Twincy Quinn and the Eye of Horus Part One (18 page)

The museum was
not closed off to the public, and as I walked through it, I had to
be sure not to frown too deeply as I passed anybody.

Finally I came
to a room with some seating, and I sat down facing the window. I
certainly was not doing what I had promised the junior officer I
would do. I didn’t actually give a fig about the security of this
place, and I certainly couldn't bother to imagine just how many
forces it would take to ensure this place would be safe for the
lord’s exhibition.

I wanted to
know what Lord Ridley was planning. And I desperately wanted to
know whether I was being paranoid, or whether my suspicions were
founded.

Sitting down,
and crunching my crooked fingers over my chin and locking them
there, I frowned deeply at the window for several minutes that saw
me unproductively going back and forth through my thoughts, trying
to scour them for any information I could. Yet soon I heard soft
footsteps behind me.

I looked up to
see a lady walk into the room.

As soon as I
turned back to the window, I found myself turning to face her yet
again.

She was in an
extravagant white dress, with delicate blue edging, she had a white
parasol clasped firmly in her hands, and an incredible necklace
dangling down her throat.

‘
Good day,’ she said after a pause as I stared at
her.

And then my
eyes travelled up from her neck long enough to look at her
face.

Though she had
astounding blond bouncing locks, and a well-arranged fringe that
sat attractively just above her eyes, it did not hide her
expression.

And it was a
stiff, frightened one.

Obviously I
had put her off by staring at her.

‘
Please do not mind me, madam,’ I forced myself to stand, and I
nodded. ‘I am simply a detective here on behalf of Scotland Yard.
We are merely assessing this building for an upcoming
exhibition.’

Though her
expression was still stiff, and she had an exquisite look of fear
widening her eyes, I watched her clutch harder at her parasol, and
she patted one hand over her necklace. ‘Of course.’

Realising I
hadn't had any reason to tell her that, I took a sharp step back,
offering a low nod. I had to get out of here before I made even
more of an arse out of myself, and frightened the lady any further.
‘I apologise for interrupting you, again,’ I gave another stiff
nod, turned around on my foot, and walked out.

Yet as I did,
I naturally found my head turning and I gave her one last
glance.

There was
something about her.

Something
familiar.

Perhaps I had
seen her at one of Miss Stanton's parties. In the dress the lady
was wearing, and with the look of the necklace around her neck, she
was obviously a woman of considerable means. It made sense that she
belonged to the elite of London, and it made sense that I had seen
her, however briefly, at one of Elizabeth's functions, or some
soiree or event which I had been forced to attend by the
inspector.

Walking
quickly to the door, I couldn't stop myself from turning just as I
strolled out.

She was still
standing there, one hand clutched tight on her parasol, one still
flattened over her necklace.

She looked
extremely rattled.

You buffoon, I
thought to myself quickly, shaking my head as I chided myself
further. Realising it would be useless to apologise again, I
finally took my leave of the room, and hurried down the
corridor.

I completed
the rest of my job quickly, and found myself back in front of the
junior officer in good time. Even though I had barely been paying
attention, I had come up with the same conclusion he had. It would
take a great many men to ensure this exhibition was protected.
There were too many windows, too many doors, too many escape
routes. And if we did not make a good attempt of putting on most of
the police we had, Lord Ridley would show his displeasure, and he
would seek retribution—quickly. This was a no-win situation. In an
ideal world, we wouldn't be having the exhibition, but this was far
from an ideal world. It was a ridiculously complicated one.

As I left the
museum, and took several steps away from it with quick, sharp,
almost jerky movements, I began thinking of Twincy Quinn. Then I
stopped, my mind turned in on itself, and a flash of that woman in
that white dress with that perfect sapphire necklace filled my
imagination.

Chiding myself
again, I tried to forget her, and began walking quickly away.

There were
still many things to do, and if I became lost in distractions—no
matter how pleasant and intriguing—I'm sure I would never get
anything done.

Twincy
Quinn

I stood there,
possibly shell-shocked, for what felt like an hour. Of course it
was barely a few minutes, but my mind was racing here.

After I had
jumped down onto the street, I had made my way to the museum. It
had seemed a logical choice, after all. Lord Ridley was to have his
exhibition there, so I figured I would quickly stake the place out.
I wanted to know where all of the entrances and exits were; I
wanted to know how easy it would be to get in and out. Because if I
had to, I was going to attend Lord Ridley's exhibition, though
certainly not as a guest. As a thief. If John and Vanessa decided
that any of the devices on display were of import, and could be
used by Doctor Elliot Esquire for his nefarious machines, I would
steal them. It was as simple as that. They were better off in our
hands than in his.

Yet what I had
thought was a logical plan, had turned out to be terrible. As I had
walked into one of the far rooms, I had glanced across to see a man
sitting in a chair, lost in thought. He had been clutching at his
chin whilst staring out the window. At first I had made nothing of
it.

Then he had
said good day, and I had glanced at his face.

While he had
stared at my dress, my necklace, and quite possibly, my figure
underneath, I had stared at his face.

Because I knew
it.

Dear God, it
was the man from the roof. The man with the well-kept moustache
that didn't suit him. The man that had followed me. The man with
the Scottish brogue.

I had stood
there stock still, frightened, overcome, and not sure of what I
should do. Yet thankfully the disguise had held. Appearing
excessively nervous, the man had introduced himself as a detective
from Scotland Yard, and had quickly exited the room.

A
detective.

That I had run
into him twice was unimaginable, that he was a detective was worse,
far worse.

I had quickly
examined the rest of the museum, then I had made my leave,
carefully, through one of the top windows, and right out onto the
street below.

