Grey Dawn (15 page)

‘Dulcie. Dulcie Schwartz.' She repeated for the third time. ‘I'm Mina Love's section leader and … a friend.' If the girl were healthy enough to rebut this, then Dulcie would gladly retreat. ‘I was hoping to visit her.'

The orderly looked at his clipboard. ‘You're not on the approved list.'

‘There's a list?' Dulcie tried to peek, but the blue-clad man held the clipboard to his chest.

‘Family and approved visitors only.' He glared at her. ‘By order of the university police.'

‘Oh, of course.' Dulcie hadn't thought of that. Whoever had attacked Mina once might be looking to finish the job, and if no one person had been officially charged then the police would have to keep everyone away. ‘But maybe you can tell me how she is? I mean, how she's doing?' She put on her best winsome smile.

Another scowl told her it wasn't working. ‘I'll have to check.' He backed away. ‘I'm not sure if we're releasing status updates.'

With that, he walked away, leaving Dulcie to wonder if she should even wait. Within a minute, however, he was back, accompanied by a grey-haired woman in a white coat whose mouth fell open the moment she saw Dulcie.

‘Excuse me, are you—?' Whatever the woman was about to ask Dulcie was interrupted by the orderly, who grabbed her arm and whispered in her ear. ‘I'm sorry,' she said after he was done. ‘I didn't know you weren't family. I'm afraid we're keeping aspects of this case confidential.' Her smile softened the words, but Dulcie still felt frustrated.

‘Can you tell me how she's doing?' She bit her lip, unsure of how to ask. ‘If she's going to … you know …'

‘We're doing everything we can for her.' Another smile, this one a little sad. ‘And she's a strong young woman. I'm afraid at this point, we all have to wait.'

Dulcie nodded. ‘Thanks.' She turned to go when the doctor called to her.

‘Wait.' Dulcie turned back. ‘You're a friend?' she asked.

‘Well, she's one of my students.' Something about the doctor compelled honesty.

The doctor nodded, as if confirming something to herself. ‘May I give you a bit of advice?' Her voice was warm and soft, and Dulcie nodded. ‘Please take care of yourself. Someone hurt this young woman, very badly, and he – or she – is still out there. If he sees you, well … he might get the wrong idea and come after you, too.'

G
reat. Just great. Dulcie was trembling a bit as she headed back toward the Square, despite her efforts to dismiss this latest pronouncement. It wasn't like the doctor had said anything new; Rogovoy had already told her that she looked like Mina Love. But to hear it from another person, a stranger, made it more real. Of course, she had had the resemblance confirmed by Josh – the way he had done a double take when he'd first seen her …

She stopped in her tracks. Could that be why Josh had approached her at Lala's? Was he following her? Obsessing about her, in Mina's absence?

Dulcie started walking again, a little faster. If he was fixated on her, he'd done a good job of hiding it. The young man who had sat at her lunch table had seemed utterly focused on his girlfriend. Then again, if Josh had attacked Mina, and if Emily's chart was why, then he might do anything to get his hands on it. But why approach her? Did Josh know that she had just visited Emily? Maybe he'd been watching the room-mate's entrance. Maybe it hadn't been a coincidence that he'd wandered into Lala's right after she did. He'd said that he'd been glad he found her; he didn't say whether or not he'd been stalking her.

Suddenly, the idea of descending into her lonely basement office lost its appeal. There was a security gate in place, but anybody with a valid student ID could get in. And if Lloyd weren't there, she'd be alone.

Maybe this would be a good time to make use of her privileges at the departmental office. She could undoubtedly find a corner to work in. At the very least, Nancy would be there, and her presence was always comforting.

But the departmental secretary wasn't her usual self when Dulcie greeted her. Instead of calmly making one of the endless pots of coffee that the grad students relied upon her for – or even sitting tranquil and a little resigned behind her desk behind
reams of paper – the stout secretary was hurrying to and fro, moving chairs and looking rather as if she had lost something important.

‘Nancy, what's up?' Dulcie dropped her bag by the stairwell and rushed over to the older woman. ‘May I help?'

‘What?' Nancy looked at her over her half-glasses. ‘That chair, dear. Do you think it needs a pillow?'

