Laura Lee Guhrke (38 page)

She turned away and raced down the stairs, passing the landlady, who stood at the foot of the stairs, holding her growling Pekingese dog in the crook of her arm. “What is going on up there, miss, if I may ask?” she
demanded as Sophie ran past her. “I run a respectable ’ouse, I do. What’s the world coming to?”

“Mick’s just caught the Heart-Eater, right here in your house,” she called over her shoulder. “Just think what the reporters will pay you for your story. Don’t take less than a hundred pounds.”

Sophie ran out the front door, and the last thing she heard the landlady say was, “A hundred pounds! Lord have mercy, I’ll be rich!”

Within minutes, eight constables had reached Bow Street station and were dispatched to Mick’s flat. Sophie sat down in a chair at the front of the station, ignoring Mick’s order that she go home. She wasn’t going anywhere.

As she waited, Sophie berated herself for the argument they’d had in the conservatory. Was it only one night ago? It seemed years. In the silence of the nearly empty police station, she couldn’t help remembering every moment of their lovemaking, and regretting every word of the argument that had followed.

She told herself she’d been right to end things. She didn’t want a love affair with Mick, because she was in love with him and an affair wasn’t enough. She wanted to be married to him, share his life, have children with him, grow old with him. But he didn’t want that life, not with her, and there was nothing she could do about the reason why.

Her dismal thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the constables with the man known to his fellow officers as Henry Thacker. Handcuffed, struggling, and still screaming that he was going to kill them all, he was dragged past her through the station. Mick started to
follow them, but he caught sight of her and stopped. “I told you to go home.”

She stood up. “I wanted to be sure you were all right.”

“I’m fine. Sophie,” he said and shoved his hands in his pockets, “I want you to go home. There’s nothing you can do here right now.”

Sophie met his gaze, but there was nothing there she could read. This was one of those times when she could not sense anything of what he thought or felt, except that he meant what he said. He wanted her to leave.

She nodded, a feeling of dread coming over her. “All right. I’ll go.”

“Good. I’ll get a constable to escort you home.” Mick turned away and strode toward the back of the station before she could reply.

“Good-bye, Mick,” she whispered, watching as he walked through the doorway where the constables had taken Henry, and she knew their time together was at an end. She turned away and left the station, not waiting for the escort Mick had promised. When she cried, she liked to be alone.

By the following afternoon, the newspapers were filled with accounts of the story, though her part in the events was not mentioned. Sophie knew from their articles that Mick was completely occupied with gathering as much evidence as possible against Henry Clapham for the inquest. She read all the papers hungrily, eager to torture herself with seeing his name in print and reading about what he was doing, hoping that he hadn’t come to her because he was busy with
police business, and that when things calmed down in a day or so, he would come to her.

He didn’t.

She did receive a visit from the police, but it wasn’t Mick. Two days after Clapham’s arrest, a constable brought her a letter from the chief superintendent of CID, requesting her testimony at the inquest three days hence. That same afternoon, a barrister for the Crown arrived and asked her a series of questions in preparation for that testimony.

By the third day after Clapham had been arrested, Sophie had still not seen Mick, nor had she received any word from him. Unable to bear it alone, she poured out her feelings to Violet, confessing that she loved him but he didn’t want to marry her. Auntie, after she got over her astonishment that Sophie was in love with Mick, refused to believe her assertion that Mick didn’t love her in return. “He’s not Charles, darling. Have a little faith.”

Sophie couldn’t manage it. If he wasn’t breaking it off with her, why didn’t he come to see her? Auntie said it was probably that he was too busy.

“Is he too busy to send me a note?” Sophie countered, and Auntie couldn’t come up with an answer to that.

There were other people, however, who were very eager to see her. Her mother and sister came. Agatha demanded to know what had made her leave the ball in such an extraordinary way the other night, and how she despaired of her younger daughter ever finding a husband, she really did. Charlotte simply gloated that her sister was in trouble again. In no mood for either of
them, Sophie left the drawing room, locked herself in her bedroom, and refused to come out until they had gone.

Once they had left, Sophie took refuge in her conservatory. Yet even her favorite place was no comfort-to her heart. As she wandered aimlessly amid the trees, vines, and flowers, she seemed to see Mick everywhere. By the tea table, in her perfumery, sitting across from her in a wicker chair, making love to her on a work-table.

I’m not a marrying man
.

She stared at the wicker settee, remembering the first time she’d slept in his arms, the first time she’d felt safe enough to fall into a dreamless sleep. Sophie lowered her face into her hands, vowing that she wasn’t going to cry again. She’d already shed too many tears over him, over the things about herself she could not change, over the impossibility of Mick ever falling in love with her.

“If you’re crying, I’m leaving.”

Sophie stiffened at the sound of Mick’s voice, and she thought for a moment she’d imagined it.

“I’m not going to cry,” she said with a sniff. She didn’t turn around.

He’s come for his things
, she told herself.
Of course
.

“Good, because I’m sure you don’t have a handkerchief, and since you took my last one, neither do I. I’ll bet my last quid you don’t have a watch, either.”

She shook her head. “I don’t own a watch anymore.”

“Aye, I know.”

