Part 19 (1/2)
It would be like him to forget to close the door when he entered.
In the center of the hallway floor, she saw lying open the satchel she used for her hospital doc.u.ments, the papers that had been in it ripped and scattered.
A robbery! There had been enough of them in the area in the last year. She had started to back away from the house when the door to her husband's study swung open. A man stood there, with a revolver pointed at her chest. ”I've been waiting some time for you, Mrs. Beason. Please come in and talk with me.”
Winnie had never heard a voice so softly cold, so naturally lethal. If she had not been certain he would shoot her in the back, she would have bolted from the room. Instead, she used what courage she had to stare at him boldly, memorizing his features as she walked past him into her husband's study.
The intruder had done more damage here. Drawers had been pulled out, their contents scattered. The beautiful over-mantel mirror she had inherited from her grandmother had been pulled from its mountings, its beveled gla.s.s cracked so that, as she looked at it, she saw her fearful expression multiplied in a dozen small reflections.How dare she feel so helpless! How dare this man ravage her home! ”What in the h.e.l.l do you want?” she demanded, amazed at the force in her voice.
”Come into your parlor, Mrs. Beason. I need to speak to you.”
She did as he asked, sitting on the chair close to the fireplace, within comforting reach of the andirons. They were a defense, perhaps a futile one, but she felt better knowing they were close.
”Now, Mrs. Beason, tell me about the Romanian journal. First of all, where did you get it?”
”There is a used bookstore on Bow Street. I bought a box of cookbooks and discovered it among them. I was curious and so I arranged. . .”
”Where did you get it? The truth this time.”
”Very well.” Her stomach was churning, and she thought she would be sick. These feelings seemed so terribly feminine, but she reminded herself that almost any man would feel equally terrified when a stranger pointed a gun at his chest. She tried to relax, crossing her legs and resting her hands on the low arms of the chair. As she hoped, her gesture released some of the man's tension as well, and he lowered the pistol. Winnie found it suddenly easier to breathe.
”I found it on a trip east,” Winnie said. ”I did not purchase it; I discovered it in an old castle Mr. Beason and I were exploring.”
”Better. And what town were you near?”
Winnie considered everything Mina had told her. She had never been very accurate with names, but she did recall one. ”Bacau,”
she replied.
”Excellent!” Somehow the intruder's smile seemed even more predatory than his scowl had been. ”Now, Mrs. Beason. Why did you take the book?”
”The castle had a strange history which made me curious. If you want to see it, I can't help you. I gave the book to someone to translate. It hasn't been returned.”
”The translator does not have it.”
Winnie frowned, ”If it's being sent, I haven't received it yet. If I had, I would give it to you gladly just to get you to leave. It's of no real value save curiosity.”
”Yet you paid handsomely to have it translated.” He waved at the room around them. ”You're not wealthy enough simply to indulge curiosity.”
Now that she was calmer, Winnie hunted for clues to the man's ident.i.ty. He was not more than forty, with dark brown eyes and coal-black hair worn somewhat too long to be fas.h.i.+onable. His clothes were tailored but of a slightly dated style. His hands were clean and uncalloused. As she listened to his voice, she detected an accent in the way he p.r.o.nounced his vowels. Enough, she thought. Any more and her expression would reveal her knowledge.
”You'd be amazed to what lengths I would go to satisfy my curiosity,” she commented dryly, and continued staring at him. ”I suspect you would as well,” she added.
He shook his head. ”I know all I need to know. Now, tell me, did the creatures in that castle touch you?”
”Creatures! The place was quite deserted.” She hoped she sounded sincere, for she had begun to understand this man's obsession.
He ignored her comment, demanding in a voice loud enough to be heard through the entire house, ”Did you sleep there?”
”No!” she replied, but he went on.
”Did you dream of death and blood? Were there marks on your neck in the morning?”
”Were there what?” Good Lord! Winnie thought. The man was obsessed.
