structure. He's a graduate. A lauded one, too. Second in his class with dual degrees. He's also a published researcher in a new and exciting field. That should win him invitations to speak, even to join the faculty. But he's Duncan Gray, the doctor who was refused a license to practice his craft. I don't think the university knows what to make of him, so while he's permitted to attend lectures, no one's asking him to give them.

He is recognized on campus, though. Staff tip their hats to him. One professor smiles as we pass, another pauses for a quick exchange of pleasantries, while a third pretends not to see him and a fourth actively glares.

When we reach Sir Alastair's office, there's a constable standing guard. I've seen the man before, and like Iain, he doesn't have a problem with Gray, which is probably why he's been assigned to this morning's shift. Gray greets him as I slip inside.

The room is dark and windowless. A small office, for a medical professor who is best known in a field other than medicine. The air is stale and chilly, the fire having been out for days. I flick on the gaslight, which doesn't do much to illuminate a room of dark wood. I can make out the desk—also dark wood—and it seems to have a lamp on it. I head that way, and I'm leaning over to light it when I catch sight of something on the desktop.

I light the desk lamp and then use a pencil to push the object toward it for closer examination.

"Found something already?" Gray says as he enters.

I point at the object. "It's the key from the King residence. Simon wouldn't have left it here. I'm guessing he returned it to one of the constables, who forgot to take it back to the police office."

"That key is still at our house. Hugh told us to keep it in case we had another idea where it might fit."

I tilt my head as I frown at the key. "Am I imagining that this looks like the same one?"

"No, it most certainly does."

So Florence King's key seems to be one for a university office. What was she doing with it, and whose office did it open?

Gray takes a handkerchief from his pocket, scoops it up, and leaves the room, locking the door behind him. A moment later, Gray opens the door, key still in hand.

The constable on duty calls over, "Oh, that's the key to this office. The secretary brought it around in case we needed it. Sir Alastair's went missing a while ago."

Gray looks at me.

"Seems we should speak to Sir Alastair's secretary," I say.