I couldn't
afford to run into him again. It was an unimaginable and
incalculable risk. That he hadn't been able to see past my necklace
and the cut of my bodice, to my true identity underneath, was
fortuitous. Yet if I stopped long enough in the company of that
detective, he would figure it out. If he remembered me, that was.
Hopefully last night he would not have been able to catch a good
enough glimpse of my face as he had waited in the shadows. But I
had run into him before, and if he was intelligent, he would
already have realised that I was the same person. That the woman
who had run into him on the street several days previous was the
very same woman whom he had followed onto the roof last night.

Taking a
harsh, quick breath, and pressing my thumb and fingers into my
brow, I closed my eyes for a brief moment. Then I winked one
open.

I was still
walking along the streets of London. Not the roofs. The
streets.

Not only did I
want to keep my new dress clean and perfect, it was the day time,
it was always far riskier to clamber onto the roofs during the day.
You would run the risk of somebody in a far taller building staring
down to see you skimming over the slate.

Trying to
regain my composure, I found myself clutching harder and harder
onto the parasol, playing with the lace as I did. Plucking it up in
my fingers and squeezing it hard, I did a good job of ignoring the
stares I was getting.

Though they
were appreciative, and no one was throwing anything at me or
calling me a dirty urchin, they were still unwelcome.

Right now I
didn't want to be noticed. Though I had gone out of my house that
morning, almost smiling at the fact my dress was so beautiful, and
would prove to London I was more than the dirty face and the jet
black hair, now I wanted to crawl under the nearest blanket and
hide my head for good.

I was hardly
paying attention as I walked along quickly. And as I did, my feet
instinctively took me towards the back streets. The alleyways and
lane ways, the narrowed corners, the dark and dirty sections of
town. Though the streets were unsightly, and rubbish often heaped
up along the sides, in a way it was my home. Despite the dress I
was wearing, I knew where I was here, and I knew my way around.

But I was
forgetting something. I was forgetting something very
important.

I was wearing
an enormous sapphire necklace on my neck.

And I was
walking through the undisputed bad sections of town.

Though I was
more than capable of looking after myself, I wasn't being
intelligent in that moment. If I wanted my disguise to last, there
was no point in squandering it by coming across a bevy of
criminals, and having to dispatch them in my high heels and flaring
dress.

My mind still
addled, at one point I put a hand up to my brow, and let it slide
down my face. When I blinked my eyes open, it was to the sight of
two men walking up to me along the dark alleyway.

I stopped.
Because I looked at their expressions, and I gauged them instantly.
I knew what they meant, and I watched as their gazes locked on my
necklace.

Right.

Oh dear.

I paused,
angling my head to the side, and glancing back down the
alleyway.

Before I could
turn around and walk rather quickly back the way I had come, I saw
two other men walk my way.

Fantastic.
Just perfect.

I unhooked my
parasol from my shoulder, cursing at myself as I did.

At no point
did I show fear in any way. Though the four men making their ways
towards me were all burly, and all had scarred, pockmarked faces
that indicated they were no strangers to violence of the most
heinous kind, I certainly didn't scream. Because I was in no
danger. Whether they appreciated that or not, it was fact.

As for the
four of them, they were about to find out why it wasn't a good idea
to try and rob and attack ladies in the street. At least not when
the lady in question had been changed by an ingenious madman.

‘
Can I help you, gentlemen?’ I asked as the two men in front of
me neared, their eyes still locked on my neck.

I didn't get a
reply, unless you call a snide, short snap of laugher a reply.

Placing my
parasol against my legs, and pushing the tip of it into the ground,
I neatly arranged both hands on top of the hooked handle.

Glancing back
behind me, I realised I had about 10 seconds before the other two
men arrived.

Shifting my
head to the side quickly, I turned my gaze up to note the roof
above. It was four stories away. There were a few hand holds to be
had, a couple of lips in the brick and stone, enough to clamber my
way up to the top. And if I couldn't find enough, I would jolly
well make them by punching my fist right into the wall.

‘
Are you lost?’ one asked, tipping his head to the side,
staring at my necklace as he asked his question in possibly the
most sarcastic tone he could muster.

I rolled my
eyes. Jutting my bottom lip out, I blew at my fringe. ‘No, are you
lost? If you are, I am more than happy to give you directions.’

He offered a
snide chuckle at that, one that was picked up and repeated by the
other three men.

They all
reached me now. Still about a foot away, they appeared to circle
around like sharks, or so I'm told. I had never had the pleasure of
meeting a shark, after all, but I'd certainly had the displeasure
of meeting men like these before.

Still placing
my hands neatly over the hook of my parasol, I inclined my face
towards each of them. Hopefully they could see how undaunted my
expression was. ‘You appear to be taking up formation, gentlemen?
Are you about to break out in a Morris dance?’

This didn't
elicit so much as a snide laugh as little grumbles of
indignation.

Perhaps they
were not used to apparently weak women insulting them.

Well perhaps
they weren’t used to me. I plucked my parasol up, and placed it
over my shoulder, tapping my fingers slowly over the handle. It was
a dramatic, and one would hope intimidating move. I made sure each
finger struck the handle in such a place that the noise was ringing
and clear.

‘
We will show you back to where you belong,’ one of them said,
his smile growing dark.

He took a step
forward.

‘
Don't you dare,’ somebody shouted.

We all turned
around to see a man striding down the alleyway towards us. In shiny
shoes that nonetheless still looked old, it took me barely half a
second to recognise him.

The
detective.

‘
Leave that woman alone,’ he roared again, his pace quick as he
now ran towards us.

‘
And what are you going to do about it?’ the biggest man
challenged, turning sharply on his foot, dipping his head to the
side like a snake ready to strike.

‘
Madam, run,’ the detective announced as he finally reached
us.