Without warning, he pulled her to her feet and dug the gun's barrel into her side. ”Tell me what you saw. Confess!” he screamed.
Motion behind her attacker caught her attention, but she fixed her eyes directly on his, keeping them steady. Her mouth felt too dry for speech, and the room spun. For a moment, she thought she would do something perfectly silly, then she decided that fainting was the best move. Her eyelids fluttered and she slid slowly downward, supported only by his weight.
Caught off guard, the man let her go. As he straightened, Margaret brought a coal shovel down on the back of his head. He fell hard above Winnie. Fearful of hitting her mistress, the girl waited too long to strike again. He twisted and shot her as the shovel was coming down for the second time.
Winnie attacked. One hand, unusually strong after so much hard work in the hospital, grabbed the gun's handle. Had the man not been dazed, he might have beaten her easily. Instead, she managed to wrench the gun from his hand, point it toward him and fire.
She'd wanted only to wound him, nothing more. Instead, the bullet went high, hitting him in the chest. He exhaled blood that seeped from his mouth and across the dark parquet floor. Winnie had seen death enough to know he was beyond any help.
She ran into the street and, raising the gun in the air, fired two shots. The recoil made her lose her footing, but the shots alerted her neighbors. Men rushed from their houses, one carrying a gun of his own. ”Send for the police!” Winnie cried. ”And for a doctor.
There's been a robbery and shooting.” With that, she ran back inside to do what she could to stop Margaret's bleeding.
Mina arrived at the same time as the doctor. When she saw Winnie's hands covered with blood, the body and Margaret on the floor, she fought down the rush of emotions and took a step toward Winnie, intending to pull her away. The doctor was here.
Winnie's skills were no longer needed. As Mina stepped forward, Margaret turned her face toward her. The wound on the girl's shoulder opened, and the blood began to flow once more. Mina backed away and leaned against the hall table for support.
”Margaret will be fine,” Winnie said, then put an arm around her so they could help each other up the stairs.
”I'm so sorry,” Mina told her when they were alone. ”If Margaret dies, I'll be to blame.”
”The man I shot is to blame for everything, Mina dear. Now, are you all right?”
”Yes. Here, let me help you.” Mina unb.u.t.toned the back of Winnie's soiled blouse so that Winnie could slip out of it. She watched silently while Winnie washed and changed, then she followed her to the top of the stairs and remained there while Winnie went down to explain what she could to the police.
She had surprised a robber, she said. In the struggle that followed, Margaret had been wounded and she had wrestled the gun from the robber and killed him. She spoke calmly, almost coldly. She had always sensed that she possessed such firm control, but she had never expected to have to reveal it to so many strangers. The men who listened to her seemed to be waiting for some terrible breakdown as she described the killing, and to be disappointed when she did not oblige them.
”What do you make of this?” the officer asked, holding up a pair of short wooden stakes and a mallet.
She understood exactly why the man had come for her, the death and mutilation she had so narrowly avoided. ”I haven't the slightest idea,” she replied evenly, aware as she spoke of Mina standing at the top of the stairs, her face white with shock.
As soon as the police had gone, taking the body of the intruder with them, Winnie told Mina exactly what had happened. ”They say that the man had no identification on him. Though I can't be certain, I think the intruder was James Sebescue.”
”I a.s.sumed it might be after I read the letter I'd received.” She handed Winnie the note Gance had sent.
Dear Mrs. Harker, Winnie read. I had a chance meeting with William Graves yesterday. He asked how your translation was progressing, then told me that one James Sebescue had come inquiring about the journal. His manner and questions disturbed Mr. Graves enough that he has taken to carrying a revolver. Pa.s.s this message on to Mrs. Beason, then come to London. Contact me and I will a.s.sist you. Gance.
”Perhaps you should write a note to Mr. Ujvari and warn him. There might be others ... Oh, dear!” Winnie's hand covered her mouth. For the first time since Mina's arrival, she appeared shocked. ”Sebescue said that the translator did not have the book.”
”He could have been lying.”