Twincy Quinn and the Eye of Horus Part One (20 page)

‘
I see. And once again, madam, it would be remiss of me to
leave you here, not after such a terrible ordeal.’

I looked
up.

Then I quickly
looked down at his shoes again, adjusting my hair.

Seriously? Was
he still playing the line that it had all been a terrible ordeal?
Had he seen when I had snatched the knife out of that man's pocket
and threatened him where it counted most? Had this Michael F.
Stanford watched as I had used my parasol to hook around the leg of
one of his attackers? Had he actually been there during the
fight?

‘
I assure you, Detective, I can look after myself,’ I
tried.

He gave an odd
little sound, halfway between a laugh and something else. ‘And that
is what I'm afraid of. Perhaps a little too well. For a lady, you
seem to handle your weapons faultlessly,’ though he started off his
sentence strong, by the end his voice wavered, and he quickly gave
a nervous cough, his cheeks reddening a touch. Clearly he realised
that what he had said was out of turn. Or at least it would have
been out of turn if I were who I appeared to be. A lady of
distinction.

‘
My father was . . . a retired field
general,’ I lied quickly, ‘he used to teach my brothers
self-defence, and as a little girl, I would watch. It turns out I
picked up all of those skills vicariously. How lucky for
me.’

Michael looked
unmoved, then he quickly offered me a smile. ‘I see. However, once
again, as a detective of Scotland Yard, I can hardly leave you here
on the street. Let me take you home.’

It was a
forward question, or it would have been, if I weren't running
around town with a sodding great gold and sapphire necklace
dangling around my neck. The more I thought of it, the more I
realised perhaps John had gone overboard. He did like his things to
sparkle, but this one sparkled too much. It caught far too much
attention; attention I now needed to shrug off. And quickly.

‘
I'm afraid I live out of town,’ I tried.

‘
Then where are you staying?’

‘
Not far, I'm sure I can make my own way there.’ I kept
studiously fixing my hair.

‘
If it is not far, I'm sure I can walk you there on my way back
to the yard.’ He stood before me, and he gave me the impression
that he wasn't going to move for the world. And he certainly wasn't
going to move no matter what story I spun or how much I assured him
I could look after myself.

So I had to
give in, didn't I?

‘
Very well,’ I bit my lip for a brief moment, trying to think
quickly, ‘if you insist, kind sir.’

‘
Please, call me Michael, Miss Stanton,’ as he said that, he
got a confused look on his face, but followed it up with a wide
smile. ‘As we walk, perhaps you can tell me a little about
yourself.’

Was he being
forward? Were all men like this? Or was this just the detective
shining through?

Was he
suspicious?

I felt I was a
good judge of character. I also felt that he hadn't recognised me,
yet. But perhaps I couldn't be 100% sure, perhaps Mr. Michael F.
Stanford was luring me in. Walking me home, asking questions,
trying to find out as much about me as he could.

I had to be
careful.

With that
thought weighing heavily on my shoulders, I took a slight, demure
swallow, and offered a short nod, my thankfully long and thick and
lustrous blond locks bouncing over my face and cheeks.

It looked like
I was going to have to take Michael Stanford home after all.

Michael F.
Stanford

I did not know
what was going on.

Many, many
things about this situation were confusing.

But no matter
how strange a sight it had been to see a young woman dressed like a
queen confidently walking down some of the worst streets of London,
that was nothing compared to what she had done next. When those men
had attacked her, she’d barely batted an eyelash. And when one had
grabbed her and roughly tried to pull the necklace from her throat,
she hadn't bothered to scream. What she had done, however, was
clutch a knife from his pocket, and firmly press it into the place
that mattered most.

Then she had
saved me with that parasol, just before one of those brutes had
taken his fist to my face, and she had calmly waited while I had
dispatched the other two.

Strange didn't
even begin to describe that incident. It also didn't begin to
describe her behaviour since.

