her down, Arthur couldn’t tell, as the conductor helped the older man with his bag.
Just another ordinary scene, Arthur decided: a woman seeing off relations on a journey of no consequence. Except that they had discussed the murder of someone called the Jackal. Most extraordinary! Why he’d felt the need to spy…
Well, old habits died hard, certainly. But you are only a simple doctor, he thought, with not even the bravery of John Watson, much less his great friend. This matter was for American police. Still, Arthur gave himself high marks for curiosity, although his wife’s urgings to live only vicariously through his fiction had grated on their marriage. He barely knew how much of his current character was formed of natural cowardice and how much Luisa’s constant nagging to stay close to home.
Arthur broke from his ruminations when the young woman turned and caught his stare. She froze. Her assessment grew curious, and he feared that he’d been caught eavesdropping. Was this Lillian dangerous? A murderess herself? His blood ran cold.
But you are in a public place, and she is a slender female. Arthur looked over his shoulder to ensure the police officer patrolling the station was still present.
The young woman tilted her head, raised a quizzical brow, and turned toward the grand entrance. It was if she might have recognized him, but that would be ever so unlikely. Whatever small fame he’d garnered in America, he knew only three people in Baltimore, and none of them well.
Oh, and he’d corresponded with that woman whose letters were certainly not typical of the dozens of inquiries he received monthly. He made a mental note to inquire about her before leaving town, but he truly doubted she shared company with his companions, a group of stern scholars, eccentric psychics, and fellow writers. What was her first name? Miss Holmes, he recalled, but he should have brought her letter with him, which also would have contained her address.
A pity he’d left it at home.
CHAPTER SIX
A troubling pest returns.
Lillian hid behind an ornamental column of the Union Station building, watching for the emergence of the Staring Man. How could she have been so stupid, letting Thomas speak openly of a murder in such a setting?
Once sure she hadn’t been followed, she waited for the stranger to appear. The October sun should be less strong, she grumbled to herself. While she didn’t mind the daytime as much as George, it did have some effect on her, turning her mood a bit dourer, draining her energy. But so essential was it to get her former governess and butler out of Baltimore, she’d arranged for a grand trip for the brother and sister. They would stay in Chicago with their cousin for several weeks and then see some of the Western wonders that intrigued Thomas so much. A shame, the great White City was long gone from Chicago. Even Lillian would have liked to see its spectacular offerings.
Lillian leaned in an unladylike fashion against the building, not caring much what anyone thought, exhausted by so many threads that needed mending, required her attention. She couldn’t put everyone in Baltimore on a train. What of Aileen and the boys? What would Phillip do about Kitty? And she thought of Bess with a pang of hurt that was never far away. Bess had perhaps come upon the truth of Lillian’s existence but had evidently not shared her knowledge with anyone else. That proof of her love frustrated Lillian even more.
“I would have my Watson back,” she whispered. But, no. Bess was now out of harm’s way. She wouldn’t suffer Annaluisa’s fate.
Lil shuddered and pulled herself out of her dreary thoughts as the Staring Man exited the building, joined by a porter and a companion about his age and social standing, chatting amiably with him.
“No, that was The Murders in the Rue Morgue! Ah, had he lived, so I might pay the homage due to him. I would see his grave before leaving Baltimore,” the Staring Man said.
His
Just another ordinary scene, Arthur decided: a woman seeing off relations on a journey of no consequence. Except that they had discussed the murder of someone called the Jackal. Most extraordinary! Why he’d felt the need to spy…
Well, old habits died hard, certainly. But you are only a simple doctor, he thought, with not even the bravery of John Watson, much less his great friend. This matter was for American police. Still, Arthur gave himself high marks for curiosity, although his wife’s urgings to live only vicariously through his fiction had grated on their marriage. He barely knew how much of his current character was formed of natural cowardice and how much Luisa’s constant nagging to stay close to home.
Arthur broke from his ruminations when the young woman turned and caught his stare. She froze. Her assessment grew curious, and he feared that he’d been caught eavesdropping. Was this Lillian dangerous? A murderess herself? His blood ran cold.
But you are in a public place, and she is a slender female. Arthur looked over his shoulder to ensure the police officer patrolling the station was still present.
The young woman tilted her head, raised a quizzical brow, and turned toward the grand entrance. It was if she might have recognized him, but that would be ever so unlikely. Whatever small fame he’d garnered in America, he knew only three people in Baltimore, and none of them well.
Oh, and he’d corresponded with that woman whose letters were certainly not typical of the dozens of inquiries he received monthly. He made a mental note to inquire about her before leaving town, but he truly doubted she shared company with his companions, a group of stern scholars, eccentric psychics, and fellow writers. What was her first name? Miss Holmes, he recalled, but he should have brought her letter with him, which also would have contained her address.
A pity he’d left it at home.
CHAPTER SIX
A troubling pest returns.
Lillian hid behind an ornamental column of the Union Station building, watching for the emergence of the Staring Man. How could she have been so stupid, letting Thomas speak openly of a murder in such a setting?
Once sure she hadn’t been followed, she waited for the stranger to appear. The October sun should be less strong, she grumbled to herself. While she didn’t mind the daytime as much as George, it did have some effect on her, turning her mood a bit dourer, draining her energy. But so essential was it to get her former governess and butler out of Baltimore, she’d arranged for a grand trip for the brother and sister. They would stay in Chicago with their cousin for several weeks and then see some of the Western wonders that intrigued Thomas so much. A shame, the great White City was long gone from Chicago. Even Lillian would have liked to see its spectacular offerings.
Lillian leaned in an unladylike fashion against the building, not caring much what anyone thought, exhausted by so many threads that needed mending, required her attention. She couldn’t put everyone in Baltimore on a train. What of Aileen and the boys? What would Phillip do about Kitty? And she thought of Bess with a pang of hurt that was never far away. Bess had perhaps come upon the truth of Lillian’s existence but had evidently not shared her knowledge with anyone else. That proof of her love frustrated Lillian even more.
“I would have my Watson back,” she whispered. But, no. Bess was now out of harm’s way. She wouldn’t suffer Annaluisa’s fate.
Lil shuddered and pulled herself out of her dreary thoughts as the Staring Man exited the building, joined by a porter and a companion about his age and social standing, chatting amiably with him.
“No, that was The Murders in the Rue Morgue! Ah, had he lived, so I might pay the homage due to him. I would see his grave before leaving Baltimore,” the Staring Man said.
His
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