The Deeds of the Disturber - Elizabeth Peters [127]
‘Suit yourself,’ I said.
‘I will leave first thing in the morning, madam. With your permission, madam.’ But she did not wait for permission, and she slammed the door in a fashion that would have made Mrs Watson dismiss her on the spot.
After she had gone I began pacing briskly up and down the room, an exercise I find conducive to ratiocination. Accustomed as I am to dealing quickly and decisively with events as they occur, the startling developments of the past hour had taxed my resources to their limits.
I had suspected Mr Wilson was in love with the young lady, but even my talents, which are particularly refined in that area, had been deceived by O’Connell’s pretence of indifference. Yet – I consoled myself – perhaps he had only learned recently to love her, when fear for her safety awakened sensations slumbering deep in his breast. I could not be blamed for failing to perceive something he had not been aware of himself.
The additional complication of Miss Minton’s tendresse for Emerson was of no importance. He did not reciprocate her feelings, and I would make certain he never did.
Of overpowering importance was the mystery of Emerson’s strange caller. What possible message, what appeal or threat could have drawn him out of the house without so much as a word to me? One answer was painfully evident, but it might not be the right one. I hardly knew whether to hope I was wrong – for in that case my estimable spouse might be facing some unknown peril alone – or to hope I was right.
There was nothing I could do at the moment but wait until he returned. But what if he did not? What if the slow hours dragged by with no word? Knowing myself as I did, I knew I would not be able to sit for long with folded hands.
I would deal with that, I decided, when the time came. In the meantime, there were the two young men to be dealt with. I had promised to relieve their anxiety, and Amelia P. Emerson always keeps her word, even when her heart is elsewhere.
Gargery was in the hall, peering out the window. ‘It is too early to expect him back,’ I said, with mingled exasperation and sympathy. ‘He has been gone less than an hour. Open the door, Gargery, if you please.’
He did as I asked, but reluctantly. ‘Madam, don’t you go off and disappear, too. The professor would never forgive me –’
‘I am only going across the street.’ For they were there, as I had expected they would be; O’Connell was pacing up and down, but Mr Wilson stood motionless staring at the house.
‘Please, madam, don’t –’
I patted his arm. ‘You can stand in the door and watch me the entire time, Gargery. I only want to say a few words to those gentlemen; I will come straight back.’
It was not necessary for me to cross the pavement. As soon as I appeared, both hurried to the gate, and it was there that our conversation took place.
‘My surmise was correct,’ I informed them. ‘Miss Minton is and has been perfectly safe.’
‘Your word on it, Mrs E.?’ Kevin asked.
‘My word on it. Have I ever misled you, Mr O’Connell?’
A little smile played around the corners of the young man’s lips. ‘Well . . . I will believe you this time.’
‘But where is she?’ Wilson demanded. ‘I must speak to her, make certain –’
‘I am surprised to see you in such a state of agitation, Mr Wilson.’ For indeed he was; he had neglected to remove his hat, which was tilted at a rakish angle, and his hands clutched the rusty iron bars in careless disregard of his elegant grey gloves.
‘Forgive me,’ Wilson muttered. ‘I don’t doubt your word, Mrs Emerson –’
‘You had better not. Miss Minton will be returning to her rooms tomorrow; you can see her then. Go home now, and sleep soundly in the knowledge that she is in no danger.’
O’Connell had already turned away, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched. ‘Put on your cap, Mr O’Connell,’ I called. ‘The night air is damp.’
He acknowledged the suggestion with a wave of his hand, but did not stop – or obey the order, at least not while he was within eyeshot. Mr Wilson lingered to thank me and apologize again – and again. I cut short his raptures