I realised I
was being more than forward. While it would be remiss of me to
leave a young lady after such a harrowing ordeal, that was not why
I had insisted on accompanying her. I wanted to find out more about
her. Because what I had just seen didn't make a scrap of sense. And
maybe, just possibly, I wanted to find out a little bit more about
her because she had caught my eye.

I was
continuing a very stilted conversation with her, which was mostly
one-way. Yet, doggedly, I was not giving up. ‘Are you enjoying your
stay?’

‘
Quite so,’ she answered.

It was a
strange way to answer. In fact, many of her phrases and the things
she said sounded odd to the ear. It was as if somebody were
repeating what they had heard in conversation, but not what they
had been taught.

Could the lady
beside me not be quite as respectable as she appeared to be?

Perhaps it
would explain why she had been so unfazed by the men in the
alleyway.

Still, that
was an unwarranted jump. For now I had to assume that the woman by
my side was just as rich and privileged as the necklace around her
rather beautiful neck suggested. Until I found solid evidence to
prove otherwise.

I wanted to
find out more, so once again I dropped back a little, trying to
peer down into her face.

She wouldn't
have anything of it. Every time I tried to glance solidly her way,
she would either move her parasol, or hide behind her hair.

It was not
that suspicious. After all, possibly she was overcome, as a woman
in her position should be. Perchance she was nervous, and
conceivably she did not like the attention of men. I had, after
all, startled her solidly and impolitely in the museum.

Clearing my
throat, and straightening up, while still glancing her way as I did
so, I tried to think of far more stimulating questions. ‘The
weather has been relatively nice recently?’ my voice picked up at
the end, as I wanted to see her reaction to my question.

‘
It’s certainly drier than it has been,’ she
managed.

‘
I thought you said you only arrived here several days ago?’ I
asked, making my tone friendly.

I heard her
take the slightest of breaths, and again she began to pat at that
necklace. She did so whenever she appeared nervous. ‘Of course I
did, however I have friends and family here, and they do so love to
write. Of particularly boring things, like the weather,’ she
assured me after a pause.

‘
I see,’ I quickly tried to think of yet more questions to ask,
but it was very hard to get through to this Miss
Stanton.

Not my Miss
Stanton.

It was strange
to have met a woman with the same last name as a dear friend of
mine, stranger, because I had a niggling feeling that the woman
beside me was not called Miss Stanton at all. She had paused, after
all, after I had asked her to introduce herself.

Could it be
yet more evidence that she was not the act she was putting on? Was
I overthinking things? Possibly trying to distract myself so I
didn't stare down at that perfect dress and that stunning necklace,
perchance more so the neck that was wearing it?

‘
Perhaps you should tell me a little about yourself,’ she
suddenly jumped in. Maybe she did not like my questions, and was
now distracting me with some of her own, or conceivably she was
warming up.

It didn't
matter.

Glancing ahead
of me briefly, before quickly returning my gaze to her, I shrugged
my shoulders. ‘There is not much to say. I am a detective with
Scotland Yard. I hark from the countryside, I live in a small
apartment, and I spend entirely too much time shining my very old
shoes,’ I found myself adding needlessly. It was a strange detail,
and one you certainly would not offer to a woman who appeared as
important as Miss Stanton here.

Yet she
smiled. It was a short, curling move, and as I could only barely
see her lips behind her luxurious bouncy curls, it was one I only
noted for a moment.

Yet it did
something rather curious to my stomach. Tapping a hand suddenly on
my leg, drumming the fingers right into the thick wool of my dark
grey pants, I cleared my throat.

She hadn't
reacted like she was meant to, correct? Or, once again, was I
reading too much into this? I had been around the elite of London
enough to realise how they reacted, especially around people in
lower positions of class to themselves.

‘
I served in the army,’ I quickly added, bringing a hand up and
brushing my moustache, ‘and I must say, this is the only worthwhile
artefact I brought back. That, and a deep scar over my left
shoulder.’

‘
Maybe you should have left it there,’ she said quietly, barely
a whisper in fact.