Her heart felt as if it were tearing in half. She turned around and looked at him, drinking in the
sight of his lean, handsome face and deep blue eyes as if he’d been gone for years, not days. It took her several moments to notice the small, white paper box in his hand.

He held it out to her. “I remember you told me you don’t own a watch. That’s why I bought you a new one.”

She didn’t understand. “Mick, I always lose watches.”

“I know.” He continued to hold the box out to her. “But you’re not going to lose this one.”

Sophie took a step toward him, then another, then another, until she was standing in front of him. Numbly, she took the box from his hand and pulled off the lid.

It was a watch, indeed, but it wasn’t like any watch she’d ever seen before. A wide band of silver filigree, it was like a lacy bracelet. Set in it was an oval timepiece. The clasp was like a tiny lock, and attached with a thin, pink ribbon was a key.

“It works a bit like the lock on handcuffs,” he explained, pulling the watch out of the box. He put it on her wrist and closed the clasp with a snap. “This watch isn’t going to come off of your wrist unless you unlock it with the key. The best part is, Violet can’t steal it.”

Sophie caught back a sob at those words. “Mick, I’ll lose the key.”

“I know.”

She looked up at him, bewildered, and found him smiling at her with infinite tenderness. He pulled out his own watch from his waistcoat pocket and pointed to something attached to the fob. “That’s why I have a duplicate key.”

Sophie bit her lip, afraid, so afraid. It took her a long time to say, “Does that mean you’re going to keep living here?”

He tilted his head to one side and seemed to consider that question. “I don’t know,” he finally said, “It’s a bit crowded. Where would the children sleep?”

“Children?” she choked.

Mick rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Of course, lack of room means your mother can’t visit. That’s a good thing.”

She couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak. He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t mean it. She drew a deep, steadying breath. “Mick, what are you talking about?”

He looked at her in surprise. “Where we’re going to live after we get married, of course. Couldn’t you tell what I was talking about? I thought you could read my mind.”

“Not this time.” She lowered her gaze to his shirt-front. “But I can sometimes. I thought you couldn’t live with that.”

“I didn’t think I could, either.” He cupped her cheeks in his hands and lifted her face. “What you said was right. I didn’t want a woman who could tell what I was thinking, even if it was only sometimes. You were right that it frightened me. It still does. But when Henry pointed that gun at you, I got my own vision of the future. It was a future without you, and I knew I couldn’t let that happen.”

He paused for breath, then went on before she could reply, as if he was afraid she would make some sort of objection. “But I was thinking that if we got
married, my being a policeman wouldn’t do. I work at all hours, I get in danger, and you’d have visions of me getting killed and all sorts of things like that, so I thought I’d do something else with my life. I’d open up that private detective agency I was talking about. It wouldn’t be a large income at first, but I’ve got savings, and I’d support you all right. I’d keep you safe, and you wouldn’t have to sleep with a light on anymore, and—” He broke off. “Why are you smiling?”

“You ramble when you’re nervous. Did you know that?”

“Of course I’m bloody well nervous. I’m standing here with my heart laid out in front of a woman for the first time in my life. Do you think you could give me an answer?”

She wanted to, more than anything. “Did you ask me a question?”

He took a deep breath. “Will you marry me?”

“You’re not a marrying man.”

“That was true until I met the right woman. I love you, and that makes you the right woman for me.”

Sophie threw her arms around Mick’s neck, buried her face against his shirtfront, and mumbled, “I was so afraid when you sent me home the other night, then didn’t come and didn’t come, and I thought you were ending things with me, that you didn’t want me anymore.”

He lifted her chin and kissed her forehead. “I had something important to do,” he said and pressed a light kiss to her mouth.

She nodded. “The case.”

“Wrong, mind reader,” he said, smiling. “It took me three days to get the watch made.”

Sophie made a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. “I love you.”

“So, does that mean you’re going to marry me?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” she answered, kissing him between each word, “Did you really mean it about leaving the Yard and becoming a private detective, like Sherlock Holmes?”

His fingertips brushed her cheek. “I meant it, Watson.”

She pulled back, staring at him in shock. “You want me to help you with it?”

He laughed. “Do you think I could stop you? Besides, I think it would be very valuable for a private detective to have a psychic assistant.”

She lifted her face, expecting him to kiss her, but he didn’t. Instead, he put his hands on her arms and pushed her back a bit. “Now, I’m going to ask you a second question.”

“What question?”

“What’s in that damned perfume of yours?”

“Why do you want to know?” she whispered, pressing her body against his.

“You know why.” He reached behind him and closed the door. She heard the key turn in the lock.

“Tell me anyway. Why do you want to know?”

“Tell me the recipe first,” he murmured, bent his head, and kissed her ear.

“Jasmine, lemon, alcohol, rose water.” She gasped as he blew soft breath in her ear. “Lavender,” she went
on, barely able to get the words out as he began to nibble on her earlobe, “neroli, cinnamon, bergamot, cloves, and one very special final ingredient.”

“What ingredient?”

She turned her face and kissed him. As she did so, she grasped the lapels of his jacket and began walking backward, pulling him with her toward the worktable in the back. “I’ll tell you later,” she murmured against his mouth. “Much later.”