‘The chair?' The furnishings of the small student lounge were of an age that made Dulcie wonder if they had ever been comfortable. They were, however, the same as they'd always been. ‘Why? Do we have new pillows?'

‘No, no.' Nancy looked despondent. ‘No, we don't.'

‘Nancy?' Dulcie stepped in front of her and took her hands. ‘Why don't you have a seat?'

She led the secretary over to the threadbare couch and sat down next to her. ‘What,' Dulcie asked, once it was apparent that no explanation would be volunteered, ‘is bothering you?'

‘I don't like to say.' Nancy's voice had dropped to a whisper.

Dulcie took her hands again. ‘Nancy?'

‘It's Mr Thorpe,' she said, finally, in a near whisper. ‘He's very upset.'

‘With you?' Dulcie started to rise. Thorpe might yell at her. After all, he was her adviser. But Nancy Shelby was not only the highly efficient hub of the department, she served as its den mother as well – supplying endless caffeine and sympathy. ‘Thorpe has no right …'

‘No, no, please. Sit down.' Only Nancy's agitation caused Dulcie to settle back onto the sofa. Her face, however, must have revealed her intent. ‘It's not his fault. It's the whole situation.' She looked around as if the acting chief might have appeared in the last moment. ‘The Newman lectures.' She was whispering now. ‘I've been trying to set up, and yet not bother him. And the place is a mess. And he's been, well, agitated all day, and it's only getting worse.'

‘He's here?' Dulcie started to rise again; only this time Nancy grabbed her arm and pulled her down.

‘Don't go up there.' Her whisper had an urgency to it, and Dulcie thought she heard the edge of fear. ‘He's gone wild, Dulcie. I swear; he was really quite brusque.'

‘He has no right.' Dulcie repeated. She felt protective of Nancy. All the grad students did, but there was something else nibbling at her consciousness. Something Nancy had said. ‘So, what? He's barricaded himself in his office?'

Nancy nodded, a little too eagerly, Dulcie thought. ‘He said he is not to be disturbed, at any cost. And that he might be there all night.' She sighed, some of the tension coming off her. ‘I guess he really doesn't want to hear about the lecture. But we've got the reception afterward, too, and I really don't know what to do.'

‘Keep everyone downstairs, I guess.' What was it? ‘Though I don't know how you'll do that. If tonight is anything like last night, you'll have your hands full.'

Nancy nodded. ‘That's why I was trying to do what I could. To get everything ready. And then I thought, maybe he'd like a nice soothing cup of tea. You know, before everyone gets here. And that's when he, well, I wouldn't say he yelled. Mr Thorpe is much too much of a gentleman to do that. But, Dulcie,' she looked up, her eyes filled with tears. ‘He was very short. I was only trying to be friendly, and he positively barked at me.'

Barked? Dulcie wondered. Or howled?

W
ith Dulcie as a steadying presence, Nancy settled down a bit, at least enough to make coffee and go back to the exam-room scheduling she seemed to have started hours before. Dulcie found it difficult, at first, to follow suit – the idea of her adviser, agitated and possibly moonstruck one floor above her, making concentration elusive. But as Nancy's quiet bustling re-established an air of normalcy, before too long she was able to immerse herself, once again, in the text.

‘And do not Think that though I flee …'
She had copied the new segment into her laptop. It seemed to follow the earlier passage, with both the heroine and the mysterious M. le Gris in the carriage. The wolves were still howling outside, and the carriage hurtling along.

‘Those Night-time Terrors spring full-throated from the world both Seen and Unseen.'
Dulcie had copied that bit down a few days ago, and it seemed to belong here. With a little cut and paste, she fit the passage into place. ‘
What do you know of my Plight? What may a Stranger know of one who races forth?' Her breath, returning, gave her courage to speak up, despite the howling fierce of both Wind and Wolf. ‘What would you know of a Woman in the Night, who needs must take shelter with a Stranger, as did I, neither knowing nor being Known beyond the kinship of the Dark?'

It was strong stuff, but there was still something missing.

‘Where do you introduce yourself, mysterious stranger?' Dulcie scrolled back over the old text, muttering to herself. Her comments didn't provoke any response from Nancy, but she didn't find what she was looking for, either. Instead, it was another voice that ultimately interrupted her search, causing her to look up with something almost like relief.