It made me
chuckle. ‘I hope you mean the scar,’ I said as I straightened up,
shooting her what I hoped was a patently fake withering look.

Again she
smiled, but yet again, just before her face came into view, she
clutched at her hair and shifted it around.

‘
Of course,’ she looked solidly down at her shoes, and neatened
her dress with one gloved hand.

‘
I will have you know, Miss Stanton, that facial hair like
this,’ I brought a hand up and demonstrated my moustache, ‘is all
the rage in London at the moment. Very fashionable.’

‘
Not all trends are worthwhile,’ she quipped back.

I chuckled.
‘Perhaps. But let me see, we digress. What more can I add? I am
often busy at work, in fact, work is my entire life.’

‘
And what do you do in your work? Forgive me, you mentioned you
are a detective, but what do Scotland Yard detectives investigate
most frequently?’

Was that a
probing question? The way her voice went up at the end, the way she
brought a hand up and brushed it slightly over her cheek? Was she
fishing for information?

I narrowed my
eyes, and I couldn't stop the slight grin that fattened my
cheeks.

I was up to
the challenge. I had been trying to gain as much information about
this woman as I could as we had been walking along, maybe now it
was time for her to question me back.

‘
Let me see, what do we deal with? It can range, my dear,’ I
added.

I shouldn't
have, because on that term, I could see her usually round jaw
square off. She also gave the slightest of huffs.

Though it got
my attention, I quickly rallied on: ‘why at the moment I have been
instructed to look after the security for Lord Ridley's upcoming
exhibition. I am sure you have been invited and I do not need to
tell you the details. It is, after all, one of the most exciting
events coming up for London’s cultured and learned citizens.’

‘
I am aware of the details, yes,’ she answered
plainly.

And those are?
I wanted to ask. Of course I could not be so direct. ‘I imagine the
artefacts he is bringing from, now where was it?’ I broke off my
conversation, pushing a hand up and tapping it on my chin, in the
most damn obvious demonstration that I had lost my thought.

‘
Egypt,’ she answered easily.

So she knew
the answer. Which meant she did know the details of Ridley's
upcoming exhibition. Did that allay my fears? Possibly, but I
wasn't done with Miss Stanton yet.

Still smiling
to myself, I let my hand drop from my face, but not before one of
my fingers moved down my moustache.

I had been
told it was the height of fashion. By numerous
people . . . . Or at least by Miss Stanton, my
Miss Stanton. But even though I hoped the lady before me was
playing, her subtle jibe was getting to me.

It was also
distracting me. No . . . she was distracting
me. From the way she walked to the way she looked to the way she
talked, this Miss Stanton was an enigma. An extremely pleasant
one.

Yet possibly
one I should not allow to side-track me. Kidding myself into
thinking I was only talking to her to ensure she really was the
lady she seemed to be, and not some criminal who had stolen a
woman's dress and necklace, I shifted my jaw around, and tried to
wipe the smile from my face. It was hard, almost impossible in
fact.

‘
Yes, Egypt,’ I managed after a long pause, ‘well there you go,
I shall be doing that. At the moment, I'm also looking into the
kidnappings,’ my voice naturally dipped low on that. Because
regardless of how pleasant it was baiting this woman, I could not
use the kidnappings as a joke.

They were
entirely, horrendously serious.

I glanced over
to see her stiffen. I watched as she curled one of her pearly white
gloves into a fist. If the glove had been off, and I had been able
to see the hand underneath, her knuckles would have turned a stark
white.

‘
That horrendous affair,’ she finally managed, her voice having
lost all of the ease it had held when she had conversed with me
before. There was no hint of humour, and neither of subtle
derision. Just strain.

‘
It is an unpleasant affair, yes, but I assure you, as I keep
on assuring everybody else, we are doing all we can to solve this
case as quickly as we can,’ I couldn't help but lock my eyes on her
as I spoke. For some reason I was consumed by her reaction to my
words. I wanted to note every single movement, every slight breath,
and every quick jerk of her fingers as she nervously brushed them
through her hair.