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BOOK THREE
Chapter 32
You don’t understand,” I said to the two men. It was dark outside, had been dark for a while, although I had no idea what time it was. The hours between reading Mycroft’s obituary and walking back into Goodman’s cabin were already lost, a time spent on the fallen tree at the far side of the clearing, watching the sky go from robin’s egg to indigo to black.
It was impossible. Unimaginable. Mycroft was a force of nature, not a man to be killed at whim. Why couldn’t these two grasp that? And why could they not see that I had to be on the first train south in the morning? Alone.
I struggled to gather my thoughts. “Mycroft Holmes is-was-enormously important in the government. In some ways, he has-had-more power than a Prime Minister, who comes and goes at the whim of the voters.”
“But this obituary says he was an accountant,” Javitz protested.
“That’s somewhere between a joke and a figure of speech. He was an accountant in the sense that it was his responsibility to account for-” I broke off: I had no right to divulge what I knew of the nation’s Intelligence machinery, nor could I reveal that one of its key members answered to no authority beneath His Majesty. What Mycroft accounted for went far beyond guineas and pence. And anyway, telling them who I was married to and getting them past their disbelief had already eaten up far too much time.
“It doesn’t matter. Mycroft was powerful and he was family, and I must return to London immediately. I ca
“I thought you said we wouldn’t be safe until we had that maniac behind bars?”
I felt as if someone fleeing Vesuvius with me had stopped to fret about the carpets. The obituary had buried any lesser consideration: To my mind, the Brothers case was in a box and temporarily closed away. Who would worry about a mere killer when the world was being engulfed?
Still, Javitz was right. In my concern over having freedom of movement once in London, I could not overlook the lesser dangers, such as the one that had brought us from the sky. Even if that had not been Brothers, there was no doubt that, if he could find us, he would attempt to seize the child. I could not overlook the one responsibility in the interest of the other. God, I wanted Holmes by my side!
“Exactly,” I agreed, to simplify things. “Brothers wants the child. One of his passports had her on it.”
“You don’t think it was Brothers who killed your brother-in-law?”
The question stopped me dead. “I don’t-no, I shouldn’t think so. How would he have made any co
“This happened last night?” Javitz said, and reached for the newspaper to re-read the obituary. “Very quick reporting.”
“He was an important man,” I said. Why didn’t they understand that? I wanted to shout at them, except that would have awakened the sleeping child.
“Estelle and Javitz will be safe here,” Goodman said, for the third time.
“No offence,” the pilot said, “but if I stay cooped up here much longer, I’ll go stir-crazy.”
“So where-” I took hold of my irritation, and lowered my voice. “So where can you go?”
“Someplace that no-one would think to look for me, you said? That pretty much rules out old friends and the couple of cousins I have.”
He, too, was thinking out loud, and since we had already been over this ground twice, I did not hold much hope for an answer from him. I was considering two or three places, but that decision would have to wait until I could lay hands on a telephone.
I pushed back my chair and started to stand, but a sharp, urgent hiss cut my motion. Goodman had turned towards the window, half-open to the night; one hand was raised and outstretched. I froze, straining to hear whatever had attracted him. I heard nothing at all.
Our host did, however. He snapped into motion, twisting the controls of the lamp into darkness and bolting across the room to the door.
“What-” I started, but the door closed and there was only stillness.
Javitz whispered, “Have you any idea what is going on?”
“He heard something. You stay here. I’m going to see if I can tell what it was.”
I felt my way towards the faint rectangle that was the doorway, wishing that the moon were more than five days old, and eased my boots down the two stone steps. When I was away from the house a few feet I stopped, head cocked: nothing.
I stood for five minutes, then six, but all I heard were a series of thumps from Javitz’s crutch moving across the floor and the cry of a fox. I was about to turn back when a faraway crackle of brush was joined by a sharp yell.
“What was that?” came Javitz’s voice behind me.
I gri
“Someone’s coming?” he asked.
“It may be nothing, but I think we should move back among the trees. Can you see without a light?”
“A little,” he said. “You?”
“My night vision is not great,” I admitted, “but I’ll manage. You go around the back of the house. I’ll bring Estelle.”
He started to protest, but immediately realised that a man with a crutch was not the best candidate for carrying a child. Without another word, he felt around for his coat on the rack, and went with caution down the steps.
I, too, retrieved my coat, checking to make sure the revolver was in its pocket, then patted my way inside the bedroom. The child gave a sleepy protest when I lifted her, but I murmured assurances and she nestled into my arms, bringing yet again that peculiar blend of animal pleasure coupled with the dread of responsibility.
I held her in close embrace, through the cabin, down the steps, across the uneven ground. Halfway to the trees, my whispered name drew me towards Javitz. Nearly blind once the depth of the forest sucked up all light, I felt out with each toe before setting down weight; I was first startled, then grateful, when his hand touched the back of my arm.
“Sit down,” I breathed at him.
“Don’t you think we should move back some more?”
Oh, for a man who did not have to discuss everything! “I need to fetch our things and I don’t want to lay Estelle on the ground.”
“I’ll go-”
“Javitz! If she wakes, she’ll cry, and you can’t hold her for long if you’re standing. I know it’s uncomfortable, but-sit!”
Gingerly, radiating humiliation, he sat. I transferred the child into his arms, then took the revolver from my pocket and pressed it into his hand.
I left before he could protest.
Back inside, I stood for a moment, pulling together a memory of where our few things lay. Money; clothing; Estelle’s shoes; and the books I had bought her. In the kitchen, I remembered the wooden creatures Goodman had made for her and gathered them into the rucksack, adding bread, apples, and cheese, slinging it and the now-disgusting fur coat across my shoulder.
Javitz and I sat shoulder to shoulder in the darkness and waited. Only minutes passed before my eyes reported some vague motion, followed by a deliberate scuff of a boot against soil.