companion sighed in agreement. “Well, his second cousin twice removed, I think it is, bears the same name and is in our group. I’m unsure whether it is a boon or curse to bear that name, but it did him no harm, as he was graduated from Princeton and has done quite well for himself, as you will see.”
“Indeed? Is he a poet?”
“A lawyer.”
“He’s more reputable and much less interesting than his cousin, I would imagine.”
“He is my dearest friend; you must give him a chance,” the other man chided lightly.
So, Lil thought, a quite learned gent, for rarely did one hear praise of Edgar Allan Poe these days. And he was a Scottish gentleman with a pleasant expressive voice. Perhaps a man of forty or so years …
She suppressed a squeal of delight.
“I was terribly sorry to hear about Louisa’s state,” the Scotsman’s American companion said. The Scotsman simply inclined his head. The two were standing in line for a hansom, and the next driver urged his horse to move up and accept passengers, so Lillian could hear no more of their conversation as they embarked. But she hurried to the following driver and motioned him down.
The man’s horse fretted at her nearness and whinnied and tapped at the cobbles. Lillian hated that animals sensed her true nature and now reacted negatively to her. Even Mr. Lincoln gave her a wider berth these days.
“Now, Sophie, quiet with you!” The driver pulled a bit of apple from his pocket and offered it to the horse, who wouldn’t be calmed. Lillian stepped back a yard and motioned for the driver to join her.
“Where to, miss?”
“I will pay you double your fare—no, quadruple your fare—if you would follow that carriage in front of us and then report to me the final destination of the taller of the two passengers. An extra reward for your total secrecy.”
The driver grinned and tipped his hat. “Not the first time, not the last, miss. But you must hurry before he turns down Howard. Traffic is fierce this time of day! How do I find you?”
Lillian reached into her satchel and tore a corner off of an envelope she thought to mail to Bess. It is a sign, she thought. Leave Bess be. “Here is the address. If I am not about, my maid will take the information. Here is one note for you, another upon the completion of the task.”
The driver’s grin turned to awe, and Lillian realized how truly naïve he must think her. No matter, Mr. Conan Doyle meant the world to her. She intended to learn why he stared at her, and if he’d heard her discussion. Why, how wonderful and terrible to meet her hero in such a fashion! She couldn’t wait to tell George. Of course, she would leave out the part where he stared at her, lest George scold her about needing to be more circumspect. Or worse.
She decided to walk home, lighter of spirit for having seen her hero in person, regardless of his opinion of her. Lost in thoughts of George, Mr. Doyle, and a gnawing hunger to feed within a few hours, she walked up Charles Street, the sun casting long shadows as it began descending behind the towering five-story buildings of the city.
“I am here for you, waiting.”
Lil froze and swung around in a circle, scanning for the speaker. Everyone went on normally; no one was close. The clip-clop and clang of the tinker driving next to her made the most pronounced noise.
“Don’t forget me. Come back tonight and ride. I’ll show you the way!”
She stopped, feeling a vertigo that hadn’t plagued her since George helped cure her addiction. God help me, not again!
The voices grew louder, and she covered her ears—with no result.
“Forget about George, forget about everything but riding, riding fast. Come see the dark treasures I have waiting for you!”
“No! Stop it! Be gone!”
A man turned to see what was amiss and started to approach her, but she held out her hand in warning. God help me, God help me. The city spoke to her again, words only she heard. How could it be? It had
“Indeed? Is he a poet?”
“A lawyer.”
“He’s more reputable and much less interesting than his cousin, I would imagine.”
“He is my dearest friend; you must give him a chance,” the other man chided lightly.
So, Lil thought, a quite learned gent, for rarely did one hear praise of Edgar Allan Poe these days. And he was a Scottish gentleman with a pleasant expressive voice. Perhaps a man of forty or so years …
She suppressed a squeal of delight.
“I was terribly sorry to hear about Louisa’s state,” the Scotsman’s American companion said. The Scotsman simply inclined his head. The two were standing in line for a hansom, and the next driver urged his horse to move up and accept passengers, so Lillian could hear no more of their conversation as they embarked. But she hurried to the following driver and motioned him down.
The man’s horse fretted at her nearness and whinnied and tapped at the cobbles. Lillian hated that animals sensed her true nature and now reacted negatively to her. Even Mr. Lincoln gave her a wider berth these days.
“Now, Sophie, quiet with you!” The driver pulled a bit of apple from his pocket and offered it to the horse, who wouldn’t be calmed. Lillian stepped back a yard and motioned for the driver to join her.
“Where to, miss?”
“I will pay you double your fare—no, quadruple your fare—if you would follow that carriage in front of us and then report to me the final destination of the taller of the two passengers. An extra reward for your total secrecy.”
The driver grinned and tipped his hat. “Not the first time, not the last, miss. But you must hurry before he turns down Howard. Traffic is fierce this time of day! How do I find you?”
Lillian reached into her satchel and tore a corner off of an envelope she thought to mail to Bess. It is a sign, she thought. Leave Bess be. “Here is the address. If I am not about, my maid will take the information. Here is one note for you, another upon the completion of the task.”
The driver’s grin turned to awe, and Lillian realized how truly naïve he must think her. No matter, Mr. Conan Doyle meant the world to her. She intended to learn why he stared at her, and if he’d heard her discussion. Why, how wonderful and terrible to meet her hero in such a fashion! She couldn’t wait to tell George. Of course, she would leave out the part where he stared at her, lest George scold her about needing to be more circumspect. Or worse.
She decided to walk home, lighter of spirit for having seen her hero in person, regardless of his opinion of her. Lost in thoughts of George, Mr. Doyle, and a gnawing hunger to feed within a few hours, she walked up Charles Street, the sun casting long shadows as it began descending behind the towering five-story buildings of the city.
“I am here for you, waiting.”
Lil froze and swung around in a circle, scanning for the speaker. Everyone went on normally; no one was close. The clip-clop and clang of the tinker driving next to her made the most pronounced noise.
“Don’t forget me. Come back tonight and ride. I’ll show you the way!”
She stopped, feeling a vertigo that hadn’t plagued her since George helped cure her addiction. God help me, not again!
The voices grew louder, and she covered her ears—with no result.
“Forget about George, forget about everything but riding, riding fast. Come see the dark treasures I have waiting for you!”
“No! Stop it! Be gone!”
A man turned to see what was amiss and started to approach her, but she held out her hand in warning. God help me, God help me. The city spoke to her again, words only she heard. How could it be? It had
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