‘There you are!' It was Lloyd, with a big grin on his face. ‘I was hoping you'd come by the office, and when you didn't, I tried calling.'

‘Sorry, I guess I turned my phone off.' Dulcie pulled it from her bag: three messages. Two from Suze. Damn. ‘What's up?'

‘My recognizance has paid off. Professor Showalter has checked into the Commodore also. She's going to be meeting with students at the bar.'

Dulcie looked down at her notes. She should keep working. But she was, she suspected, at a bit of a dead end until she could go back to the Mildon and locate that missing passage. Besides, the opportunity to chat with Renée Showalter, a scholar who actually focused on eighteenth- and early nineteenth-century fiction and who cared about authorship to an unfashionable degree was too tempting. She looked over at Nancy, who had regained some color in her round cheeks.

‘Go on, Dulcie.' The older woman seemed to have recovered her composure as well. ‘I'll be fine here. I just won't beard the lion in his den again.'

‘Don't say “lion”.' Lloyd was shaking his head. ‘Too much like “cat”.'

‘Just as well, Nancy. It's probably better if you don't.' Dulcie forced a smile. She didn't like leaving Nancy alone. It wasn't a wild cat she was concerned about. However, she couldn't resist Lloyd's invitation. Renée Showalter was as close as Dulcie was likely to come to a role model: a specialist in her century, and a woman to boot. If she actually got the chairmanship, well, that could mean a world of difference for Dulcie.

‘How's the kitten?' Dulcie asked as they hit the sidewalk. In response, Lloyd took out a handkerchief and blew his nose. ‘Fine, I think.'

‘That bad?' She waited while he dabbed at his eyes. ‘But you've visited at our place.'

He shook his head. ‘I've taken antihistamines every time I've come over.' He shoved the handkerchief in his pocket. ‘I never wanted you to know. It seemed unfriendly somehow.'

‘And that's not an option now?' Lloyd turned a sorrowful gaze on her, and even in the afternoon dusk she could see how red his eyes were. ‘Sorry. But, please, can you hang on a little longer? I promise, I'll come up with another home for the kitten. It's just—'

His sneeze cut her off, and she let the thought lie. Someone must need a kitten. Someone besides Martin Thorpe.

‘So, Dulcie.' Lloyd interrupted her thoughts. They were walking quickly, heading toward the Common. The Commodore was right across the public space, and Dulcie could see its canopied front entrance through the leafless trees. ‘May I ask you something?'

There was an edge of anxiety in his voice that his earlier confession didn't explain. She turned toward him and nodded, and once they'd crossed the street, he continued. ‘Do you think Showalter would be good for you?'

‘For me?' Dulcie was a little startled by the question. ‘Or the department?' Surely Lloyd wasn't questioning the ability of a woman to head their little fiefdom – or was it her area of expertise? Dulcie had thought Lloyd above that kind of prejudice, though the institutional bias against the Gothic novelists was widespread.

‘For you.' Lloyd was watching her. ‘I mean, she's pretty much an unreconstructed structuralist, if that's a term, and that's your thing. And she's eighteenth-century fiction, too, right? So if she's here, doesn't that mean the university wouldn't need another expert? I mean, unless she decided not to teach or something.'

‘Oh.' Dulcie hadn't thought about that possibility. Then again, she rarely thought about life after her dissertation. It all seemed so impossibly far away at this point. ‘I guess I was just thinking about how great it would be to have someone who shared my interest.'

‘Poor Dulcie.' Lloyd smiled at her. ‘You really are alone out there, aren't you?'

She shrugged. ‘I'm kind of used to it.' It was true: she'd been one of very few children at the commune, and, among them, she'd been the only bookworm. With only Lucy and no brothers or sisters, she'd grown used to following her interests by herself. Even Chris, as dear as he was, only vaguely understood her area of expertise. He certainly had never read
The Ravages of Umbria
, or anything like it. Before she could explain, however, they crossed over from the Common, and Lloyd was pulling the door open.

‘Hey, kids.' Trista was at the bar, holding what looked like a Martini. Beyond her, a small crowd had gathered, and as they approached, Dulcie looked to see if she could identify Professor Showalter.